Ashley was drunk. Again. It seemed to be part of her daily routine; get up after midday, shower and get dressed, go out and get drunk. Those were the three constants in her life. And vomit.

And once again that week, the brunette was smashed out of her skull; it was probably the whiskey that did it that day.

After being thrown out of whatever bar or club she was frequenting, Ashley would usually drive home – and amazingly she would always arrive at her house safely. Driving drunk is one thing, but driving whilst paralytically drunk is slightly different, and much harder.

Ashley would stumble out of her car and trip up and over every step leading to her bedroom. Every morning the brunette would wake up with a very sketchy recollection of the previous night and baffled as to how she got home. She would shower and have some food, shrugging off any worry of what she might have done.

Occasionally she would feel a wave of nausea sweep through her – not because of the alcohol diluting her blood but due to what she had become – and she wouldn’t recognise the girl facing her in mirror. That was sensible Ashley. – Not the stereotypical remorseful drunk, but the part of Ashley that could see every action and could hear every word but was powerless to stop herself. –  That was the small fragment of her mind that was conscious enough to register all of what she was doing, to regret it and will herself to stop, but her body would never listen. Instead she’d pound a couple of shots and that usually shut the guilt-ridden shadow of her former self up.

Aiden had grown tired of her despondency and left her to her own devices, leaving her completely alone. – Although what had happened hadn’t been her fault, it had still ripped through every fibre of her being, shattering her defenceless heart. And she had started to wallow. And drink. – He had tried to help her, to be there for her as a friend, but for all of his efforts he’d seen no avail. Not seeing another option, he had turned his back on her and left. The action of watching yet another person walk out on her life, had pushed Ashley further into her depression.

So she drank more. And once more, she started to dabble in drugs. She didn’t want to hurt anyone; she merely wanted to ease her own pain. She wanted to erase all memories of those she had loved, because everyone she had loved at one time or another had left, taking a little piece of her with them.

Once more she was drunk. And still drinking.

Currently she was nursing a tumbler of Armagnac, the strong alcohol leaving a trail of fire on her lips and down her digestive tract. As the liquor stilled in her stomach it seemed like it was corroding through her gut, whilst as she swigged back the rest of the glass, it feel like she was suckling on an ice cube – the golden brown liquid numbing her mouth.

The brunette hung her head, her stomach ached from her binge drinking, but no matter what substance she was abusing the ache in her heart never dulled. The image of Spencer still burned onto her brain, the memories of the last time she had seen the blonde played over and over in her intoxicated mind. She shot back whatever the fresh liquid in her glass was, a heartbroken scowl on her face.

Despite her better efforts, Ashley still couldn’t shake the image of Spencer naked in bed with an unknown man.

And it was that image that haunted her sober mind.