* whiskey lullaby //

[jason andrew irving]

Ever since that fateful night when both Ana and Dahlia seemed to walk out of his life, Jason had become a regular here at Port O’ Call. At first it wasn’t bad. Just a beer or two then he’d head home. No, he never drove. Most of the time he’d walk there then take a cab back home. It wasn’t right next door, but it was close enough he could get there in a half hour or so when he walked. There were a few reasons he didn’t drive there; one was because he wouldn’t drive home, he didn’t even want the temptation there, and two was that his car stood out – any of his friends would know it and he didn’t want them to know he was off getting drunk. It hadn't taken him long to, well, not exactly enjoy the effects of the alcohol, but like the numbness that spread over him and he moved on from the beer. And when he wasn’t at the club, he was at home on his sofa, curled up in a ball, an almost constant stream of tears the only thing that kept him company. The only time he really left the couch was when he went to the bathroom and shower, when he went to Port O’ Call or when he decided he needed something to eat, usually nothing more than half a piece of bread. He was never very hungry anymore and the fact he hadn’t been eating a lot showed.

In fact, his entire image had changed in the short time Ana had been out of his life. His eyes were completely lifeless, the joking spark that usually had a home in his eyes was gone. They were just…blank, empty. Beneath his eyes were dark circles, since sleep hadn’t come easy; in his dreams, she always seemed to be there. His cheekbones were quite pronounced, as were all of the other bones in his body. Even with his shirt on, he could still see his collarbone almost jutting out of his skin. The wrist he had broken when he fell down his stairs was still swollen and bruised since he hadn’t gone to the hospital to get it looked at. His dark curls weren’t nearly as nicely kept as they had been and it wasn’t unusual to see him with a beanie of sorts on over them. Internally he had changed, too. His heart seemed to have turned cold and it had more protection around it than the White House. He wasn’t letting anyone in.

Even in this heartbroken state, he was still Jason. Still as sweet, polite and selfless as ever. His sense of humor was really the only thing missing, but it would occasionally show up in a darker sense. Though he had gone up to the dance floor and danced with a few of girls in his drunken state, his lips never touched theirs and when they’d whisper in his ear, inviting him to go back to their place he’d always smile and turn them down, the dance usually ending then. Even completely wasted he never took them up on their offer.

Tonight seemed to be like every other night; the music from the live band upstairs drifting down to the bar where he was sitting, the sound of announcers from some sort of sporting event that was going on humming through the TV’s and the shouts of excitement and disappointment from the games that scattered the lower floor all reaching his ears in a sort of buzzing commotion. The only thing different was that instead of walking, he had drove his silver Mercedes to the club; he hadn’t felt like walking. His dress was lacking its once-normal classy look and instead he wore a pair of grey sweatpants setting off his bright pink shirt and his glasses framed his dark, miserable eyes, the smell of whiskey obvious on his breath.

He knew what he was doing and he hated himself for it, but he kept doing it night after night. Somehow, it seemed to allow him to dull the aching, empty feeling in his heart and even if he’d wake up feeling worse than he had the night before, for a little while the pain was lessened. He knew it was only a matter of time until he did something stupid, like drinking a little too much and ending up in the hospital, or even worse, driving his car home on one of the days he actually drove it to the club. Perhaps he'd end up six feet under due to alcohol poisoning or a bad wreck. Maybe one of the ladies he danced with would be a little too persuasive and he’d wake up the next morning in her bed and he’d get a call from her a few weeks later saying he had knocked her up. Those thoughts had pushed him to stop going to the club more than once, but he always returned. The memory of the hurt look on both Dahlia and Ana's face was enough to drag him back here night after night.

Now, his speech was slurred much more than usual and a bitter laugh slipped from him as he exchanged words with the bartender before he looked around the lower level of the club, his dark eyes focusing on everything slowly. A few seats down, he watched a guy buying a younger girl yet another drink, the look in his eyes all too obvious on what he wanted to do. Even as intoxicated as he was, it disgusted Jason to see how all that guy wanted was to get in bed with basically any girl he could lay his hands on; he had been watching him the entire time he had been at the bar. It was sickening. And suddenly, he wanted his whiskey. That was the way he had been the day Dahlia had come over to see if he was okay. All he had wanted to do was have sex with her and forget why he was hurting, even for a little bit. Other than the fact Dahlia was his best friend, how was it different than what that guy down the bar was doing? He had taken advantage of Day’s kiss, just as this guy was taking advantage of the alcohol. Now disgusted with himself, he pushed the thought aside, just wanting his addiction to be fed.

