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Wake up at 6am. Go for a run. Get home. Take a shower. Brush your teeth. Wash your face. Get dressed. Make a protein shake. Drink it. Go to work. Finish work. Go to the gym. Get back home. Sleep.
And repeat.
Adora’s life had all but turned into an endless pit of meaningless despair. She follows a routine she doesn’t understand in a body she doesn’t know and in a world that doesn’t care. Nothing makes sense and when she tries to make sense of it she just keeps getting deeper and deeper into this bottomless and crushing void.
She’s once again supposed to be sleeping now, something your body should be doing easily ; Adora’s apparently can’t. She’s starting to see shapes on her plain white wall. She gets up a bit, looks at her phone : no notifications. It reads 10pm.
It’s 10pm on a Friday and she’s already tucked into bed with no one by herself.
How pitiful.
She considers taking up Metamorphosis again ; nothing brings her catharsis like Gregoire Samsa’s pathetic end, but she’s suddenly craving to get out. After debating with herself for a few minutes, Adora gets up, puts on the first clothes she sees, and gets out.
Adora walks and walks and keeps walking with nowhere to go. The further she gets into the city, the more noise there is. She tries to avoid the places she knows her friends usually hangout at. They don’t even invite her anymore.
How many people can you deny before they too start to give up ?
Suddenly a deep wave of sadness washes over Adora. She looks up at the barely shining stars to keep the tears at bay.
Adora has no idea how she got in this place, in this time, in this life. Everything hurts all the time, like a slow and painful death. But she isn’t host to any cancer nor parasite, just her own unforgiving consciousness haunting her every breath and living moments.
Then, Adora realizes with deep shame that she had been alone, standing still in the middle of the sidewalk looking at the sky like a lunatic. She quickly goes straight to the first bar she crosses : The Horde. She gets in and it’s not the type of place she usually went to if Glimmer had any say in it -and she always had-, it’s perfect.
It’s a pretty chill bar : there’s some indie pop playing low in the background, not a lot of people and dim lighting. Adora slowly walks to the bar countertop in the hopes of not getting noticed as a living human, and stands there waiting for the annoyed bartender to finish with another customer. So she has time to think about what she’ll order. Adora pauses when she remembers she isn’t supposed to be eating or drinking anything after 8pm; she doesn’t remember when that became a rule.
“Hey, Princess, what do you want ?”
Adora startles at the sudden question, she doesn’t notice the pet name. She looks at the bartender, a slim, petite and beautiful woman, and immediately averts her eyes. Adora sits on the chair next to her and clears her throat : “Um… whatever vodka you have, please,” she asks looking at her fidgeting hands.
She sees the bartender pour her a drink from the corner of her eyes. “You can let the bottle,” Adora blurts out. The other girl seems to hesitate for a moment, Adora can feel her stare and she wonders why she even wanted to get out, but the bartender lets out a “sure”, puts the bottle on the counter and goes to another patron.
Adora lets out a deep breath she didn’t know she was holding, and drinks her vodka in one go. It burns, but she pours herself another one and another; slowly but surely she can feel the surrounding noise disappear. Uncertainty is draped over her, but she can pretend for a bit that it slipped away or that it was never there to begin with.
Adora hears a small “hey” piercing the fog. She thought she had managed to morph with the table she has her face pressed against, that she’d rot away in peace and it’d bother no one, she once again failed. Still, she acts like she didn’t hear it and concentrates on not moving.
“Get up Princess, we’re closing.” Oh, it’s that bartender again then, fuck does she have a nice voice.
A beautiful giggle rings in Adora’s ears. “Damn, she’s fucking thrashed.”
Oh no, she feels tears flowing down her face. Adora tries to get up (key word : tries), but the endless pit is swallowing her down ! She lifts her head reaching for help but the bartender’s gorgeous face is scrunched up in concern and her hand is getting dangerously close to the one Adora is using to keep herself upright.
“Don’t touch me,” Adora says a bit louder than she intended, and snatches her hand back. She wills her body to not collide with the ground, puts the first couple of bills she finds in her pocket on the counter then leaves.
She walks to go back home, repassing the whole disaster of an interaction she just lived through. When she arrives she undresses and goes to bed. The moment she’s wrapped in her comforter a deep emptiness downs on her.
She’s back on square one, fixating on that stupid plain white wall.
That night she doesn’t sleep, the following ones neither.
She’s lost, lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete.
After a few weeks the embarrassment fades, and a month later she goes back to the bar. She doesn’t really know why.
It’s Friday, again. 11 pm, again, and she arrives. The bartender, the same one, looks at her from across the place and Adora ignores the pang in her chest and sits in the same seat as before. The other girl comes in front of her : “ Vodka ?” Adora nods in response. Two drinks are pushed in front of her, both transparent liquids. Adora looks up at the brunette, “Water won’t hurt you, don’t end up like last time”, and she goes away to another customer once again.
Adora looks at her eaten up nails and beaten up knuckles, then at the bartender’s side profile and downs both drinks.
This time she doesn’t finish nearly unconscious but she’s still there when the bar’s closing. She comes back a week later and the week after. She doesn’t even have to talk anymore, the bartender gets her her drinks with a kind look Adora ignores every time even if it pinches somewhere deep.