Three hours later....
The appointment time was quickly approaching by the time Brenda stopped crying. She didn't actually care, but if she didn't make it on time, then her sponsor would come to her house to see all of the empty bottles littering the floor.
The jail time that would follow suit would be far too much of a hassle. She needed to keep up appearances that she was okay while getting blackout drunk almost every night. It helps me, she would rationalize to herself. After imbibing enough to make lesser people vomit, I'm the life of every goddamn party I go to.
Most importantly, it helped her to forget being abandoned. Again.
"Fuck him. I don't need him. Or anyone, for that matter. We're all born to die alone!" She climbed up the counter and started toward the bathroom, determined to prove to him that she could live quite easily without him.
Getting ready wasn't as painless as she had hoped it would be. The one time they brushed their teeth together had cemented the image in her brain. She saw his visage in the mirror standing beside her, and almost yelped in surprise, before squeezing her eyes shut and turning away from the mirror.
Once that ordeal was overcome, she stripped and gingerly stepped into the shower. The scalding water was bliss, but she barely had the strength to wash herself, so her hair wound up half-washed. She didn't care in the slightest, deciding on a low ponytail and a hat. The middle of winter was secretly her favorite time of year for exactly this reason.
Ignoring his ghost when it arrived to caress her like he used to during their showers, Brenda did the bare minimum to be able to say she washed up. Despite the brevity of washing, it was another hour before she was back out of the shower and in her room, deciding what to wear. It wasn't difficult: jeans and a t-shirt. No socks, no underwear, and a bra only because she didn't want lascivious stares.
"Right. Life sucks, then you die. Let's get this train wreck out of the way, so I can come back here and get proper shnockered."
As she stalked through the house, eyeing each empty bottle strewn about on the floor, Brenda became more and more apprehensive. Her gut was telling her not to leave the house today, but it had already been four days since the last time she saw the outside world. Or was it five? Fuck it, who the fuck fucking cares, right?
Passing through the front door turned into a trial all unto itself, for the gut instinct seemed to almost turn into a sense of dread at the thought of leaving her house. The door was open, and she patted herself on the back for even getting that far, but it wasn't enough.
Summoning all the strength she had, she went to the other side of the room, faced the open archway, steeled her resolve, and ran, eyes closed and chanting "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!" as she barreled into what felt like, to her, a brave new world.