words; 1,072
wearing; here
tags; madeline seymour

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[madeline rebecca seymour]

"Night! See you guys tomorrow!" Maddi called, waving to her teammates as she pushed open the door of the restaurant and stepped out into the warm summer evening. They had gone out for their weekly (or sometimes bi-weekly) post-workout dinner that night at a little Italian restaurant in downtown Salt Lake City. It was a ritual the team had started several years before, when the current seniors had been freshmen; and when Maddi and her fellow freshmen had joined the team that year, they had been eagerly welcomed into the tradition. It was one of the girls' birthdays tonight, so the restaurant they had chosen was fancier than the ones they normally went to, and they had all taken the time to dress up accordingly.

She dug her keys out of her purse, wincing a little as the motion jarred her left wrist slightly despite the tape wrapped around it. It had happened at a practice about a week ago; she had been warming up a few tumbling passes, and had gotten a little overenthusiastic. It wasn't even a difficult pass, that was exactly the problem; she'd put more power into it than she needed and overrotated the flip. Her feet had hit the floor at an angle, shooting her backward. Normally, that wouldn't have been too much of an issue; but Maddi had somehow forgotten the cardinal rule of falling in gymnastics - never, never, use your hands to catch yourself - and had stuck them behind her to do exactly that. She had come down hard on her left wrist. It was only a mild sprain, but it was enough to limit her to dance moves on the floor and beam for the past week (and, obviously, no bars or vault whatsoever). The only good thing about it was that it was the summer, so the pressure was off as far as their training was concerned, and she would have plenty of time for her wrist to fully heal before competition season was anywhere close.

Maddi opened the door of her little white Corolla and slid inside, turning the key in the ignition and turning on the radio to the local country station. She sang along as she pulled out of the parking lot and set off down the road back toward campus; while many of the dorms were closed for the summer, the athletic dorms remained open for the student athletes to continue their workouts year-round. Maddi was glad of that; interrupting training time for several months was never good for a gymnast, and while she could have trained at home in Edmond, it would have been with different people, and different coaches, and that was never as effective.

The lights of downtown SLC shone all around as she continued to drive down one of the main streets. She passed by Port O' Call, a club she'd seen many times but had never gone in herself. It seemed to be hopping that night, as always...every night seemed to be the weekend as far as Port O' Call's patrons were concerned. But as she was about to pass the building, she spotted a familiar silver Mercedes. Curious, Maddi turned into the parking lot, pulling into an empty space nearby.

Was that really Jason's car? It had to be; there weren't all that many silver Mercedes in Salt Lake City. But what in the world was he doing here at a club? He didn't drink, at least not as far as she knew; and she thought she knew him well enough to know if that had changed. But she knew about the breakup with Anabel, though she hadn't actually seen Jason since it had happened; she supposed that could explain it if he had turned to alcohol, but it certainly didn't excuse it. Shaking her head slightly in a combination of pity and annoyance, she stepped out of her car and made her way to the door.

She wasn't sure she would even be able to make it inside; she knew it was a members-only club, and she certainly wasn't a member. But as she stepped up to the bouncer at the door, ready to plead for him to let her in so that she could help a friend in trouble, she found her plea unnecessary; instead, he merely grinned at her and stepped aside. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the realization that he'd only let her in because of how she looked, but she wasn't going to complain; Jason might need her help, and any way she could get to him was fine by her.

As she scanned the main floor of the club, around the bar, she finally spotted the familiar dark head seated at the bar. Her heart sank as she watched him tossing back a drink she was sure was not his first. With a quick silent prayer for the right words to say, she carefully made her way through the crowds until she had reached him.

"Jason?" she said softly, not wanting to startle him. She sat down on the empty stool beside his, reaching out to gently rest a hand on his arm so he'd turn to face her. She had to suppress a gasp as she saw him up close...the protuding cheekbones, the unkempt hair, the careless attire...it wasn't like him at all, but she found the explanation she had feared in the stench of alcohol reeking from him. "Jason, what are you doing here?" That wasn't what she really wanted to say...she wanted to yank the bottle away from him, yell at him for being an idiot, and then drag him home before he did anything stupid - well, more stupid than he'd already done, anyway. But she decided she'd better start more carefully than that; maybe if she could get him to talk to her, she could talk some sense into him, and then she wouldn't have to yell or anything like that.

word count: 997
wearing: this
notes: almost my longest post ever...go me haha!

