thecapitol | I wanna drink until I ache

Entry tags:

I wanna drink until I ache

Who| Jessica & Barbie ; Jessica & Open
What| Jessica stays high all the time and interacts with people.
Where| Various.
When| Anytime after Marius' death is announced.
Warnings/Notes| Barbie gets his own thread, anyone else is welcome to tag in with one of the prompts, or your own!

It's fair to say she's getting worse. Jessica's always been a partier, anyone who knows her knows this. But lately, everything's gotten out of control. She's out at all hours dancing her life away. And when she isn't dancing, she's boozing it up, worse than she ever did before. She's distracted, unfocused, and beyond that, the only emotion she feels much of is anger. And it's far better to numb away the anger than to act on it. Even little things like shopping or getting her hair done seem hollow and pleasureless. It's upsetting. It's unnerving. And she'd much rather be drunk, thank you very much.

A ; Training

Drunk or not, a girl still has to look good if she's going to maintain her status as a high profile model and celebrity Victor. Her fortunes may have fallen, but she's got a body to keep up, so in spite of her excess, she's still up by noon and engaged in her work out routine.

B ; Shopping

Her pain can sometimes be alleviated with a new outfit or purse, and as a trendsetter, it's important that she still make some public appearances from time to time. Generally, she's quite easy to spot in her oversized diamond shaped sunglasses, blonde hair piled up, decked out in something eye catching and daring. Jessica is an attention-getter, not one to be ignored, and even on days where she feels like crap, she's going to catch people's eyes.

C ; D3 Suite

She feels most at home in the D3 suite. It's really the only place she has left anymore, as the only known living Victor of District 3. There's no mistaking that the suite is her territory; her belongings are everywhere throughout, and besides that, her image is all over magazines which litter the tables and countertops, as though her Tributes need to be reminded that their mentor is a bonafide superstar. Also littering the common areas? Empty martini glasses, bottles, and a flask or two. Not that Jessica's bothering to hide her liquor consumption from her Tributes. It's not a secret she's got a problem. They'd have problems too if they were her.

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If there's one bright spot in Jessica's dark little life, it's Dale Barbara. So warm, so loving, so alive, he's the one thing that makes her happy to exist. But she can't help but feel like she's disappointed him, and while her drinking has become apparent to her Tributes, she's done her damnedest to keep Barbie from realizing what a messy state she's in. She doesn't want him to worry, doesn't want him to feel like he's done anything wrong. It's not his fault her world is a mess. It's not his fault if he can't save her.

... Though, truth be told, she wants nothing more than to have him do exactly that.

It's unfair though, to expect a knight in shining armor will come to save her from herself. Everything is unfair. Life is unfair. Jessica can tell Barbie's trying so hard, that he loves her so intensely and regardless of her sins, but she just can't seem to love herself. It's such a disaster.

When he shows up at her room one day, she's still in bed, hungover from the night before, unable to prevent him from seeing just how bad her state has become. Her room has been torn apart, empty vodka bottles are tucked into bed beside her. Her diary lies open next to one such bottle, the words, "I hate it, I want to end it, I want my mother, I want to die" clearly visible in Jessica's scratchy handwriting. She doesn't move, just lies there motionless and barely breathing in her stupor, unable to protect herself anymore.

This is it. This is how her world will end.

Barbie wasn't stupid, nor was he blind. He knew Jessica was falling further and further into a bottle and doing everything she could to lose herself. She was out at all hours to the point it was rare for him to catch her, she hid the visible evidence from him, but it was still on her breath and in her hair and skin, he did his best for her by leaving her little notes to remind her he was there, tried to help her by doing both of their jobs, and took care of her when she passed out from too much alcohol, but he knew it was a losing battle. She was slipping away from him.

When he came into her room, he guessed she hadn't been expecting him...or maybe she'd just given up on trying, but it hurt to see. He'd known, but she'd been successful at hiding just how bad it had gotten; the state she and her room was in was an eye-opener. There'd been something he'd been thinking about for weeks now, a subject he knew he'd have to approach carefully if he was going to have any success with it, but this was the final push that let him know he couldn't wait anymore.

