when I wake up | {nyte}

[dars]

ADELE SANTIEGO

[presto] " GOT A SECRET, CAN YOU KEEP IT? SWEAR THIS ONE YOU'LL SAVE BETTER LOCK IT IN YOUR POCKET TAKING THIS ONE TO THE GRAVE " [/presto]

There was something to be said for the way the detention center had altered her life. She had gone into it a frightened little girl, ashamed of what she had done, and came out a hardened woman, ashamed she had been caught. She almost enjoyed the looks she got, the whispers of: "That's her! That's Adele!"

"That's the girl that was spying on the Peacekeepers!"

That was not true, necessarily. She was not spying: she was learning. If the dumbasses had taken the time to read her journal they would have seen the notes.

"-- Forceful hand
-- Power in numbers
-- Shoot to kill"

But she was punished all the same, wasn't she? She was punished by the people she idolized simply for idolizing them, which seemed like a joke to her. It seemed like a joke to everyone she bothered explaining it to, in fact, but mostly she didn't care. The new aura that was created around her, the new feelings people felt when they watched her walk were sort of thrilling in a dangerous sort of way and addictive in a way that was just strong enough to keep her high from it.

She made a show of doing what was expected of her: Smoking cigarettes, attending parties, drinking. And to her own shock, she liked it. She liked being normal. She liked feeling like one of those teenagers who did something despite the chance of ending up behind bars instead of trying to be the people that put them there.

Which is why she found herself sitting in a bar with Ada. It was obvious she was uncomfortable. Hell, Adele couldn't blame her. Adele was changing in a way Ada wasn't okay with, and part of her hated that Ada's love turned out to be so conditional. The other part of her hated that she was no longer the one person Ada wanted to spend all her time with. "Loosen up," she said, nudging her friend. "You haven't even finished one drink!"

"I actually don't feel well. I think... I think I'm gonna head home early."

Adele watched as her friend (they were still friends, right?) stood and gathered her belongings. "Sorry." and just like that, she was gone.

Adele rolled her eyes. Fine, if Ada wasn't going to accept who she was, she would find someone who would. And if things went the way she planned, validation would come in the form of the cute boy a few seats down.

He already seemed thoroughly drunk, which was good. She sometimes hated how long they wanted to wait around before they had swallowed enough liquid courage to take her home. "I won't bite," she promised when she caught him shooting her a glance.

"It's Adele. Adele Santiego."

ϟ
table by zoe

[[nyte]]

W R E N

It's not like I don't know that I have a problem. For a fact, I think I know this better than any of the eyes stuck to my skin, bartenders and waitresses who recognize me from the night before (and the night before that and the night before that and the night before that...) They don't kick me out, they don't say much of anything to me because I am quiet and that does not change, no matter how drunk I get. My brows are still furrowed, my heart is still heavy. I am the same outside as I was when I walked in sober and sat myself upon dark oak, holding up a finger for whatever was their strongest that night.

But inside, inside I am free. There are no feelings, no thoughts to push the weight of the world down onto my shoulders and I can forget how my heart is broke beyond repair and how fucked up I might just be because right now all I can thinking about is the pretty girl sat a few stools away. It's not just alcohol that I might be addicted to. I think I have a bad habit of needing things, needing people, who are bound to hurt me. Because I hate to be alone, trapped with my thoughts and trapped with my memories. There is so much I need help to forget.

My eyes fall to her too many times throughout the night, more and more hypnotized by the prospect of touch the drunker I get. I've been very bad about getting drunk and getting fucked recently, too much on my mind. Too much of one person on my mind. (I take another shot to forget them. And two more after that because it's not working.) I think that I keep hoping she'll say something and then I won't have a choice. I guess pretty people intimidate me, just the slightest bit.

And she does, she says something I can barely make out through the pounding of music replacing my heartbeat. "I don't bite." I move closer, settling in a recently abandoned seat next to the pretty girl whose name is apparently Adele or perhaps that is what she is telling me. I don't care which. I don't think I'll ever find out which. (The prospect doesn't bother me.)

"Adele," I repeat her words, savoring them on the tip of my tongue and leaning closer to her, one side of my mouth sewn into a loose grin. "'m Wren. Don' worry about the biting. I bite enough for the both of us." My grin turns broad as I lean backwards, knocking back an idle shot that had somehow made its way in front of me but it won't do anything. I can't get drunk as easy as I used to. Not the proper kind of drunk, anyway.

"Joking, of course. What brings you here?"