Characters: Sunny and Stas
Setting: Sunny is in Mexico, Stas is... somewhere, Thursday night/Friday morning, Cinco de Mayo, a little while after her fist fight with Hector.
Content: NSFW, language and drunkenness
Summary: Sunny drunk dials Stas



She wasn't sure what time it was, in Mexico or in California, she wasn't sure if he was awake or not and she didn't particularly care either, but that half a bottle of tequila was done and she wanted to talk to Stasi. Still covered in blood (only some of it her own), she clumsily punched in the familiar numbers and waited for an answer on the other end. "Stasi," she slurred. "I hafta talk to you," she said flopping back on the roof and stretching her arms over her head. "There are some stuffs that I gotta tell you, kay chamaco?"

He hated his stomach for turning at the sound of her voice. "Sunny," he whispered in response. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. There were too many horrible words choking in his throat, too many dark images working their way through his seriously inebriated mind. He had to remind himself to breath, to just keep breathing as he listened quietly.

"One, you are... so frustrating," she rolled onto her side and winced, letting out a sharp breath. "Fuck. But it's okay because you're my chamaco," she sighed. "B, we drink too much, s'bad. We gotta stop so much," she looked over at the bottle of tequila and wobbled it a little. "Three! And this is something I need to know because this is stupid. Why do guys always hafta like... be assholes? Always bein pushy pandas and making me crazy," she made a little frustrated sound.

"And... I lost count, do you remember where I was?" she asked, but she didn't stop to get an answer. "I miss you stupid," she sighed. "I got into a fight Stasi. It was bad," she could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and for no apparent reason she started laughing. "The fucker broke my wrist and my nose but I got him, I broke his face, I broke him for all the fucked up shit he did to me," she pushed herself up into sitting position, groaning with pain while she sat up.

She was unbelievably sore from the fight, she could feel her whole face swelling and bruising, her fists were sore, the back of her head was throbbing but she could not stop laughing and crying. "He thought he would always win but I fuckin showed him, I did. He can't win anymore. Not once! Not never! Nope. I... I'm finally free," the relief washed over her finally. "S'good right?"

He couldn't answer any of her questions; his head was swimming. He didn't want her to hang up on him; he couldn't bear to think what that might do to him. Weeks of silence and then this. Her voice, cracking and drunk, proud and broken all at once. But she wasn't broken anymore and goddamn her for that. He should have been relieved, but he was feeling some else altogether. He was feeling anger that she'd do something so stupidly dangerous without asking for help. He was horrified that she was beaten and somehow pleased at the idea. He grunted in response to her final question as silence loomed on because he couldn't do anything else without fear of losing her again.

"I didngo lookin for a fight er nothin!" she said in response to his grunt. She wanted something more from him, she wanted to hear his voice, she wanted to hear him say something. Anything. "I couldn't stop once I started though, I just kept punchin and punchin and punchin, ughhhh," she wiped her face and belatedly remembered the blood smeared on her knuckles. "Fuck shit," she wiped her face with her shirt. "I got blood all over my face," she sniffled. "My shirt's ruined, this is such a cute shirt," then she was laughing again. "Fuckin shirt... fuckin cinco de mayo. Try to ruin my holiday? No way, no fuckin way. Be all uh, I own you, no fuckin way, I'll beat him up again. I'll knock him out again. Nose? Broken. Face? Brokended. Brokener," she paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry," her voice cracked a little. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't realize right away when he started punching the wall, at least not until he heard a crack. The pain that followed was probably his knuckle. Ordinarily that kind of thing would fill him with sick delight, but the usual pleasure was immediately subsumed in horror or anger. Both emotions were mixing together until he couldn't tell one from the other. "Not as sorry as I am," he replied and then he was biting down on his horrible words again.

She was quiet for a few moments, trying to piece together any strain of logical thought, everything was jumbled and drunk though, her head was woozy. "Don't," she said quietly. "Please don't," she tried to wipe the tears from her face but they just kept coming. "I... I just had to. Don't be mad, please. I'm a mess, a big, stupid mess." It had been one of those moments when she really needed him, even if it was just him huffing on the other end of the phone. "I'm an idiot my Stas," she sniffed. "A stupid, drunky idiot and I did bad. A lot of bad, I didn't want to. Everyone is so upset, I didn't wanna hurt anyone," her fists clenched. "Cept for him," she punched the roof hard, wincing a little at the pain, she probably popped a knuckle out of place. "He deserved it."

"I made a fuckin mess. I can't explain to anyone cause then they'll know, everyone will know and I can't. How do you even tell... no, no," she grabbed for the tequila bottle and realizing it was empty she tossed it across the roof, it shattered, sending glass skittering toward the ledge. "I canna do any- anything right," she slurred. "My head's all funny and I just wanna come home."

Stas sat in silence. He wondered if she could hear his teeth grinding over the phone. He'd been a victim too, but he refused to think of himself that way. He hated her for thinking it about herself. He hated the helplessness that kind of trauma bred. He knew, theoretically, that it wasn't her fault and that she'd been forced into believing it was. He couldn't help the anger. Some of it was directed right back at himself.

"I cannot do this, Sunny," he said darkly. He wanted to hang up then and there, to have it done and cut her out of his life completely. But damn his heart, he kept the phone on and waited.

Her stomach turned when he finally spoke. "Don't leave me tonight," she knew she had no right to ask but she did anyways. "I can talk about something else, I can talk about... my fat cat Brutus, I can talk about cookies or rainbows just... don't leave me alone tonight." Her chest felt tight as she waited.

His head turned over it and he decided tonight that he could be cruel even as it cut him. "Do you not have any other friends?" He laughed and it sounded harsh and broken. "Call someone else. You are done with me." Then he did what he couldn't do before; he hung up on her. Then he rolled over and found his pill box to take the edge off.

She didn't have time to tell him that she didn't want anyone else, that she couldn't talk to anyone else as honestly, that she wasn't done with him, she had never been done with him. Feeling worse than ever she threw her phone and curled in on herself, despite the pain ripping through her body as she did so. She ached in a way that felt like she would never heal. Pushing him away had been a terrible mistake and when she needed him most, he wasn't there. "Fine," she said, crying quietly. "Fine," her voice was just as broken as it had been before the fight.

Sunny fell asleep on the roof, too drunk, too tired, too sad to even move. It was a dark, dreamless, uneasy drunk sleep that had her rolling, trying to avoid hitting the bruises all over her body. A terrible end to a terrible night.

Tags: !complete, sol garcia