-----------------------------------------------------------DECEMBER, 2007. MID-AFTERNOON. HIS APARTMENT.[/size]
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- - - WHERE THE FUCK
[/b] was the tequila? he quite vividly remembered taking time out of his day yesterday to stumble down a few streets to the nearest liquor store. he remembered picking out the bottle. he remembered flashing the cashier his identification. and he definitely remembered purchasing the tezon reposado. it was fucking expensive. he even remembered knocking over the display of the mickeys, for the starving students down in the shaks. disaster avoided by slapping down his american express card, just in case you're curious. so yes, he remembered the pretty silver bottle in his hand less than twenty-four hours ago. so where the fuck was it?
"gray? c'mon now, you can find it." sighsigh, roll of eyes. he forgot about the sugary sweet voice complaining from the living room.
the photographer was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, the cupboard he reserved for his poison wide open, contents of which were all over the floor around him. his collection of alochol was easily enviable. but he wanted
that stupid bottle. olmeca was fucking gross. huffing a sigh, gray pushed his lithe body up onto its feet, narrowly missing several bottles. running his hands through his dark hair, his eyes searched his entire surroundings. several times. he couldn't focus, couldn't concentrate. stepping around a knocked-over bottle of vodka, he stumbled through the galley-style kitchen and back out into the main room. right there, against the back wall was his sparkly white backdrop, all of his lights set up, his camera patiently sitting on the coffee table. best of all was his complete disregard for the half-naked female standing on the backdrop, watching him. despite an already loyal following, and a promising career in photography, he still had his own portfolio to build. and, let's just remind you, it's not difficult to find some girl who is eager for the chance to be his new muse. he picked the petite, twenty-something blonde out at the bus stop last week. she'd been posing in his photographs ever since. apparently the ditzy, fortunately buxon, shannon shared his taste for sex, booze and bad sitcoms.
letting his arms fall to his sides, the struggling alcoholic looked at her.
"no. i can't. and don't even say anything, i wanted that particular bottle." unusual to his strict rules, gray hadn't been all that shy about his immense drinking in shannon's presence. it's not like she cared. she'd witnessed him a drunk gray for the past week - the snarky, awkward good time photographer from paris. see, then is when he had his vodka. he'd wanted tequila for the past day or two, see the point in which he purchased a disgustingly expensive bottle of which. and it was frustrating. crossing his arms, he kicked at one the bottle of red wine closest to him. blue eyes watching it roll across the floor, back into the kitchen, he slumped his shoulders forward. he felt so fucking weird right now, it was annoying. despite craving that particular brand of tequila, he was growing dangerously close to sober. his sister had been ditching work again and hung around their shared apartment the entire stupid morning. which meant he had been forced to drink black coffee, pretending to ignore her penetrating stares. there was no way indiana cortese was getting her satisfaction in how far on the deep-end he was. she had to go on with no proof of it. and it was getting close to the red line.
he wasn't angry. not at this point in the cycle. the only time he got angry was when he fell too sober, then downed three times as much as normal in order to compensate. that's when he did multiple shots, one right after the other. he wanted to reach his happy place quicker - and he never did. that's when he stopped remembering and fell into the vicious circle he generally liked to avoid. he wasn't angry, not now. this was when he was quiet, his body aching for the numbness it had become accustomed to. when he was on edge, borderline erratic. when he
needed it. breathing heavily, gray continued to look around at nothing. like the shaded walls held the answer. fuck that.
"but..." "i said i didn't. so stop fucking asking." his accented voice irritated, his tone unusually sharp, the photographer didn't even look at shannon. he only looked down when he felt her walk towards him, thread her fingers through his own, and lean into his unhealthy body. he looked down to see her big brown eyes looking up at him, as she slowly walked him backward into the closest wall.
"then we'll have a good time some other way." despite listening to her, his mind was continuing to jump all over the place, craving that dark burn only tequila could provide. scoffing sharply, his pulled his hands away from hers, pushed her backward several feet and staggered back toward the kitchen. not standing thinking about nothing was pushing him to dry sobriety. this was when the anger started to creep in.
"baby, c'mon..." fuck me. that's what she was saying. she had been all week, and he'd been giving into her. looking up to see her walking toward him again, carefully avoiding the mess of bottles on the floor, gray huffed again. he watched her silently, dark circles and red-rimmed eyes becoming glaring. picking up the textured bottle of olmeca tequila from the dark countertop, he gripped it rightly. one more time...there it was. she made a movement toward him, her arm outstretched. slamming the side of the bottle right onto the edge of the counter, he shattered it. pretty little shards of glass danced out in every direction, sliding across the counter and onto the wood floor. gold liquid splashed, dribbling down the cupboards gracefully. and she jumped in surprise, a light scream of surprise cutting the silence.
