@monsteredboy !
there are nights like this. nights where she skin can’t seem to settle. twitching, burning. nights where she’s more powder keg than woman. then again, she always has been. a ticking time bomb, a stick of dynamite. it was only a matter of time that she imploded inside of herself -- or exploded, obliterating everything in her fucking path. she doesn’t know how long it has been since she last slept ( for more than a couple hours ). it’s gotten to the point where she could mimic her deep breathing while awake, so he wouldn’t catch on. so, he wouldn’t worry. how she managed to do this without completely detaching herself from him was a fucking miracle. but here she was. managing. barely.
she can barely hold the bottle in her hands. fist wrapped around the neck as she tilted it back towards her mouth. another long swig. she didn’t bother turning on a life, not wanting to risk waking him. it may be only eleven at night, it might be three in the morning. she wasn’t entirely sure & in that moment, it didn’t matter. gulping down the whiskey until it hurts. until her eyes water; it blurs her vision & for a split second, her living room isn’t her living room anymore. she’s focused ahead of her, staring at absolutely nothing. a million miles away. her grip on the bottle isn’t all that harsh to start with. at least, she didn’t seem to think so. but there’s a sharp shatter noise, her hand form into a wet fist as small pieces of glass bite into her palm. it feels like a thousand needles -- or it should.
if she was bleeding, she didn’t seem to notice. she can’t see the damage in the dark. her hand coming down to messily rub against her shirt, merely smearing the blood & the alcohol. as well, as sending the glass digging deeper. but it doesn’t register to her. her body on a lazy autopilot.
