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oii. thirst for interaction.
That alcohol left her in a doozie. Her head was stuffy and her body seemed overexerted.
She'd woken up in the clothes that reeked of alcohol, just without her shoes, tucked into her bed. Brodie couldn't really care less how she got there. All she knew was that she felt almost incapable of moving. But on the bright side, it was the best sleep she's had in awhile. Wriggling under her bedding, she turned on her side in a daze. Not even noticing the three pills beside a cup of water on her bedside drawer. She wasn't really thinking of anything, just glaring at her closed door in absent thought. Her dark eyes shut tightly before glancing up at the clear glass and two white tablets. A dry chuckle left her lips exactly when she quickly swung her legs from under her covers. Sock covered feet grazed the wooden floor while she sat up reaching for the items. Brodie took the tablets in her hand, not completely sure what they were, but she could assume they were for her mild headache — so she downed them back, followed by the water.
Brodie wasn't sure whether she should accept the alcohol for its purpose, or never drink again. Philippa had been a constant in her mind — not even her frightening mother — and she'd practically forgotten about her. That entire night, not a tear in sight. She'd felt guilty for not thinking about her just once, but it also felt good to feel the weight off of her shoulders for once. The guilt of being the taker of her best friends life had greatly subsided, but now it was back and... heavier. Her eyes casted to the clock on her bedside: 1:46. This was the latest she'd slept in awhile. Pulling open her bedroom door, she dragged her feet with slumped shoulders towards her bathroom. She did her business and hygiene, leaving her jeans on the floor by the toilet. In her black underwear and grey knit long sleeve, she shuffled down the short hall and into the living space. She didn't have much of an appetite, but she decided to munch on the rest of the pretzels that was sitting on her coffee table.
She was in nothing but silence and thought. A lot of said thought was her blaming herself for having too much of a good time. What if something happened, then she wouldn't have been prepared to deal with it. People would've had to protect her — she would've became a burden all because of a few drinks. Her mother could've came riding in on some glistening stallion to kill and kill until Brodie said yes. She couldn't let herself go like that again, it wouldn't be smart.
The echo of three hollow knocks on her door peeled her out of her anxious thoughts. She approached the door, nearly forgetting that she had no pants on. "Shit... one second!" She bolted to her messy room, pulling her pajama shorts onto her legs. The young woman jogged back into the living room, fluffing her flat hair with her fingers. She yanked on the door, pulling it open to a see a very familiar blonde woman — it was Maria with a manila folder in her hands clung to her chest. "Good afternoon, Brodie. I would like to discuss a few things with you, is that all right?" She inquired, diplomatically. Brodie blinked nervously, thinking of the worst. The older woman knew she's been through a lot, she wasn't going to press. "Uhm, y-yeah, that's fine- come on in." She opened the door wider, allowing the blonde to step inside. She didn't realize how messy her house was until she walked in with all of her ambassadorial glory.