Barbie collected all the bottles and set them by the door so an avox he called could collect them, then he set about putting her room back together as she slept. The last thing he did was take her diary and place it, pages still open, on her bedside table. A glass of water sat where the bottles had once been and he brought it over to the table as well before climbing into her bed with her and pulling her into his lap.

"Jessica. Jess, wake up." His voice was gentle but firm, the hand that traced down her face and ran over her hair was only loving. Even if seeing her destroy herself broke his heart, he would continue to love her in spite of herself; the woman he fell for was still with him but she was sick and, if he wanted to save her, standing around hoping it would get better wasn't an option.

Another Victor with a substance abuse problem is at the training center, but unlike Jessica, he has no routine, and it was not his idea to come here. His stylists and escorts want to see him at least making an effort towards cultivating an image of strength and health, even though it's laughable; he's an obvious long-time user of Morphling and looks it, and now that he's here, he drifts aimlessly from machine to weapons-stand. He's hungover, he has a headache, he's actually alarmingly dehydrated. The last thing he wants to do is swing a spear around or lift weights with his scrawny, wasted arms.

A flask comes out of his pocket, and he tips it back in a way he believes to be discreet, using it to down two pills. He didn't arrive drunk, but it seems to be his clear intention to leave that way.

At first, she didn't react at all, didn't stir, didn't change her breathing. There was nothing. Even her dreams were empty. But then somehow, someway, his voice broke through the vast blackness of her intoxicated slumber and grabbed enough of her attention that her eyes suddenly flashed open. Vision hazy, it took a moment of blinking before she could focus on Barbie's face. Slowly, lazily, she smiled.

"Hey, baby." She lifted a heavy, uncoordinated hand to him, to cup his cheek and lure him down with her. It felt so nice to be at rock bottom. If only he would stay there with her, loving her, protecting her. If only he could. "What time is it?"

Now there's a face Jessica wasn't expecting to see in the gym. He looks so out of place, so yellow and wide eyed and stringy, sipping from his flask. She mutters something unkind under her breath, since there's nothing that makes an alcoholic so sanctimonious as staring now another addict from across a room.

Still, she knows she shouldn't judge. He's been through hell. So has she. And in a way, it's kind of nice to seek connection with someone who maybe does actually get it.

"You should drink water. Or something with electrolytes." Jessica smirks, managing to stand perfectly still somehow. "Long time, no see, huh."

"You need to stop this." There's no preamble to Albert's admonishment. He's not even sure how he would start to do that gently and he's not inclined to considering Jet's discomfort with her constant drinking. For Jet it brings horrible memories of childhood, for Albert it brings worry that this woman he's considered a friend is going to destroy herself. Together, he can't keep silent.

Without ado, he begins picking up the discarded glasses and bottled. When the Avoxes do it, he assumes she can ignore them. When he does it, he makes a point of every tinkling of glass into the trash or sink being heard. "I'm putting a stop to it myself if I have to."

"Hey." He smiled despite himself, momentarily pleased just to see she was responsive and at least somewhat lucid. His hand came up to cup hers and he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"It's late even for you. I got worried and came looking for you." He didn't mention he'd cleaned up, doubted she'd even notice, besides it wasn't the most important thing. The most important thing was finding the right mirror to put her in front of so she would recognize what was going on. Of course, he realized, there was a possibility that she already knew and was just choosing to do nothing about it. That thought scared him.

"Jess...how much- how..." Now actually trying to find the words he needed, he found it wasn't as easy to find just the right balance to get her attention. It would be so easy for her to dismiss him or even get angry with him, depending.

He pulled her up closer to him and held her close. "You were so still and so quiet...you scared me."

