RoadTrip oneshots

| Randy | Drunk |

Part 1

Warning: as the title suggests, alcohol is a major theme in this and drug use is also mentioned briefly

Rye

Eyes still closed, I feel sleep slipping away from me as I become slightly more aware of my surroundings. I'm warm, soft sheets encase me but they aren't familiar. My head throbs painfully, the light already too bright, even from behind my still closed eyelids. I feel movement behind me as my senses begin to return. Skin comes in contact with my back and I force my eyes open, flinching away from the touch.

I know it's not his.

Glancing over my shoulder a see a girl, her long brunette waves framing her face. My stomach twists painfully, both from guilt and disgust. A low sigh escapes my lips as my head falls into my hands. No matter how many times I do this, how many girls I sleep with, drinks I consume, it's only ever temporary. Then morning comes, I leave, I sober up, I think of him.

And then I do it all over again.

As quickly and quietly as I can, I gather my belongings from around the room. I can't even bare to give her one last look before I let myself slip out of her door. I don't even recognise the street I've stumbled into, only thoughts of him filling my still slightly hazy mind. I can feel his disappointment in me, the brokenness in his blue eyes if he could see me now, even if it is all my own fault.

I always manage to fuck shit up.

I'm pathetic.

Somehow I make my way home, well to my apartment. It's not really home, not since he left. It's cold, empty, dark. It's simply a skeletal structure, fracturing and decomposing, no heart to keep it warm and encased in love. His warmth and his love.

Maybe I'll get drunk again.

To feel a little love.

My hand closes around a half-drunk bottle of beer, presumably from yesterday. I down the stale liquid and resume my search, finding an unopened crate of beer on the floor in the corner. Clutching the box, I slide down the wall, just below an open window. I pull the cardboard apart, filled with desperation for the numbing effect it has on my pain and the silencing of the voices in my head.

Just before I open the next bottle I falter as I feel something soft brush across the side of my face. Turning my head and looking up, I see a stray cat perched on the window sill above me. Its white fur is mattered and clumped, thinning in areas, and one of its ears was missing a tip. Its blue eyes pierced into mine, holding my gaze for a second before disappearing again. I lean my head back against the wall, screwing my eyes shut tight to fight the tears threatening to escape.

I just want it all to stop.

Letting out a shaking breath, I reopen my eyes. I go to open the bottle again and this time I don't stop. Not after the second, or third, or fourth, not until the dregs of the last bottle are sliding down my throat. Tossing the empty bottle across the tiled floor, wincing at the sound, my head still tender form last night's consumptions.

Even with my brain fogged and hazy from the alcohol, he's still centre of every one of my thoughts. I slump further down the wall, the emotional storm inside me manifesting itself in the tears now falling freely down my face. It's not like any one will see, like anyone cares.

Maybe once upon a time he would have cared. Well, there's no maybe about it, he definitely would have cared. He just had so much love to give. That was just the person he was. Was? Is, the person he is.