"A little," Meg responded after a moment's thought. She knew the effects wouldn't last though, but she'd never actually tried to push herself to the point of finding just how much it would take to knock her on her ass. She'd never needed to. Now though? She felt deliciously sleepy, an odd sensation that reminded her of the last time she'd allowed him to have her power. She'd fallen asleep then and it hadn't exactly ended well for her. Well, in one respect anyway. Though it had confused her at the time, thinking back on the way he'd tried to comfort her brought a smile to her lips now.
"I only went back once," she answered truthfully. She'd walked through her door, seen her bed, turned around, and walked back out. Seeing it there, empty without him, had filled her with the kind of rage that hadn't really plagued her since her time under Crowley's knife, but it wasn't directed at someone else this time. It was directed at herself. That was when she'd slunk to the first bar and set out on her mission to dull the ache in her chest and maybe forget, for a little while, just how much she hated her own weakness. She wasn't sure, even now, if that weakness was in loving him or in being afraid of him.
His hand on her wrist almost seemed to burn. Setting her bottle down carefully on the ground, she swung her feet off the lounge chair and attempted to stand. Her balance was chancy and she wobbled unsteadily.