It's not that she doesn't care. The whole reason she's like this is because she cares too much. Life would be a piece of cake if she only were a sociopath for real, instead of pretending to be one all the time. If only she were hard. If only she could stop her soul from bleeding. That's why she drinks, can't Albert see that? The only way to numb the pain is to dilute it.

"Don't." Her voice is steady, muffled against the cushion of the sofa where she's taken up residence for the afternoon. "It's a landslide. You can't stop it."

She didn't fight him, didn't even really move as he scooped her up. She didn't need to, she knew she was safe in Barbie's arms. They were probably the safest place in the entire world. But Jessica still instinctively flinched when he spoke. She feared the admonishment, loathed the idea of him scolding and judging her. She knew she was bad; she'd been told so her entire life. If she wasn't a slut, then she was a drunk, and if she wasn't a drunk, she was an idiot, and if she wasn't an idiot... Well, she was all of those things, really. She just happened to be dressed up with a pretty face to cover it up.

"Don't be scared," she said finally, reaching up to poke his nose with her index finger. "You know me, lover. It'll be a cold day in hell before a couple of drinks'll have their way with me."

Though Linden can't hear what she's muttered, it doesn't take an imaginative genius to piece together the general gist. Fortunately, as parts of him have wasted away and gotten brittle and frail, other parts have toughened and cultivated scaly, thick armor. He doesn't remember being sensitive to dismissive remarks even when he was a spacey factory kid in District 6, and since winning his Hunger Games and making it his apparent life's work to destroy himself as thoroughly as possible, he's only grown colder and more numb to it.

Though Jessica's pretty and has taken good care of herself on a superficial celebrity level, Linden has glimpsed enough tabloids and paid her the same cursory attention he gives to other Victors. Like Jessica, he recognizes them as kindred souls, people who get the horror behind the pageantry and President.

He shakes his head, squinting at the blonde; even things that remain motionless seem to flicker and sway when he's this hungover. "Hair of the dog," he insists, taking another quick sip after glancing over his shoulder for potentially disapproving escorts. "If I manage to work up a sweat, I'll consider your advice, but..."

The way he trails off says, pretty clearly, that anyone who expects him to even touch a machine is being foolishly optimistic.

"It has been awhile. I admit, I was kind of surprised I didn't see you in rehab," he confesses, tilting the flask toward her with raised eyebrows, as if offering her a drink.

"That's because I haven't been in awhile." She tosses her head back in false laughter, though the statement makes her a little nervous. Is she really as bad as all that? She tries not to be, but she has to wonder if it's that obvious that she's fallen again.

Staring hard at the flask, she contemplates a moment before taking it and a swig. "Thanks. I try not to get wasted before noon, but it's a special occasion seeing you here, Linden dear. I'd heard you were around. Only a matter of time before we found each other, eh?"

Jessica takes another quick sip then hands his flask back to him.

"Watch me." He continues his clean up, piling bottle after bottle with finality, as if daring any more to appear. Finally, they're all out of the common area and a sizable bag is left sitting by the door, one Albert will take out himself once they're done talking rather than leave Jessica alone with it later until the Avoxes come for it. He doesn't trust her not to go digging through it for any bottles with liquid still in them.

That done, Albert moves back to the living area across from the couch, across from her, and folds his arms like a disapproving parent. "Call this an intervention. What do you have to say for yourself?"

He knows what, he know why she drinks, why she's sinking, which makes it easier to steel himself against what she might say.

She'd watched him with silent bitterness, raging bubbling up under the surface. Who did Albert think he was, forcing his way in like this? Couldn't he leave well enough alone? Her depression wasn't hurting anybody. Everyone was fine. It was all fine. She just needed to be left alone to live what was left of her life.

"I don't have to justify myself to you." She stared him down, mask of perfection cracked from months of solid grief. "I don't have to justify myself to anyone."

