Hearing the sound of her name, in that distinctly raspy voice of his, Meg turned her head slowly in his direction. She felt a rush of actual joy at the sight of him. Ridiculous, of course. In the past, she'd gone years between their encounters, and thought nothing of it. Now though, she thought quite a bit about being away from him and the resulting fall out. She hadn't liked it. She hadn't liked it at all. Running away, taking some time to think, it was supposed to allow her to gain some distance to sort through her feelings and decide what she really wanted to do. But all it had done was to leave her feeling alone, afraid, and strangely heartbroken. She fucked up, leaving him the way she had, but there hadn't been anything else she could do. If she'd stayed, she wasn't certain the outcome would have been any better. At least he hadn't been there to watch her drink Oakdell out of liquor. She clutched the bottle of Kentucky bourbon she'd stolen from the bar to her chest, enjoying the heady fumes that escaped from it, and clumsily tilted it back managing to take a long swallow without spilling it, but only barely. When she laughed, it was not entirely clear what she found funny. Was it herself? Was it her presence at his doorstep? Was it the look he was giving her? Even she didn't really know.
"Did you miss me, Clarence? I sure missed you."
She thought, for a moment, that she might stand and swan over to him as though nothing had happened, but though better of it as the world spun around her. How long had she been drinking? Several days, she knew that much, but she'd lost count of how many. She hadn't been without a drink in her hand in at least the last two. Or maybe three. It was hard to tell. The last thing she clearly remembered was talking to Elena. After that, the world had become a stream of bright lights, music, and an ache that wouldn't go away no matter how much she drank.