[ slight SMUT WARNING but it's not that graphic. i've been in an off mood and couldn't get my heart into it. sorry guys ]
☆︎
YOU KNOW WHAT? YEAH. BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT MICKEY. BECAUSE EVEN AFTER HE KILLED MY BEST FRIEND AND SO MANY OTHERS, EVERYONE IN MY LIFE IS ALWAYS GONNA HAVE TO COMPETE WITH SOMEONE BURIED IN KENTUCKY.
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☆︎ FEBRUARY 2ND, 2000 ☆︎
After an annoyingly long day on the Stab 3 set where Indiana felt like her free time was wasted, she and the rest of them were finally allowed to leave the studio. And when the horde of reporters just past security crowded around her to try and answer questions about Cotton's death, Indy just flipped them off while Sophia shouted profanities to try and make their soundbites useless.
Now, Indiana was laying in her bedroom, drinking from a bottle of Coke that she filled halfway up with Rod's hidden stash of rum for his clients that were of legal drinking age while she watched the parking garage episode of Seinfeld on the TV. Despite waking up to Cotton's death, which she was a little happy about, the day had continued to go downhill — all day, she could feel Mark's green eyes boring into her any time they crossed paths, and it was so goddamn hard to ignore him.
At least she was alone, locked in her room and eating a nutritional dinner of potato chips and a rum and coke. She told everyone else to just not bother her until she was in a better mood, not wanting to snap at them just because she was angry at Mark and feeling sad about Mickey — though, that last one wasn't a new feeling.
It couldn't have been Mickey on that answering machine. She'd tried to forget about it, but now that she was alone and in his sweater that she'd thrown on as soon as she got out of a hot shower, it was impossible not to think about it. Indiana ran her thumb across the locket around her neck, fighting the urge to open it after so long, a small part of her ashamed to admit that she was hoping Mickey somehow survived.
The part of her that would be tempted to leave everything and everyone behind if it meant he would knock on her door — The Woodsboro Killers, Virginia, Sidney, the dreams she was finally accomplishing.
And that thought just made her groan in disgust at herself as she took a large drink, knowing she couldn't be so pathetic for the rest of her life. She had to start listening to Jackson and Sophia and Dr. Swain, or she'd drive herself crazy — crazier, she supposed.
A knock at her locked door finally pulled her from her dark thoughts that any of her friends would've hated her for if they knew about them.
"I said leave me alone," she called out before shoving more chips in her mouth. "They're about to find the car!"
