light sexual mentions TW (this story is rated mature!) (the typos here are probably on purpose)

When I wake again, my head hurts with the intensity of a million suns, and doesn't want to stop. My leg is not at its best, either, although I can walk, but not far and definitely not fast. 

It takes minutes to rise, leaning on a tree I just barely missed in my epic fall. The motorcycle has crushed itself against the brick wall of a building with a sign labeled 'Micky's tavern'. 

My head swims, and I half-expect Mickey the Mouse to appear in the entryway. 

But it is empty, as are the rest of the buildings, and I recognize the name, of course I do. The bar is well-known for its harsh rules against underage drinking and fake IDs, so I've never been inside, but I've heard stories of the owner, not Micky but his son, Liam, kicking drunk and violent customers to the curb, the door quite literally hitting them on their way out. 

Said door swings wildly as I push my way through it, hitting the wall multiple times, where the paint is already chipped from years of slammed doors and angry patrons. 

Inside is bad, but not the worst it could be. Chairs are overturned, but the rat population hasn't seemed to have made its way in yet. 

My head swims yet again and I lean heavily on the bar counter, and then push myself back to my feet because I can't let myself fall like that. I have to find something, food, probably, but maybe alcohol too, to get this ache out of my head, and then I can go on. Then I can find mom and we'll both be safe and everything will be amazing. 

I move to the other side of the bar, looking around, eventually finding a cup. What little food was stored down here has rotted by now, but thankfully, no animals have come to collect. 

I find the line of little nozzles beside the counter and place my cup below one, pushing down. Beer pours out somewhere else, but I'm quick to move the cup there, filling it slowly. 

I take it like a shot, stopping halfway out of pure necessity, continuing once I can. It stings my throat and leaves a terrible taste on my tongue, but when I close my eyes tight enough to make those little floating spots appear in my vision, the ache does not flare. 

A sigh releases from my lips and I fall to the floor, leaning against the wall the same way I had been just yesterday, with Jamie. 

Jamie. I feel bad, now--for leaving him like that, for explaining nothing, for stealing the key. It was a necessity, and I would do it again if given the chance, but as a human being with feelings, I feel bad, of course I do. 

I tell myself I can't imagine how Jamie must be feeling right now, but the truth is that I do not want to imagine. What did he think when he woke in the morning to find my bed empty? Did he search the basement corridors, calling out my name? Did he eventually venture upstairs, finding the broken computers, fearing the worst?

Or maybe he'd played me the same way I'd played him and he had never cared at all. It would make sense, really--he obviously wanted me to know about the key, and to know that he had it. Maybe he'd just wanted a pretty girl by his side, if only for a few hours. Maybe he'd just wanted a pretty girl on his dick, and he's playing the long game. 

I force the thoughts from my head because they're distracting and I really can't dwell on that right now. I need to brainstorm ways on getting out of here, of which there are many, so it can't really be that hard, right?

I could walk--but that's dangerous, what with the freezing temperatures that drop even lower during the nighttime. I could steal another bike, but honestly, my two motorcycle experiences thus far have left a bad taste in my mouth and I'd really prefer not to.

A car is my best bet. A car I probably won't crash, and if I do the consequences wouldn't be quite as bad. 

My eyes follow a trail of pain down to my cast, which lies limp on the floor before me. I feel the sudden urge to rip it off, to free my itching leg, but bury that deep within my chest because while destroying computers can do no harm in an abandoned world, ruining this cast that could very well save my leg definitely could. 

A deep breath settles the fear roiling in my stomach, although it is not completely gone. It reminds me that my mother is out there somewhere, probably thinking her only daughter is dead. That I need to find her soon, soon, soon. 

"Get yourself together, Sadie," I tell the empty room, and push myself back to standing with one hand on the wall and the other on the bar. Wind swings the door open again and I jolt, head turning so fast it almost gives me whiplash. 

There's nothing there, no one come to save or murder me, but my heartbeat doesn't seem to get the message. 

I move to the bar again, this time taking one of the bottles off of the shelf up on the wall, without checking the label. The clear liquid flows down my throat, leaving a sting and a bad taste behind. It doesn't help my head whatsoever, but the disoriented feeling has heightened, my vision swimming. 

Taking another bottle with me and watching one fall to the floor in a glass-littered mess, I make my way to the seating, collapsing in a chair that looks like it might as well collapse itself. 

I look around, and the bar does a little jig right before my eyes, flipping and spinning and falling to the ground in a dramatic finale. 

My eyelids follow suit, falling with it, head lolling against my chest. Moments later they are open again, staring down at my heavy winter jacket. 

I strip it off, throwing it to the ground with a dirty look. I let in marinate in its own imperfection as I stand yet again, stumbling back over to the bar, filling up my cup and downing it again. 

A pain throbs behind my temples, returned once again, this time probably probably for good. "Go away," I tell it, but it doesn't want to listen to me. 

"I don't want you here," I say out loud, talking into the mirror, to my headache but maybe just a little bit to myself, too. 

I watch my chest move up and down for a few seconds. I don't have freckles, but I wish I did. My skin is clear but dry and red, my waterline permanently stained with the tears I will never let fall. 

They hang in my eyes even now, stinging and stinging and stinging, but I don't like them and so I endure. 

Crying makes me feel terrible. It reminds me that I am not a perfect person, far from it, and that some things have power over me, whether I'd like them to or not. It reminds me of my father, too; his tears that were replaced by alcohol and sarcasm. Maybe I am like him, but is that really something to be ashamed of?

I don't think it should be, and so it isn't. 

Oh, but I am tired. But my eyelids are heavy, so heavy, but when did my eyelashes start to feel like that? So I close them, and the darkness creeps in, but this time it is not quite so dark. It is full of moments, good and bad, all together a life. They mix and mix and mix until they are one, and then I fall asleep. 

here's the next chapter! ik it's taken me forever to update but some stuff has been going on in my life and I've really just had no motivation. love u all and I hope you liked it <3