charlie parker has the inside scoop (seekandsearch) wrote in ofourowndevice, @ 2013-05-11 15:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | 07-04-13, charlie, finley |
you lost your self-esteem along the way
WHO. Finley & Charlie
WHERE. Ignite
WHEN. approx. 3am
It should be said that Finley McKnight could hold her liquor.
Could being the operative word. The truth was, she hated to drink. It brought bitter memories of her mother to the surface, which made her drink to forget. Once she started drinking, it was a vicious cycle that only ended when she blacked out. She'd never admit to having a problem, though. She didn't drink all of the time; in fact, it was only when she was truly distressed that she wanted to imbibe. Tonight was a pretty good example of that.
Fortune, fate, whatever it was, had intervened and wouldn't allow her to leave. Phone lines were down. Again. Miles to the nearest anything. That's what the front desk clerk had said. So her room was comped again. 'Sorry for the inconvenience,' she had been told. And what a fucking inconvenience this was turning into. Finley was ready to go. She wanted to check in with the local authorities, get her bags, and then continue on her way to finding her sister. Wren. Now that brought up thoughts that just refused to get out of her head and that was becoming more of a nuisance than an inconvenience. Where was Wren? Every second wasted added extra distance between them.
She needed to find her sister; she was so close. How could she stay here and let that distance grow? She felt sick to her stomach thinking of how close she was to finding Wren. And as always, the dreaded afterthought bubbled up. What if Wren couldn't remember her? Over a decade had passed since they last saw each other. What if Wren left her on purpose? Just abandoned her without a second thought? But what if that was not the case at all? What if Wren was hurt? What if her sister had fallen victim to a crime?
Finley was going mad with those thoughts, a feeling she knew too well. Images of her sister's mangled form and dead, vacant eyes tormented her. She was reminded of past cases, both solved and unsolved. Wren was turning into the hardest case she'd ever faced. And she was too close to it. She knew that; that was oen reason why she'd taken Wren's case without approval or alert.
She needed to get the godawful thoughts out of her head. And the best solution for wiping out a train of thought? Alcohol.
The way Finley figured, if she wasn't paying for a room, then she might as well pay for one night of getting black out drunk. She had spent the last -- how long had it been? three hours? four? -- she couldn't even remember what time the clock read when she walked into the bar. Ignite -- that was the name, wasn't it? What a name for a bar. Finley had lost count of the number of whiskey sours she had decimated long before she lost track of the time, but the barkeep had not. He was restless and ready to turn in for the night; he also was losing patience with new guests choosing this bar to drown their sorrows.
So he tried to cut her off.
She ignored him and reached over the bar to grab whatever nearest, muttering something about paying him in the morning when she was sober enough to pay off her tab. She didn't see him pick up the phone and dial the number to security, but he continued to try to talk her out of drinking. When he said that he thought it was time for her to leave for the night, Finley lost her temper completely.
"I want to leave," she shouted and banged her fist on the bar. "Just want to walk right out the fucking door and on with my life, but this geographical oddity just can't let me." She pushed herself off of her stool, stumbling such that she had to hold onto the bar for support. "No working phones, miles away from everywhere else. Screw this. You want me to leave? Fine. See me fucking disappear." Her rant would have been more intimidating if her words weren't so slurred and a sober Finley would have noticed the security man approaching her.