Control.

Mariah could never let go, she was always keeping some part of her past with her. She wears 'Baby Doll' perfume because that was her old boyfriend’s nickname for her; she doesn't even like the smell. She wears a single string of pearls around her neck, because her dead mother always made her. On her ears, she always wears diamonds, because her comatose father told her it keeps the devil away. She wears her sister's engagement ring, because she can't bare the thought of throwing away any sort of love; she found it in her trashcan. She doesn't even choose her own clothes, her friends do. The only thing Mariah actually does for herself is drink. And when she does drink, she likes to make up for everything that she doesn't have control of in her life. She drinks triple. Quadruple. Quintuple. Then she may, or may not hit the floor.

Sure, Mariah could change all of this. But she liked not being in control of her life, she just didn't know that. It was like she was on cruise control, being led from one thing to another. One week she'd be at yoga classes, the next week she'd be kicking the shit out of some guy, trying to learn self defense. It was all a big wonderful game to her. She loved it, she was in her own little wonderland.

That's when Jason came in. He walks into the dark bar, slowly, gracefully, charmingly. Everything about him oozes glamor. Mariah was at the bar, drinking herself into a stupor. She was too busy with her head in her glass to notice him, but he noticed her. She was rocking back and forth on the wonky wooden bar stool, neon lights perfectly shadowing her face. He walked over to her and told her to slow down, she listened.

"What's your name?" Mariah asked softly.

He smiled at her, not a tinge of sympathy in it. It was a smile which she returned.

"Jason," he said.

She smiled thoughtfully, "I like that name."

He laughed, he liked her already.

"I'm glad."

They continued talking, with Mariah drinking slowly and happily. He insisted that she didn't return to his townhouse. She didn't know why, she didn't care either. She was just happy that he was there, in front of her and smiling. He then left her in the bar, again reminding her to slow down. She only smiled. This was the first person who had given her real advice. It was unfamiliar for her. Mariah asked for Jason's number, he'd laughed, and then agreed, scrawling it down onto the palm of her hand, as she gazed at him longingly. As he strutted out of the bar, she clasped her palm into a tight ball, holding onto the memory of him. And as she sat in the bar, slowly sipping on her drink, she found herself smiling again. And suddenly, just like that, she had become dependent on Jason, a stranger, whom she deeply admired.