You and Tequila

Chapter Forty-One

And so it goes, life proceeds to spin routinely around them, but Regina swears Emma is inching forward in life while she's hopelessly being sucked backwards by some awful time warp. And maybe, if Emma would answer one of her texts, telling her to fuck off, then maybe, she could find the strength to move on. Except, the silence is a sliver of hope that maybe Emma will one day forgive her and actually reply. Maybe if Regina continues to pursue, Emma will one day cave and answer one of her many, many calls.

Yet, without fail, no matter how many times Regina swears to herself that she will not leave a message, she does. And every damn time, she finds herself pacing like a madwoman, her fingers fiddling with her hair as she rambles on and on like a damn fool. A fool that she most certainly is for the blonde.

"Hey...it's me...again." A deep heavy sigh filled with embarrassment, shame, and regret always follows. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how many more times I can say those words before they start to lose meaning...maybe they already have....I just miss you and Henry so much. I-I don't really know how to exist anymore in a world without the two of you in it. I know you hate me. I hate me. I just need to know that you are both okay. God, I miss the sound of your voice. And I don't know how I survived so long in this world without the comfort of your body next to mine at night. Please, Emma, I'm begging you to call me back. Answer one of my texts. Yell at me! I just need-"

And then that stupid recording always cuts her off because she's gone on for an embarrassing amount of time. That's usually about the time where she throws her phone against a bed, a couch, anything really where she knows the device won't shatter. After that, her nerves always get the best of her, short-circuiting and frying to the point where she actually feels exhaustion settle in her limbs, but her mind is running rampant and she doesn't know if she should run a mile or sleep for three days straight.

That's the exact moment where she finds herself in a heated argument with nobody but herself on how she should proceed in life. Does she suck up the pain and torture? Or does she wash away the stress with a little pill and a large glass of tequila?

The rectangle bar wins out, each and every time.

The first week without Emma Swan was by far the worst, actually, scratch that, she doesn't really remember that week. All her medically induced, mixed irresponsibly with alcohol brain, really remembers is that it was her last week of the tour.

Oh, and her mother hired some new girl. Brunette, opposite of Emma and that's all Regina can recall about the woman. She was so deep in a depression that she actually allowed her mother to handpick the new makeup artist, something Regina has not allowed since she was fifteen. She's always been very adamant about background checks and several interviews with herself, but she was too far gone to accomplish such a task.

"Uhhh...new girl," Ruby drawled out as she twirled a thick raven chunk around a curling iron, "your job is to hide the blemishes, not create more destruction."

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I don't know what's happening! Why is her skin so red?" The poor new girl hysterically stammered as she frantically waved her hand in front of Regina in a lame attempt to cool down her flesh.

"Oh honey," Jefferson tsked, shaking his head as he gathered up the girl's hands into his own. "What soap did you use? Didn't Cora give you a list of products that Regina is allergic to?" He sadly questioned, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone because nobody could ever replace Emma Swan.

"I-I...no. I don't believe so. I used Dial," she admitted, generating an uproar of sighs and disapproving tongue clicks from the staff.

"You have one job," Regina growled, rising from her chair like the queen that she is. "Are you honestly that incompetent that you can't possibly take the time to memorize an allergy sheet?" She spat in disgust, inspecting the blotchy red mess spreading across her cheeks and neck like bubbling hot oil spilling and burning her flesh. "You're fired!"