I wanna see that ass clap, bitch. @leatherbeatdown - Tumblr Blog

You know that moment when you first wake up and it’s like you’re half in real life and half asleep?

You’ve been in that trance for a few days.

You lay on your couch with some dumb sci-fi movie on. It was all about robots and AIs and cyborgs. It used to be one of your favorites actually. You watched it so many times that you could walk into the kitchen to get a snack and keep repeating the lines even though you couldn’t hear it.

But now it’s just something to put your eyes on while the obscene noise of glass hitting each other bangs in the background.

Punctuated, of course, by a babbling blonde saying some nonsense to you.

You are proud of her though, for throwing your alcohol away and not taking it home with her.

You roll over onto your stomach and your arm falls off the side of the couch. Calloused fingertips brush the carpet and you close your eyes, just as your phone vibrates and rings.

The ringtone signals Theresa. Once she heard what happened shed been checking up on you like mad. But even with her you could barely talk. Even thinking about what happened in Houston hurt.

You feel a hand go through your hair.

"Rox I think while I was in the hospital the doctors replaced 80% of my body with a dead person."

#martinimagic #manipul8me

You step back into your apartment. The first time in a month.

You remember that night. Sitting on your balcony, broken glass everywhere. Your mind so pumped with booze that you couldn’t think straight.

You could have died. You almost did.

You passed out, after those calls you made. So you don’t remember Roxy flipping out and coming to your place. You don’t remember her flipping out and calling the ambulance. You do remember her flipping out when you awoke in the hospital almost a full two days later.

"You almost died." She told you, tears streaming down her face.

Oh, boohoo, what a shame that would have been.

That’s the only thought that’s been in your mind since you woke.

You’re thinking that even stronger now.

It still smells of Danis perfume. Her sweatshirt is still over the couch. Her drawing is still above the door.

But she is gone.

So, unbelievably gone.

And Dave? The thought of what happens makes you sick.

He freaked out when he found out what happened to you. Even after you promised to stop drinking, you went and did that to yourself.

You tried apologizing. You tried to talk to him because you could not lose him. No way in hell could you lose him.

A day before you were released, a month after the silence, he came back to apologize.

But you were so mad about his silence that you didnt accept it.

How fucking dumb are you?

You would do anything to talk to him again.

But it’s too late now.

"You’re lucky to be alive." She said.

Yea.

Sure.

#ooc: hey #um #i decided to atop on this account and #needed to let this out #sorry....

Wow you were fucking drunk. Wasted. Sloshed. Shit faced. Choose your adjective.

On your balcony, empty and half empty bottles around you. Sitting cross legged with your head against the iron railing. The world was spinning. You were spinning. Everything was fucking spinning and it needed to stop.

It wasnt the first night you’d been an utter wreck. It was one of many, in fact. The third time in the past seven days.

Your name may or may not be Dirk Strider ( you frankly do not really remember ) and you are without a doubt totally alone.

Your leather gloves are abandoned to the side, your palms bloody after crushing broken glass. They leave bloody prints on your skinny jeans and you do not care.

The apartment is empty. With remains of the sweet smell of fruit and flowers stiff in the air.

where did she go

You had found old pictures of months passed. With a certain blond in them with you.

im sorry for not speaking

It’s been dawning on you that you’ve made some really terrible decisions in the last year.

im just a kid

And you take full blame for them, for not thinking rationally, and not fixing things when they should have been fixed.

You fall on your back and stare fuzzily at the stars. You muster enough brain cells to work to pick up your phone and get to speed dial.

You press the 3.

Roxy is first.

Voicemail.

“I’m sorry I’m such a crap best friend. You deserve someone so much happier.”