slurred words
to hear jessica describe klara whilst ridiculously drunk: [not accepting sorry i have 30+ memes to get through first]
Admitting you had a problem was the first step. Didn’t mean she had to follow through on the others -- not right away at least.
So she was sitting on her futon, finishing off her second bottle. (Or third, she wasn’t sure anymore, didn’t care to count.) The whiskey didn’t even burn anymore, and her head felt like it was a balloon filled with lead. But it was better.
She rose to her feet, stumbled to her bathroom because she wasn’t sure if the knots in her stomach were the usual ones, or a signal that she was going to vomit soon.
She clutched the pink porcelain sink tightly with one hand to keep herself upright. Couldn’t help but glance up into the mirror. Her reflection stared back at her, glassy eyed and vacant, her hair stringy. At least her skin was clear.
“Klara would hate you right now, you know,” she mused to her reflection. The mirror smirked back at her, but she knew it well enough to know it was an empty expression. “She deserves better than you on her case,” she sneered. She stumbled out into her kitchen, snatched up the wilted lily from the glass in her window. Then she collapsed down next to her table.
She twirled the lily in one hand. The other still held the whiskey bottle. “Goddamn kid has life more figured out than you do,” she murmured. “She’s been through hell and back, and she still makes flowers grow. Cuz some people are like that,” she slurred, staring down at the half-dead flower in her hand. “Some people can make flowers grow no matter how rough the freakin’ soil is. Some people... some people are just goddamn good.”
She finished off the bottle, then tossed it aside. It shattered against a wall. Jessica reached out slowly, crushed the flower between her fingers. “She’s so beautiful. And happy. And goddamn innocent, despite all the shit,” she breathed, opening her hand and watching the petal-dust float to the ground. “She deserves better than you.”