taylor johnson (iminthefastlane) wrote in savingthegames, @ 2014-05-22 00:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | edith olson |
Who: Eddie and Taylor
What: Someone is drowning her miseries and being way to open with her bartender about her problems.
When: Wednesday, May 14th - Early evening
Where: the Rails
Warnings: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, self-harm, suicide, sex, swearing - the whole shebang
Status: Ongoing
Taylor was having the day from hell. Worse than the day from hell, even. Never in her life had she ever felt so pathetic and small. Not even on the worst days, when she’d sold herself for money so she could buy food or drugs while she’d been living on the streets her first few months in New Waverly. Not even when she’d let her landlord do anything he wanted, things that had made her cry later, just so she could live in that cockroach infested dump. Not even when she’d tried to kill herself when she’d been a teen. None of that even came close to comparing with the feeling of knowing that she’d been born a twin, that she’d had a family once, and that she’d been given away while they’d kept her other half. Amber. Who Taylor was sure was just perfect. Mind already building an entire other life for her blonde carbon copy, filling in blanks and creating stories that probably weren’t true. But in her mind? That other life, the life she’d never got to lead, was all roses and sunshine. Full of love and comfort, things Taylor had never known.
Today was bound to leave scars on her, ones that no one would know existed but her, the wounds healing slowly - maybe even not at all. The only remedy she’d ever found that worked for forgetting they existed at all was to get on another level, even though she knew the aftermath wasn’t always pretty. That sometimes the come down from the highs just made everything worse. But in the moment, it made everything better, and that’s all she really wanted. An escape in the form of further self destruction, because if there was one thing Taylor had ever been good at, it was fucking her life up. Proving to the world that she was exactly the miserable mess they all thought she was, useless, stupid, not worth anyone’s time, not the kind of person anyone could ever even love. So she wanted to get drunk. Or high. Or fucked. Anything to numb the pain and put her in another state, one that wouldn’t feel like razorblades carving into her heart the way she used to use them to carve her pain into her skin.
Because her manager had given her the go ahead to take the rest of the day off work, Taylor had jumped on the opportunity. Too messed up in her head and heart to continue on, knowing full well if she’d stayed she’d have likely screwed up every transaction. Perhaps even embarrassing herself by bawling at the register. Thankful that Debbie had recognized she’d need some time, even if she was letting her manager keep the assumption someone in the family had died, Taylor had left Target immediately following Amber’s departure. Grabbing what little she’d brought with her to work in the first place - a small makeup bag, her wallet, keys to her apartment - and hopped on a bus that took her home. Home to that unfinished bottle of flavored vodka she’d gone to bed with the night before. Not nearly enough to sate her thirst, but she’d wound up crying and throwing the bottle at the wall anyway. Letting her pain bleed out of her in the form of tears and ragged sobs she was sure her neighbors could hear.
Once she’d gotten herself somewhat together, hours later, Taylor had fixed her face as best she could, not really bothering to do much of anything with herself beyond slapping on a pair of jeans she knew made her ass look killer and a shirt that showed enough cleavage to capture attention. Presentable enough, but when it came to bars and men who’d had their fair share of alcohol she knew it didn’t matter all that much. Certainly she’d looked worse and still done just fine for herself. The real trick would be keeping all those sloppy emotions tucked away for the night, because she didn’t want to be that girl. Drunk and crying to anyone who would listen, spilling her sob story to whatever poor slob was unlucky enough to have fallen into her clutches. Telling herself the entire way to the Rails that she’d been hurt worse than this, lying to herself, assuring herself that if she’d managed to get through all that without making a fool of herself by being an overemotional little bitch in public, she could certainly get through this.
It worked well enough, enabling her to walk into Bugsy’s like it was just a regular night on the town, even if it was a Wednesday. Causing the small thought that only alcoholics and deadbeats - like so many of her foster dads - drowned their sorrows in the middle of the week to pop up, just long enough for her to promptly shove it to the back of her mind and bury it. Instead choosing to head straight for the bar and the extremely attractive bartender behind it whose name she didn’t know, which just meant she wasn’t giving Bugsy’s enough attention when it came to her bar rotations. Taylor was doing fine, really, until she glanced over and caught sight of a blonde with bangs talking to a man in the corner. The image causing her to do a doubletake, eyes narrowing until she saw that no, it wasn’t Amber - of course not. A place like this didn’t match what she’d seen of her sister. A woman like that wouldn’t be caught dead in a bar on a Wednesday night, probably not even any night. Probably preferring to stay home drinking red wine or some fancy shit that was the opposite of anything Taylor had a taste for.
Feeling low and miserable, she turned to the pretty bartender and sighed, “Can I get three shots of… whatever the fuck is your favorite.” She didn’t even care what it was, having the whole night to drown her sorrows.