Jaida wouldn't claim to know what depression was. She liked to carry an air of unaffectedness at all times. She was tough...a street rat, a kid of the system, something as basic as a break-up wasn't about to phase her. Or so she was going to make it seem. Truth was she'd trusted Vivian far more than anyone else in a long, long time. She'd reached out and now was forced to recoil, the bite deep enough to draw blood. She refilled her glass yet again, tiny shoulders squaring against the burden they were about to take on. She didn't fucking need this....any of it. And she sure as hell didn't need Vivian. Let her leave, see if she fucking cared. She'd be just fine, she always was. Raising the glass to her lips, Jaida downed it, felt that liquid courage flood her veins. Fuck em all. She'd always taken care of herself, she was all she really needed.
A flame-colored brow just barely arched as Vivian leaned back on her bed, hands resting against the mattress so casually. Inside that anger was growing, increasing to a rate that was dangerous....either to herself or someone else. It was times like these when she tested her human limits, pushed her tolerance for substances that could easily steal her life. Right now her thoughts were drifting towards the eight ball stashed in her sock drawer. Fucking oblivion was sounding pretty good about now. "You always wanted him anyway. You're fucked if you think I didn't know that." So maybe there was a bite to her tone, but she was choking back that anger pretty fucking well. "Looks like you get to go back and be his little suck and fuck slave now. So get going all ready and get the fuck out." She nodded pointedly towards the door. "Take this shit with you, too. Give it to Henry." One booted foot shoved the keyboard at her, sent it crashing to the ground. Beside it was a box that held the other few things that Vivian had given her lately. Jaida wanted all of it, including the person who had given it, gone. Now.
"We're done." And she was too, she had nothing else to say. She turned to her dresser, refilled her drink with one hand while the other opened her sock drawer. She lifted out exactly what she was after...plastic bag, spoon, lighter...syringe. She needed just a little oblivion, just for awhile. Fuck, it wasn't like she was addicted. Besides, she liked to have a good time. She'd have another drink or two, shoot up...she'd be feeling nice and happy in no time. Well, once Vivian got the hell out.