Her depression was hurting a few people, actually. Albert, who had to watch her slowly destroy herself. Barbie, who Albert can't imagine condoned this behavior and if he did Albert would have to have a talk with the man. Who knows, Albert could be wrong considering Jessica's boyfriend was also a Victor and held some of the same issues as his own mentor, though it's really the loss of District 3 that's triggered this descent into the bottle. But it does also effect Jet. Jet who's father was a mean drunk and took it out on him as a child, Jet who can't stand to be in District 3 sometimes now just for the smell of alcohol and litter of bottles.

Which, really, more effects Albert since Jet is supposed to be in 2 by the rules, but still.

"No?" He growls the word out, not meaning to be threatening, but certainly disapproving. He cares about her too much not to be angry, not to go for the throat so to speak. Gentleness hasn't worked, what else can he do? "Not even the dead? What would your sister think of you?"

His hand caught hers before it could retreat from his face, hoping it would catch her attention.

"It's not just a couple of drinks. You're poisoning yourself and this place, those people out there, aren't helping." He meant the Capitol citizens, but the tributes weren't really helping either. It was so easy for her to focus on them and wearing herself thin for them if she wasn't already basking at the bottom of a bottle. This wasn't the life she needed and if she kept living it, it would be far too short.

"I can't lose you, Jess, you're all I've got." His father, sister, brother, they may as well share the same fate as Jessica's own family for how little they were in his life these days. His father used Barbie's name to increase his own power, his siblings used his name to get themselves a quiet and comfortable life with whatever they wanted. The closest relationship they had was a professional one.

That wasn't Jessica. She loved him as he loved her, both of them taking what they'd done in the past and keeping it along with everything else. Neither of them were perfect but, for Barbie, she was exactly what he needed and what he wanted. She was the light in his life, the life that gave his meaning and he wasn't about to lose that without trying everything in his power to do what he needed him to do: save her.

"I need you, please stop taking yourself away from me. I want to help, so let me."

Edited (I forgot a sentence oops) 2015-01-23 04:27 (UTC)

He snorts lightly. "Good for you," is his slightly dry response; it's something that most people wouldn't really brag about, managing to remain out of rehab for longer than normal. For their kind, though, it actually is somewhat impressive. Sadly, Victors get their own standard for such things, going from celebrating the greatest triumph a Panem citizen can achieve to looking forward to the pitifully small ones... like not dying of an overdose.

He seems satisfied when she shares in the expression of his vice; the liquor in the flask is harsh stuff, brewed in District 6, acrid as motor oil. "Only a matter of time," he agrees with a twisted smile, taking the noticeably lighter flask back. "It's a noble goal, trying not to get wasted before noon, but... I mean, we're Victors. People expect it. We get a pass for a lot of things that most don't."

If he wanted her to lash out and attack him, he was certainly close to accomplishing his mission. Jessica's voice dripped with rage, disdain, and more pointedly, anguish. "My sister thought I was a disgraceful slut. My sister hated me. She hated me before the rest of you did. You wanna bring up the dead? Then bring them up! You don't know shit, Albert. You... none of you even gave a damn about them and none of you bothered to ask! My family was ashamed of me. My District was glad for the food, but I was too stupid and too eager to give myself away for them to want to claim me. So if you think you can pull on my heartstrings by conjuring up images of a happy little life back home before my world went to hell, think again. Elizabeth Wakefield was a saint. I was just her whore sister. Always have been, always will be."

Part of her wanted to play coy and cool, wanted to laugh off his concern like it was nothing. She loved being doted upon and fawned over, naturally, but seeing the worry in Barbie's eyes chilled her to the core. He was scared for her; scared enough to put himself out there like this. And that scared her. Her gut reaction said she ought to keep up the facade and pretend nothing was amiss, but she knew he knew her too well. He'd seen her struggle, seen her rise to the top and watched helplessly as she'd fallen. There would be no hiding the truth from him now.

So instead of keeping up the act of pride, Jessica started to crumble right there, hand intertwined with his. Before she could mount a defense, the tears were welling in her eyes.

