Twisted Logic | Allison and Jade
Two day old coffee. There was a thick oily film on the top of it, and Allison was so desperate for caffeine that she swung it back in about a gulp and a half.
Whiskey. She desperately uncapped the Jameson. Lovely. She was chasing coffee with whiskey now. Fucking hell, what had her life come to.
Sodding Renee and her sodding private coffee maker.
Sodding St. Mark's and their sodding expenses. Allison's gaze swung back to the stark black and white. They called this a bill? This was an evisceration on paper. Neatly categorized and organized by which organs she would be losing first.
Allison scanned it, her mouth twisting to the side in displeasure. The amount she'd had to pay to get Andrew into St. Mark's was paling in comparison to the vast sums of money she was hemorrhaging almost as fast as she could make them at Belvedere. And that included her nights spent on her own couch.
It's too bloody expensive, Allison. You go too far.
The slamming of a thin, slightly arthritic hand on the worn wood table. Ash jumped and settled.
Enough. We cannot afford it.
She wouldn't let her mother be right in the end. If only for the sake of sheer stubbornness and pride.
Allison thumbed through the few pages of the document, zero's and pound signs increasing the dull thud at the back of her skull. An ever present sensation, inescapable, and painful when thought about overly much. Balance Due... Allison's eyes skidding right over that. Balance Paid... Date of Admittance... the pad of her finger caught the wicked thin edge of the copy.
"Ow, bloody fuck." She swung her hand back, away from the offending document. Too far. Green glass and Irish whiskey —uncapped of course — went toppling over the front edge of her desk. "Buggering FUCK. Shit." She swore with her thumb pressed tightly to her teeth, as if sucking on the paper cut would alleviate the insult.
She'd just rounded the desk and righted the whiskey bottle when the knock came, doorknob twisting before Allison could answer. From this angle, all the person entering could see would be her arse in the air, her on her knees as she tried to soak up the liquor by re-negotiating the placement of an area rug.
"Cor. Sorry, had a bit of a spill. Rubbish coffee, really, so bloody good riddance." She plastered on a slightly less harassed expression as she turned from her place on the floor, and was greeted with teal blue eyes, and a halo of red hair.
"Ah. You're Dr. Carrington's, aren't you?" She stood up only slightly awkwardly in her heels, and held out her hand.
