a new world hangs outside the window
beautiful and strange
it must be I've fallen awake
I must be
Buffy leaned against the damp, coarse brick building with one knee cocked and a booted foot resting on the wall under her hip. She inhaled slowly, drawing the firey ember on her cigarette to a rich, orange glow. She still felt a bit high from the joint she rolled a couple of hours ago - stoned confidence, she'd waned to herself at the time - the edge she needed to bring herself down to her first ever AA meeting.
It wasn't lost on the dark hunter that she was showing up to the meeting fucked up. But did weed really count? Her problem was alcohol, after all. The need to drink woke up her out of a dead sleep in a cold sweat. It churned through her gut. It itched away in her throat. It knocked against the back of her skull day in, day out, a desire demanding to be indulged.
Despite her acknowledgement that she did indeed, have a problem, Buffy had yet to find the willpower to forego the whiskey. In fact, she still had an open bottle in her knapsack right now... One she hadn't finished a few nights ago when she'd drunkenly skinny dipped with a stranger in a lake on the southside of town. But I digress...
She inhaled again, holding the smoke in her lungs, enjoying the fleeting but dizzying sensation of the nicotine, before she exhaled slowly. Meanwhile her heart thumped away in her chest, anxious about the minutes that were to come next. Somehow she'd have to find the courage to walk into this auditorium - an empty community gymnasium - and take a seat among a crowd of losers. She wasn't sure she could stomach it.
The last time Buffy made it to the East side of town - downtown - she'd been drugged and nearly date raped. It was Sebastian, of all people, who'd made sure she got home safe that night. The embarrassment and the shame was still a hard thing to stomach, even though nearly a year had transpired since that dreaded night. Buffy continued to struggle with her drinking ever since and probably long before. Even if she'd gone back to taking on assignments from the Council again just a few short weeks after.
She took another drag from the cigarette, feeling the heat from the dying ember at her fingertips. It was nearly out. She coughed once, twice, into her white-knuckled fist and flicked what was left of the butt into the street.
GIA BUFFY JONES