FICTION: The Void

So, I gave myself another thought at fictional writing and this is what I came up with. I hope you like it.

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Another Friday night, the routine repeats itself. In the public eye she was calm, cool and collected. She was the most put together person you would ever meet but behind closed doors, it was a whole other story. To her one-bed roomed apartment she'd retreat to every day. She happened to like Friday's the most because it was the beginning of the weekend. The beginning of a cycle that would temporarily ease her pain. Yes, her pain. Her pain which she hid so well that nobody was able to tell. This pain was so camouflaged that no one would ever suspect she'd be harbouring so much hurt. Hurt that slowly but surely drove her to momentary insanity when ever she was left alone.

She opens the cupboard under the sink. She looks in and sees she still has a little left. As she pulls out the remnants of alcohol she has, she wonders what brought her down this road. She was never like this. Quickly she pushes the thought aside and takes one big gulp of the brandy she just pulled out. The sting of the alcohol on her lips is all too familiar. One gulp turns to two and eventually the already half full bottle is done. 

The numbing effect starts to sink in. The daze comes in, her life flashes past her and finally she falls into a sleep.

She's panting, she's screaming, she's kicking....Finally she wakes up. Turns out the brandy wasn't enough. She walks to her bedroom and takes out the whisky she keeps hidden under the bed. She contemplates drinking it in shot glasses but thinks better of it. She wants the effect to come in quick. She wants to fill this void as quickly as she can. Gulp, she takes one quick shot of the whisky and winces as it leaves it's all too familiar burning sensation in her throat.

She's lost track of time. All she feels is the evening breeze coming through the windor she forgot to close as she came in. She'd deal with it the next day. The air would be good for her. She looks at the bottle by her side and it's nearly empty. Two more sips for the bottle and she tosses it aside.

"Get up", she urges herself. She had been too lost in her drink to realise that she was sprawled on her living room carpet. She gathers her strength and staggers to her bedroom. Without a change of clothes, she kicks of her shoes and dives on the bed. Her head is empty, the whisky did the trick. The void, for now, has been forgotten. She blacks out....