[jason andrew irving]

Jason could still feel Ana’s fingertips brushing against his skin, her teasing voice almost right in his ear on one of the many occasions when they had gone from their plans to his bed. He gulped down two more shots, trying to drown the memory before it could get any stronger but to no avail. He could feel not just her touch now, but her body pressing against his as the memory strengthened and he gritted his teeth together, just wanting it to go away. She had gotten him to do things he had never even considered when they were together and sure, if the memories didn’t make him want to die, he’d love them because they were of Ana, of them. When they were together. Now he was nothing but an empty, depressed shell.

Taking another shot of the liquid, the memory changed and instead of Annie straddling him, it was Dahlia and he inhaled sharply, feeling as though someone had shot him through the heart. Why had he been so stupid? If he had just controlled his pain, none of that would have happened. Or, if he had just pushed Day away from him gently, explaining how he really felt about her, then he wouldn’t have hurt her. Yes, he would still have hurt because of the break Ana had said they should take, but maybe he would have gotten the help she suggested he get and they’d be back together, as happy as ever. Hell, maybe they’d even be officially engaged. Too bad he’d never know for sure. Shaking his head as he downed yet another shot, he sighed, pushing the thoughts from his mind.

Hearing his name, the young man jumped when he felt a hand resting gently on his arm, turning to face whoever it was who approached him. He blinked a few times, taking a moment to focus on Maddi’s face, a shock of horror washing through him as he did. This was why he tended to walk instead of drive; his car was far too recognizable by his friends and this was what he didn’t want to happen, for them to see him at his absolute worst. Even he thought this whole thing was disgusting, he could only imagine what his friends would thought; not many of them were the partying type. A slight smile pulled the corners of his mouth up, though it didn’t really reach his eyes. “I think a bett’r question’s what’re you doing here.” The bartender reappeared, and Jason nodded his head when he asked if he wanted another, though he quickly shook his head side to side, making himself slightly dizzy when he was asked if he wanted one for the lovely lady sitting beside him. “No,” he said sharply. Though he knew she wasn’t the type to ever get drug into something as nasty as alcohol, and he had been like that once, he wasn’t going to give her the chance to even consider it. He would do what he could to keep his friends from sinking to the level he had.

Even drunk he knew he couldn’t avoid her questions forever. If he didn’t answer them to the best of his ability now, she’d be sure to come by his house sometime when he was sober and demand a reasoning from him then. He twisted his body to face her, his eyes dropping away from her face for a moment, catching sight of the tape on her wrist. Laughing quietly, a laugh that was nothing like the warm laugh he use to have, he sighed. “Look’at that, we match.” Thanks to the alcohol, he didn’t realize at the time, it was probably a huge mistake to bring her attention to his wrist; it was an awful sight. Had he been sober, her reaction wouldn’t have surprised him, but being completely intoxicated, it took him by surprise and he just slid his arm out of sight, his eyes falling away from her face again.

His dark, bushy eyebrows furrowed as he looked at what she was wearing, confusion clear in his glazed over eyes. “Were you plannin’ on comin’ere?” a sharp, disapproving tone was in his voice behind the slurred speech. He sighed, tipping back his head and downing the newest shot placed in front of him before turning back to face her, his wrist still clearly out of sight for a reason. “I mean, you look nice an’ all, but you shouldn’t come to a place like this. See ‘im?” he dipped his head towards the guy at the end of the bar he had been watching, his dark curls falling in his eyes as he did so. He was still working his “magic” on the pretty young girl. “He preys on girls like you and if he wants it bad enough, nothing’s gunna stop him.” He worked on enunciating his words so only a few of them slurred together that time, a look of disapproval overcoming the drunkenness in his eyes for a moment. The look turned to concern as he looked into her eyes, studying her carefully to get the image of her in his mind. “I don’t want you to get hurt ‘cause of me.” Shaking his head, he exhaled slowly. There were already two people hurt because of him, excluding himself. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if there was a third one who got hurt in a more physical way all because of something he did, or in this case, somewhere he was.

words; 922
wearing; here

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