song_tra_bong | (no subject)

She can't decide if she wants to punch him or cry.

"How many?"

She'll be damned if she's just giving him the whole bottle.

His head jerks in a mild convulsion and he tries to catch his breath properly to calm his heart down.

'Two'.

She hands them over, then snaps the lid back on the bottle.

"Lemme get you some water."

His concentration focuses entirely on not dropping them and he doesn't care about water. Dry-swallowing is fine and it's a bit of a relief, if he's honest. Something definitely isn't right but a couple of downers should fix it up.

''nks.'

"You're welcome."

The bottle goes into her back pocket, and she runs a hand through his hair.

"...what the fuck, Ramon?"

Her hand feels nice. It's also a touch depressing and he just shrugs one shoulder.

'Fun.'

She laughs, soft and a tough bitter.

"Looks like it."

'You my mother?'

His head is starting to calm; the valium wont have had time to kick in yet but the knowledge that he's taken it is enough to get rid of nerves and lower the adrenaline.

Her laughter is lighter this time.

"If I am, you've got serious problems."

'Mmmm.'

He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath. Better.

'Drink?'

"How about that water?"

If he thinks she's letting him mix coke, valium and tequila, he's got another thing coming.

'How about that tequila?'

His expression is belligerent already, he fucking knew she'd start to give him shit.

'It's my birthday.'

"And you've got enough drugs in you to choke a horse," she counters.

'Your point?'

Now he wants to drink just to piss her off.

She wants to break the bottle over his head.

Instead, she stalks back over to the door and retrieves it, twisting the top off and taking a long drink.

"Here."

She sets the bottle down maliciously hard on the dresser.

'Thanks,' he says, matching her malicious tone with his sarcastic one. He reaches for the bottle and also takes a long drink, eyes on her as he does.

She glares back, arms folded under her breasts.

He puts the bottle back down when he's finished (going to regret that in a minute) and doesn't look away from her.

'Well?'

"Well what? You've got booze to go with your drugs. Looks like you're set."

She almost adds don't even need me here, but changes her mind.

(shouldn't leave him alone)

'What's your problem?'

He scowls, genuinely not getting it. She's never told him outright that she's adverse to drugs, though he has picked up on it a bit.

She doesn't do them, other people do--you don't grow up in the sixties without getting something of a thick skin as far as drugs are concerned.

What does bug her is how she's not sure if he's trying to kill himself or if he's just a moron.

"Nothing."

It's not terribly convincing.

He's pig-headed. So probably more moron than suicidal but he's easy on the latter as well at this point in time.

'Fuck nothing. Spit it out.'

"Fine," she snarls.

"You get coked to the gills to find how much it takes before you pass out and die on the goddamn floor, or were you just bored?"

'Does it matter? It's none of your fucking business.'

He growls it at her and grabs the bottle again in defiance. Even after another large mouthful, he doesn't put it down.

'I can do whatever the hell I want. You don't get to give me shit about it.'

"I don't get to--So I should just let you get yourself killed?"