One More Song

Chapter Fifteen {Trigger Warning}

The brown paper bag, forgotten and discarded, had obligingly produced a fifth of Jack Daniels. Black label, white print and amber fluid that went down without protest, searing warmth along her throat and hitting her stomach in a flare of heat. Tyler had horrible taste in women, but he'd always had good taste in booze.

It was an amusing thought, a third of the way through the bottle, that Tyler had come up to the loft clearly intending to drink the night away. Maybe he'd realized just what he'd gotten himself into, dumping the only person who wanted him to be his own man in exchange for a lifetime of thankless slavery.

Everything was an amusing thought a third of the way through the bottle.

Sprawled on the floor, her back against the wall, Mariel fumbled another cigarette out of her pocket and scowled at her nearly empty pack. It wasn't her first night drinking alone, but it'd been a while and the alcohol was hitting her harder than she'd thought it would. Or perhaps it was looking at the empty spaces in the loft where musical instruments used to be. Looking at where her drums used to be and hearing no music in her head.

The loft. The fucking loft she'd spent months of her life in, sweating away searing afternoon hours, stumbling away from with her muscles aching and her head ringing. Four dusty fucking walls covered with cheap fucking carpet that she'd worked overtime to pay for, just on the off chance that she really could make something of herself. That she could be a musician in a band and finally feel like she was more than just the fucked up kid with a few skeletons in the closet.

Mariel dragged the bottle closer, fumbled her cigarette and scowled at the ash that scattered across the bottle's mouth. Without bothering to wipe it off, she brought it to her lips and chugged. Threw her head back and drank deeply, feeling the burn seep down her throat and into her chest, replacing the hollow coldness.

Now she was almost halfway through the bottle and things were feeling pleasantly unfocused. The room wasn't spinning, really. Just tilting gently, rocking her into a comfortable lull.

A hand closed over her wrist, lifting it. "Charred holes aren't the latest things in jeans."

Mariel would've fallen over if she wasn't being held up by one arm. Rolling her head back a bit, she blinked to focus her eyes and stared blankly at the dark shape beside her. It took a moment for the dim streetlight to let her pick out familiar features, but the flash of glowing red eyes was a clue. "...Nathan? Th' hell you doin' here?"

"You sent me a text message," he said, plucking the lit cigarette from her hand. "About an hour ago."

Her phone was blinking--the little white indicator light pinging softly in the upper right hand corner. Mariel looked at it, several feet away, and frowned. "Huh. I did?"

"Yeah." Leather creaked as he stood, pitched the cigarette outside and pulled the window wholly open. "Don't remember, huh? How much have you had to drink?"

She held up the bottle, squinting at it, and sloshed the liquor around. "Sour mash whiskey. Good stuff."

"I'm familiar with the pleasures of a glass of Jack Daniels." Nathan knelt again; she felt cool fingers brushing hair away from her sweaty forehead. "You've had more than a glass."

"I've had this much." She held the bottle out to him. "Not enough yet."

Taking the bottle, Nathan's eyes glowed a brighter red as he looked it over. "You've had enough," he said firmly. "Any more and you're risking alcohol poisoning."

"So?" Mariel reached out, flapping at the air when he pulled the bottle out of reach. "Big fuckin' deal. Lemme have it."

"It's a big fucking deal when I'll have to drag your ass to the hospital." Nathan rose to his feet, shifted his weight and leaned against the wall. "I didn't know you came up here to get drunk."