R.I.P. Missy Cunningham || Self-Para
It was with a revolting taste in the back of her throat and a pounding headache that Roxy found herself waking up, strewn across her bed still in the clothes she had chosen for the carnival. She had driven out of town on a whim, wanting a little bit of air before going back for the festivities. She had been thrumming with excitement at the concept of the carnival, never having been to one. Not to mention the people she had spoken to about it, and the one she had actually convinced to go. Out of the corner she had spotted the little authentic mexican diner and shrugged, pulling in and weighing the idea of rolled tacos or a burrito. Less than three hours later, the fajita's she had gone with were being repeated into the toilet of her home. She had dressed and was heading out the door when her stomach had rolled painfully and bile had shot up the back of her throat. When all she could was dry heaves, she had stood, room spinning, and face planted into her bed. With no energy left, she didn't even remember falling asleep.
A stream of curses left her mouth as she stood, pissed that she had missed the carnival because of a few cheap fajita's. She owed Sam a major apology, James as well, and a few more choice words were spewed as her cheeks flamed at the thought of explaining what had happened. She ran her fingers through her hair, brushing out the few snarls sleep had given it. It was a curious thing, the fact that she was awake and well, but the feeling of dread in her stomach remained. Brushing it off as leftover guilt, she made her way down the stairs.
The house was silent, and she assumed that Riley had stepped out. She walked into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge before wincing at the sight of food, deciding instead to sip on some water. Grabbing a glass, she yawned as it poured out of the spout from the fridge, taking it with her towards the living room when it filled. As she turned towards the couch, she noticed the newspaper sprawled on the floor as if it had been thrown. Quirking a brow, Roxy bent to pick it up, shaking out the page it had been open on. Scanning the headlines, she made a mental note that it was the obituaries page. How depressing, she thought. Making the motion to set it down, her eyes caught on a name she recognized. Whipping it back up to her eyes, Roxy read the name and the accompanying obituary, the floor falling from beneath her feet.
Missy Anne Cunningham...drunk driver...off life support...
The sound of glass shattering against hardwood wasn't loud enough to drown out the sudden pounding of her heart as she read and re-read the words, unable to make sense of their meaning. They had the wrong girl. There was just no way, no way that Missy of all people was gone. Before Roxy could register what was happening, her knees were hitting hardwood floor and broken glass, blood spurting lightly from the stinging wounds that would heal quickly. Her breaths became strained and the broken sound she made was alien to her own ears. The wolf in her whimpered before growling, angry at whoever had taken the life of its friend. It took her a few moments before she realized that her cheek was damp, reaching a hand up to touch the tell tale tracks of tears.
The shock of her tears sent her wavering control under, and a sob escaped her throat. Pressing a hand to the tattoo she had gotten for the girl, memories flashed through her mind. The pain that flashed through her was alien, as was the sensation of such loss. She choked back tears, refusing to let them through. Standing on shaky legs, she ignored the pain in her knees and walked back to the kitchen, the shattered glass forgotten and the paper beside it. Opening the refrigerator door again, she pulled out two beers, the sound of clinking glass falling on deaf ears. A foreign numbness had fallen over Roxy, and she was thankful for the break it offered. Popping off the caps, she took the first one and brought it to her lips, watching the second one on the counter.
"You were my best girl, Miss." She whispered, her gaze unwavering. "And I'll miss you more than you know. Have fun in the sky...just don't forget to wait up for me." Taking a hold of the untouched beer, she turned it over and watched it pour down the sink. Later that day she would go back to the tattoo parlor and get 'Missy, 8-27-2012' inked under the pistol. She would return to her room and lock the door, taking the vodka bottle she had picked up out of her bag. She would down it within an hour and then sit against the foot of her bed on the floor. And when her world began to spin for an entirely different reason, she would finally let herself mourn the loss of the first true friend she had ever made.
