Allie

Alyssa was once more sat in the directors seat, watching as the images in her head came to life. It was the most rewarding part of the job, she thought. She was deep in thought when her phone buzzed next to her. She took it out and checked the sender. It was Pete. She rolled her eyes and focused her attention back on the actors. If she had any rules at all for directing, it was give the cast and crew full attention when filming. She would not turn out like all those others, the ones that didn’t look after the cast, that didn’t care about the film. It was not who she was, and she vowed it never would be. Once the shooting was over she called Pete, not bothering to read the message.
“Hey, did you get the text?” he said, sounding anxious.
“Yup, didn’t read it though.” she heard Pete let out a growl of frustration.
“Spit it out, Wentz” she continued when she didn’t get a response.
“Look, I know that- err-”
“Pete give me the phone for fucks sake!” she heard a female voice interrupt him.
“Hey Lyss, it’s Meg.” A suddenly familiar voice came on the line.
“Oh my god! It’s been ages, how are-”
“Save the bullshit, I know you know that you’re not gonna like what Pete is gonna say, but at least let me explain it to you over dinner tonight, since Pete is totally useless when it comes to awkward conversations..” Alyssa mulled it over for a second. So Pete wants to tell her something, but she’s not going to like it. It was obviously about Patrick, but maybe it was worth hearing him out, since Meagan obviously cared enough to interject.
“Fine. Pick me up at 8”
“Where the hell from, Lyss? You changed your address!” Meg practically yelled down the receiver.
“Dude, watch the PMS. I'm doing you a favour, remember? Pick me up… from the studio.” She knew that Pete would give Patrick her house address and he’d come over. Although maybe that was what she wanted, really. She couldn't lie to herself and tell herself that she was over him, but she sure as hell tried. She didn’t want to love him.
Meagen paused for a second before answering.
“You’re right, sorry. I’ll see you then. Wear something fancy.” and with that the model hung up.

Which led to Alyssa sitting down in the shower, too weak to stand as the now cold water ran down her skin.
The moments after the kiss were blurred, and somehow they made it to the bed. What Patrick hadn't realised was how Alyssa’s tears stained the tears. She knew. She knew that he wasn't thinking straight. She knew it wasn't what he wanted, but she was too weak to stop him. She knew he’d regret it, she knew that he’d realise that he had no feelings for her, but her feelings for him stopped her from doing the right thing, and she hated herself for it.
Alyssa woke in the morning completely alone. She pulled on a robe and started to walk down the stairs when she heard a voice coming from the kitchen.
“I'm sorry! Look- I know I messed up, trust me, I know.” Alyssa felt her heart begin to crumble as she imagined who he was on the phone to.
“No! No it’s nothing like that. It means nothing- she means nothing. It was a mistake. Look, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later, okay? Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. Bye.”
Alyssa slowly walked down the stairs, tears streaming once more.
“Get out.” She whispered, staring Patrick straight in the eyes.
He opened his mouth to respond but she cut him off again.
“Get out!” She shrieked and shoved him toward the door. “Just get out!”
Eventually he left, protesting with pitiful “Lyssa wait! Just wait a second!”s before she slammed the door in his face, like she should have done the night before.

Alyssa had on her favourite dress, one she hadn't worn in years. It had sat at the back of her closet like a discarded Barbie doll, banished from a teenager's bedroom for fear of looking too young. That's why Alyssa hadn't worn it in so long. It made her look younger. She was fast approaching thirty, and she was tired of people treating her as if she were an incapable toddler. But on this particular night, she wanted to look younger. She wanted to remind herself of how it felt to be free. How it felt to be innocent. How it felt to be fine.
It was a sleek red number, cutting off at mid thigh. It suited her well, especially when paired with her lustrous brunette hair styled into loose curls, like a waterfall down her back. The dress was backless until just above her Coccyx, just managing to display her 'save rock and roll' tattoo. She's got it before the hiatus, because she genuinely felt it needed saving. But of course, everyone believed it had appeared during her albeit short relationship. It was something they'd laughed about many times; how ironic that it was Alyssa who needed saving in the first place.
She shuddered and started on her make-up but before she could apply any mascara, a tear fell from her eye as the memories fought their way to the front of her mind.

Alyssa slammed the door and immediately collapsed on the other side, away from the cruel man she had once loved. Who she still loved.
Alyssa wiped her eyes on her arm and stood up, shaking slightly. She knew. She walked to the bathroom, her steps slow but unsteady. She found her way to the sink. It felt as if the world had stopped to watch her. She opened the cupboard, 8 billion eyes on her and her alone. The house was as still as a graveyard. She thought it was just as well. She needed to focus. She found the pills her doctor had prescribed for her insomnia. She thought about how nice it was that her last night's sleep was with the man she both loved and loathed. She thought of how peaceful he'd looked as he slept. How his pale skin glowed in the moonlight and his chest rose and fell, over and over; just like her hopes had.
She opened the tub. She had 20. She didn't take her pills every night, so she'd developed a stockpile of the small white capsules. The doctor wouldn't give her more that a fortnights worth at a time.
She emptied the pills into her hand and walked to the kitchen. Her back was straighter now, her head held high. She was no longer shaking, nor was she afraid. She was ready. She'd alienated the one person she loved, and had hurt the one who had once loved her. She'd hurt herself in the process. Her heart no longer beat quickly. She was glad. Maybe there would be a heaven. Maybe she'd find a version of Patrick there. Maybe it would be perfect.
She grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the counter and drank half of the contents quickly, before swallowing the pills. She went into the bathroom again, already feeling drowsy. She crawled into the tub and lay there for a moment, before drinking the rest of the Jameson's.

She heard a knock on the door just as her vision began to blur. Then came a familiar voice. "Pete?" She tried to say, but her voice slurred. She tried to get up but her arm slipped and threw a glass candle case from the side and it fell to the floor with a loud crash. The sound of wood splintering and the softened yell of her name accompanied her as life itself slipped through her numb fingers.