#stevie002

Ah, fuck. She puts one foot out in front of the other. Okay, I got this. Veering a little too far to the right, Angel drifts into the wall and lightly bounces off it, getting somewhat back on track. Shit. She walks with her hand outstretched for good measure, creating a little buffer for herself. What she needs is a second to reset herself, for her legs to remember how to carry her forward. Then, when she gets back to everyone, she’ll be able to blend in just fine. She just needs to – Is that Stevie? She squints and tries in vain to get her vision into some sort of focus. Oh, goddamnit. It’s like getting caught red-handed by your mom, and well, Stevie is the closest Angel’s ever gotten to having a mom who actually gives a damn about her. “Hey,” Angel tries playing it cool, as if she hadn’t just been doing lines in a stall. The coke is blending quite nicely with the shots she’d been doing at the bar. She looks at Stevie, but not really. Her eyes never quite adjust the way they’re supposed to. “That band tonight. They’re uh – they’re like really good,” Her voice carries no inflection, leaving her the same low monotone it always finds when she’s too high to pretend she isn’t.