"You don't understand... How can I live with myself? I'm the last one..." The only known survivor of her District, the last remnant of an entire way of life, one she'd despised and taken for granted for years. "I've been such a horrible person, Barbie. I've tried not to ruin everything, but look at what's happened!"

She face contorts at the taste of the liquor, stinging and burning on the way down. It's like death, sludge, not refined and sparkling like the stuff she's used to. She'll have to rinse out her mouth with water or juice later.

"Do we get a pass?" Jessica mused aloud. "I'm not so sure about that. I've got Samuel and Barbie breathing down my neck, reminding me that I've got a job to do all the freaking time. And I've got the worst Tributes you've ever seen, purposely antagonizing me. It's like they want my life to be a living hell, but then they flip out when I want a bottle. It's like come on, you know?"

"Your sister loved you." His tone is quiet in the face of her verbal assault. "I met her, if you recall. An interview you set up. She spoke well of you. And as for Three, I know you had happy memories there, dancing on the beach and the like. You told me about them yourself and agreed that their memory would have to live through you."

His gaze hardens, none of the compassion he'd just been displaying in his previous speech to her at all present. "And here you are drinking away your life, killing them over again, and this time there's nothing to blame but your own actions."

He stifles what he's tried to make look like a cough, but what might actually be more like laughter. With him, it can be remarkably difficult to tell, even on his best, most sober and functional days.

"Yeah. I get that. But you, and all your problems, are technically the problems of your escorts. No matter how much of a problem you make yourself, you're a Victor, and you can't be fired. That's the free pass I'm talking about... and even if they give you hell for wanting a bottle, they cannot definitively say no."

He takes another sip, expression remaining the same; he can down his District's signature hard liquor like water, at this point in his horrifying career. "District 3? Come on. You've got Nill. They can't all be that bad."

"Nill?" Jessica laughs, hair cascading over her shoulders. "I wish we had her. Nill's off in D9. I've got a bunch of troublemakers. Eponine. Terezi. Bruce Banner. Sure they've all got their merits, but they act up an awful lot too. And before them, Ian and Albert liked to throw fits all the time. It's absolutely insane what they think they can get away with. But on the other hand, it's not like I can really get them to knock it off."

"They're dead. All of them. And nothing I say or do is gonna bring them back." Jessica stared at him, eyes hard and angry. Her voice was a growl, like an animal backed into a corner ready to tear apart whoever was poking her with a stick. "So spare me the lecture and get the hell away from me. Now. Get out."

Edited (typo~) 2015-02-03 03:34 (UTC)

"Oh, right," he says, not seeming particularly embarrassed by the error. He's known for playing absent-minded at times and laying it on thickly so that people don't demand too much from him, but when he's been drinking it can admittedly be hard to tell what's faked and what's genuine, even for people who have been dealing with him for years.

"I think that any District staff feels like they'd be lucky to have her," he admits. "I wish the same thing, but... I've met Terezi and I like her. So who should I tell my District 6 Tributes to look out for?" he asks with a wink, tipping back his flask again.

"Fine," he tries to reign in his patience again, tries to get a hold of himself and not crumble down every bit of rapport he'd built with his mentor, but her behavior is unacceptable. It hurts because of that rapport, because he's brought himself to care about her and even though he finds her to be too close to the Capitol to trust implicitly (nothing that's her fault but still regrettably true) he's working with the Rebellion in part because of her. When he'd first arrived, he'd wanted to just get himself and his friends home. Then that feeling was extended to other Tributes. Now? Now he's invested in the world, wants to see the Districts free and the Capitol taken down for the sake of the surviving people of Panem. For the sake of those who'd died in Three. For Jessica's sake.

And she's given up.

He leans over her, right in her face with what's almost a snarl and would be if he had no control at all, but he's reaching his limit now with this, angry that she can't be as strong as he's perceived of her in the past. "I won't lecture you, but I will remind you that you are alive and you do have people that care if you stay that way. Don't slowly drown yourself just to spite them."

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I wanna drink until I ache

For Barbie ♥

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