dahlia is a total (![]() ![]() @ 2016-04-08 00:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, cris martin, dahlia haight |
[to the capital: dahlia & cris]
Who: Dahlia H & Cris M
What: Getting a ride.
Where: The wrong side of town > the Capital.
When: Pre-egg hunt.
Warnings/Rating: Swears. TBA.
At this hour, this side of town was still and as quiet as dawn. Sure, it may have been late in the afternoon, but trouble tended to sleep in. So it was odd to see peak ne'er-do-well come slouching out from behind the tree line that masked the commune, all in broad daylight.
Dahlia hadn't thought about choosing this particular intersection and what impression it would give most people in town, but given everything crowding her thoughts right now, she wasn't thinking about a lot of fucking things. Something about the name of her ride's donor had tickled her brain, but that was all that surfaced through the slurry. Maybe this guy had been a patron at the bar? Or something. Whatever. She'd figure out soon enough.
If he even showed up. She wouldn't blame him if he didn't, really. After losing her temper and acting desperate and crazy and--yeah. Maybe it would be better if he just--didn't? Trembling fingers fidgeting with a mostly-spent packet of gum in her pocket--one of many in the past few days, burning through them like a chain smoker--she popped a piece into her mouth, chewing with noisy focus.
If this guy didn't show, forget calling him--Dahlia would just turn the fuck around and walk over to the trailer park to talk to that guy she knows who knows a guy. Because--if the guy showed, she'd have to face the second stranger she'd flipped out on in, what, almost as many weeks? Right. Breaking her clean streak seemed infinitely easier. She still had to interact with her boss, because she still had a job somehow, and god, it was so fucking uncomfortable. Ever since she had--well, the bosslady seemed to trust the local cops to do her own job more than she trusted her. None of the kids apparently wanted to go to her when shit happened, anyway, so maybe the bosslady wasn't wrong to do so. Yeah, no. It was only a matter of time, ticking down like a time bomb, before this job blew up in her face, too. She'd be utterly fucked then, so what was the point of holding it together for a lost cause when--
Fuck, christ. Shit. She was so tired.
A bit dizzily, Dahlia carefully hunkered down and, lacking a sidewalk, sat in the damp grass on the side of the road. She pulled her knees up to her chest, and it made her seem...small. For a grown-ass woman a couple inches shy of six feet and built like a brick house, she looked scarcely larger than a teenager at that moment.
She didn't even know what she hoped to get out of this--a trip to the Capital, hitting up NA again. Relief? Get some suffocating weight off her chest? Nothing would work as good as getting high--enough to forget even her dreams for a while, enough to sleep, if a bit restlessly. Even the weight of the flask in her jacket was far from comforting. Whiskey had stopped helping about the same time she'd just given up on sleeping. Or, well, mostly. There were just moments of lost time where she'd blink, close her eyes for just a second, and then ten minutes would disappear. Sometimes it stole an hour here and there. It never lasted long, though, before she thrashed out of sleep like quicksand. It didn't seem to matter how drunk she was anymore--it was never enough. She still woke up screaming.
Though to be fair: the whiskey did still keep her from feeling like fucking crying all the time, so. There was that. Raccoon eyed, she watched the empty road from beneath the comfortable anonymity of a bland hoodie, zipped up to her neck under her jacket.
Nothing as far as the eye could see. Nobody but Dahlia, and the occasional snap of gum between her teeth keeping her awake.