Grey (![]() ![]() @ 2012-08-18 19:54:00 |
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Entry tags: | {grey white, {malcolm tucker |
Characters: Grey and Malcolm
When: Very early Sunday morning
Location: Their room
Warnings/Rating: High(ish) for language and possibly other stuff. I'll edit.
Summary: Grey's drunker than usual, and awake and lonely and pretty keen distract herself.
Status: Closed/ongoing
It was a Saturday night, or at least it had been a couple of hours ago, which meant there was even more of an excuse to drink, not that Grey needed one, she had a perfectly adequate one with the loss of Lex, but she'd been trying to keep that to a non-stumbling, functional level of drunkenness - a thin veil of fog to protect her from reality, or whatever passed for reality on this fucking train. She'd decided against that tonight though and had been drinking in the room quite steadily. This was the last bottle of vodka she had from the resort but she couldn't see any reason to save it, she wanted oblivion, she wanted to forget everything, even Lex, especially Lex. She hated herself for letting anyone have this effect on her, there'd been so many times she'd hated being in love, but this was definitely the worse. She had no idea what to do, and the feelings seemed to be getting worse by the day. The sorrow had faded somewhat and now she was just angry, with just about everyone, which was why she was keeping to the room, away from people she was she wanted to scream at for no real reason, away from everyone apart from the one person she knew she couldn't offend. That was why he'd been her first thought when she needed to move out of her old room, because she just didn't have to strength to watch herself, and with Malcolm she didn't have to, not in the slightest and that was such a relief.
Grey had been laying in bed, in the darkness for the last half an hour, trying sleep, trying to block out all the things going through her head. Her head was spinning pleasantly, though she wasn't that drunk, she wasn't so drunk that she was crying, in fact so far she'd managed to keep her tears completely to herself, just as always. In fact she was doing a relatively good job at keep everything in, because was there to say? Who was there to say it to? And even if there had been someone she wouldn't have because it wasn't her style. Keep it bottled up, make a joke, have a drink, ignore it all until you snapped and ended up in a loony bin. It was the British way, surely?
Opening her eyes she stared up at the ceiling despite the fact she couldn't see anything, then turned to face the other single bed. "You awake?" she asked quietly, not really wanting to wake him up if he wasn't.