"leave me alone." his new ex-muse didn't need to be told twice. within five minutes, she was redressed, slamming the door behind her. harshly. obviously not happy? the sudden swivel in moods would piss him off too, i suppose. he'd never spoken to her like that before, hadn't even acted like that. good thing she left when she did. he was only getting started. within fifteen minutes, another two glasses had been broken, and he was holding a dinner plate. oh, he was sober now. sober as fucking day. dry as a bone. huffing heavily, still unsure of where this fiery anger had come from, gray looked down at the shattered mess on the kitchen floor. far as he knew, he only broke things when he was beyond shitfaced, when indie pryed and he threw dishes at her. the markings on the walls were evidence enough of that. not today. he was slamming glasses down on the counter whenever he looked at the array of bottles, then in the mirror across the room, and remembered where he was. the shots of anger were like tequila - hitting him hard and fast, wearing off just as quickly. and he hated it.
looking down at the black plate, he shakily placed it on a clean space of counter. raising his free hand, he merely rested it on his head, mid-way messing up his spikey hair. stepping away from the mess he'd made, out the other side of the kitchen, he navigated to the living room again. fuck. he wasn't angry. wasn't even frustrated. he was...frozen. his blood hadn't been boiling when he initially broke the tequila bottle. his emotions had stopped the moment the dry sobriety hit him. he felt more aware than he had in weeks, saw things much more clearly. stepping onto the backdrop, he picked up his olympus camera. toying with the lens distractedly, gray looked around again. never focussed on one things for too long. he would start to think if he did that. and thinking is something best avoided. using his free hand to dig into his back pocket, he withdrew the crumpled box of store-brand cigarettes. the long, tan cancer sticks that were cheap and tasteless. for emergencies, he told himself. sticking it in the side of his lip, he haphazardly lit it with his lighter. indie would crucify him for smoking inside. but she wasn't here, was she?
knock knock. well, apparently someone was. who the hell wanted to bother him?
pulling the cigarette, resting it between his middle and index fingers on his right hand, he exhaled a bland cloud of smoke as he approached the front door. struggling with the lock, he finally managed to pull the heavy door open. leaning on the side of the door, he raised his eyebrows when he saw the pretty brunette standing there. haley summers. haley fucking summers. his light eyes looked her up and down. there was no doubting it was her, despite not seeing her for several years, back whenever she was last in paris. fuck. that'd been a lifetime ago. she just happened to be several people smaller now. definitely hotter now that she knew what mascara was. taking a drag of his bland cigarette again, he remained quiet, an amused glimmer dancing in his eyes. straightening himself up, he took a few steps backward into the apartment before turning around. walking right back to where he had been a moment earlier, standing on the backdrop holding his camera, he looked through the eyepiece.
"shut the door behind you."he held the burning cancer stick between his fingers as he handled his camera, looking around the apartment through it, adjusting the lens. pivoting on his heel to face the fashion designer, he lowered it, looking at her. she looked good, really good. hadn't heard much about her, since indie had decided the taunting and insults provided by yours truly were not constructive. last he heard her telling their father, she was starting her own line. not funded by mommy? interesting. he loved the irony. she was looking good, effortlessly gorgeous, perfectly put together. and here he was, with broken glass all over the place, dark circles and walking like his feet hurt. he'd looked better. russing up his hair again, causing it to stand in every direction, he blew another breath of smoke.
"would i actually be interested, or are you trying every last resource you have?" his tone was dry, completely flat. there were the hurtful comments biting at his tongue, but he swallowed them. he needed his poison. now. that made his arrogance that much more fun.[/font][/size]
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STATUS, complete.
TAGGED, the holy grales !
LENGTH, 1803 words.
ATTIRE, jeans, converse, white t-shirt.
NOTES,
CREDITS, format and graphics to me.
lyrics to all time low - "girl's a straight-up hustler"
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------ You would think that the Summer Estate would have had a different to Haley Summers now that she had been disowned. After all, most kids when they move out even on good terms feel different when they go back to the place that was once called home. The halls of their old house are no longer home. It is no longer where they feel they are meant to lie their heads down at the end of the day. But you see, Haley had never felt that way about the walls surrounding her. It was never home. There was no lack of feeling for her now because there was no feeling to begin with. She had walked through the halls of the estate, the clicking of her heels echoing off the cold marble floors of the main entrance hall. The reason she visited the estate earlier that day? Well, let's just say there was still some of her things in the mansion and demon summers wanted it out. Haley simply had kept putting it off because she enjoyed pissing the woman off as well as she wanted to make sure her mother would not be near the place as Haley went. Despite that neither of her parents had been there, the butler, Stanley and the cook were still around. Stan had been kind enough to let her in. He actually seemed a bit pleased to see her. Apparently, Demon Summers had only become more demonic in the young girl's absence. The place was exactly the same as it always had been to her. Foreign, Sharp, Stylish, aloof and completely frigid and uptight. Felt more like a museum and not the fun public history museums but the old art museums where you can't touch anything. She had also been thinking about her small trip over to the estate all day.
