Hadley goes a bit too far.
LJ-SEC: (ORIGINALLY POSTED BY lovehadley)
For someone who could be so remarkably blunt, Hadley sure knew how to excercise a little thing called 'denial'. She generally lived her life on the basis that she thought she was all blunt, a hotshot who didn't mind speaking up, who had guts and told it like it was. And then she realized, the drugs, the drinking... wasn't that just a form of a denial? A way of repressing all the things she didn't really want to say and channel it into that energy? It was a depressing idea, one that was linked with various degrees of disappointmet. But the drinking, the cocaine... she couldn't really let it go. And she knew it was wrong, hell, it's what had initially made it so fun. That she could party and snort and drink, and show up to work the next morning, beautiful and professional as ever. It had made her amazing. So she thought. There had been a few months there, when she had laid off the partying a bit ... but now it was back, in full swing, and she slept very rarely anymore. Caffeine pills kept her going when she couldn't deal with the overwhelming waves of sleepiness.
She was drunk. It took her quite a bit of alcohol to get her drunk, despite her slender frame. She had been doing this since she was thirteen. More than ten years later, and she had built up quite a tolerance against alcohol. She usually got buzzed via cocaine, not necessarily alcohol. So the stumble up to the VIP lounge where she was so welcome was a little unfamiliar to her. It didn't take long to get the lines going. Even inebriated, she could cut them perfectly. One. Two. Five. Who knew? She generally kept a running tally of how many lines she had done, but tonight, each one flitted by, not really registering on her radar. Her mind continued to grow hazy, and she welcomed it. She was so sick of life right now. Fucking filming and her parents -- she still hadn't called her mom back -- and everyone who thought they knew her even remotely. She was so ... done with it. Except she wasn't. She was expected on set tomorrow, expected to call her parents, her interview would be coming out soon, and that was a load of bullshit. She had felt nothing for quite a while, and it had been so thoroughly dissatisfying. Did she need it, the burning ball of rage in the pit of her stomach, fueling her on?
Did it matter?
Not really. But she just wanted a good time, just wanted to forget and hang back for a little while, but wanted to feel something for a bit, at the same time. No, she wanted to feel like herself. How she used to be. Hadley Keaton, who didn't give a shit, who never felt guilty, who lived in her own little bubble of a world that bowed down to her.
Pres came in, at some point, she noticed. She waved a hand in greeting, but it was sloppy and she couldn't seem to muster enough attention or care to say anything to him. She settled for the wave, and slipped back into place.
And she laughed at herself. Happy. She liked this. The laugh was loud and out of place. She couldn't really comprehend anything, and she didn't bother. So she snorted another line. And another. And one more. How many had she done? She didn't know.
At some point, the haze seemed to thicken and go black.