pups_dt (pups_dt) wrote in morningstar_mnr, @ 2011-03-07 09:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | jazz |
Apt. 229, Early early Sunday Morning, Jazz
A door slammed. A woman’s soft sob was quickly stifled.
Jazz huddled in the dark, the door to her back, hoping she hadn’t woken Cleo.
She wasn’t ready to face to her sister. She needed time. She needed....
“I can’t do this.”
What she needed she couldn’t have. Not anymore. Time would have to do.
If she hadn’t woken Cleo.
“I need space.”
Booze had made her bold, daring, even more confident than usual...and it had sent her upstairs determined and ready to fight for an answer. Now she had one...and now the booze made her feel weak and clumsy as she pushed off her heels and tried to tiptoe past her sister’s room.
Yes. The alcohol. Not...not the other.
For that she just needed time. A few hours. Then she’d be okay. She could put on a happy face and no one need know.
“Please leave.”
She slipped into her room, pausing just for a moment to moan exasperatedly when her dress got caught in the door. Freed, she dropped her heels in an empty corner and slunk toward the bathroom.
She had a list: shower (he hadn’t touched her, but she could smell him...that mix of cologne, leather, and cigar smoke that was him), toilet (she felt like she was going to throw up), and sleep (just a few hours was all she needed).
Then she would be okay. She would go to work, come home...do what needed to be done.
It would be like any other day.
And no one need know she felt like she was breaking.
Shattering.
Into a million, dull little pieces.