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It's nothing new. Blearily Allison opens her eyes. Same ceiling. Sometimes she wakes up to a different ceiling which is generally less good. If she's lucky the guy will give her a pity breakfast. If not she gets screamed out by an angry wife or girlfriend. Probably having to leave behind her good underwear or something too. It's just how her life goes.
But no, this is definitely her own ceiling. Cracked paint, spot of mold in the corner that she's been meaning to deal with since February. Last year. That's something at least. She holds her breath for a moment, trying to hear if there's anyone else. Screaming in the flat above. Banging pots underneath. But no noises next to her. Either there's no one there or he's very quiet. Or dead. That'd be just her luck.
She can't actually remember if she took anyone home last night. God, her head is pounding. She blinks, trying to clear away the gunk in front of her eyes. Then carefully sneaks a glance over to the other side of the bed. Empty. Good. If anyone tries to talk to her before - what time is it even? What day? Looks at the clock on the bedside table. Ten thirty-five. Morning, given the light shining through the curtains. Too bright. It's either too early or too late. If she's got work today Rachel will be giving her looks of death later and she will die of humiliation. If she doesn't, she probably needs the sleep. Who knows when she got home last night. Or this morning.
Christ she is getting too old for this. She's turning - actually no, best not to remember that. She groans. Her mouth is way too dry and tastes weird. Not alcohol weird. Not just anyways. Whatever it was, it still made the whole room spinny even lying down. Or that could be have been the drinks too. Once more Allison tries to cast her memories back.
Blurry images of glittery lights, smoke filled rooms, fruity drinks and roaming hands in an alleyway outside fill her mind. Not much in the way of details there. And frankly, that could have been most nights in the past month. It's been - just sort of bad lately. Boring. She needs something, anything, to occupy her. Take her out of her mind where the thoughts circle and circle and never stop. How she's bad and ruined and makes nothing but mistakes.
She groans, trying to interrupt the flow of it starting again. Her head's still pounding and spinning and she desperately needs an aspirin and some water. She blinks up at the ceiling again. It's only sort of mildly wobbly. And she doesn't feel too nauseous. Chances were she can make it to the bathroom without falling or being sick. And well, if she is going to be sick, the bathroom is where to be anyways. Best to dare it.
With an effort, she drags herself into a sitting position, blinking to clear away the spots in her vision. Damn, this was unpleasant. But well, this was the however-many-th time this month or year or whatever so Allison just drags her heavy limbs out of her warm bed into the cold air of the flat. Couldn't afford to heat it yet. The ICMG might be a top government branch, but they are trying to save money wherever they can. Which mostly seems to be Allison's wages. Especially since Rachel and Ian don't appear to have this problem. So either it is her being the useless, superfluous assistant, or she's blowing it all at night. Either way she's a good for nothing waste of space. But she's been that since the day she was born, so what's there to do about it?
Not that she isn't trying. She tries to be smart for Rachel and reliable for Ian and useful for Toby. But it never quite works. Either she overlooks a circuit or is just a second slower to figure out the answer or she's late again or spilling the coffee she's handing out which is really the only thing she keeps doing there. Late. She needs to figure out if she's meant to be at work tonight. She remembers it being Saturday, which would make today Sunday, and a day off. But her brain is so full of grey fog that might as well be Saturday last week. It wouldn't be the first time she's forgotten a week.
It terrifies her when she thinks about it. The forgetting. At least this time she can tell herself it's whatever powders or pills she took. It's half the reason she does. If she didn't, that would mean - no, don't think about that. Don't think about how often her head's been played with. Don't think about how it's just getting easier. How there's really nothing to play with at all. Because she's a pathetic bundle of flesh in the shape of a woman. Pretty, when she puts in the effort. But nothing left of the bright young PhD student Rachel had noticed. The promising scientist Ian had recruited. That Sir Toby had let be the scientific head of the ICMG in its early days.
Or maybe that Doctor Allison Williams had never existed. Maybe that too, was just a way for a stupid, naive girl to try to run away. To be smart and important and loved. For once. But she knows better now. Knows Rachel will always be smarter than her, Ian more useful, Toby more important. She's just little Allie who's got ideas above her station. And keeps putting everyone in danger by being such easy bait. Worse than useless.
And yet she keeps coming back to it. To them. Begging for scraps of attention, the occasional word of praise. Not that anyone will ever actually love her. And if they do it certainly isn't because of her. If they take pity on a pathetic stupid girl that's just another way they're too good for her. It'd be best if she just didn't come back after a night out one day. No more chances for her to break them, like she does everyone. Like she broke her family.
She should never have been born in the first place. Her parents should have had a son and he wouldn't have destroyed her mother and then they would all be happy. By her very existence she'd been making people's lives worse since before she could speak. What a fitting start for her life.
She splashes cold water on her face, and searches for the pills in the cupboards, ignoring how everything tries to fall on her face. Finally, she discovers a packet of aspirin - expired but what does that matter - and swallows two. At least she's less dizzy now that she's upright. She grabs the newspaper from the door and winces. It's Monday. She definitely should be at work right now.
She's almost surprised Rachel hasn't been calling her house down yet. But then, Allison's not important enough to be missed, is she? They're probably all having a splendid time without her, no clumsy silly Allison around to mess it all up. Still, she can't quite bring herself to leave them. It's not as if she has anyone else. As she dresses, she can already see their disapproving looks, pity mixed with scorn. Allison grabs her bag and keys anyways. She's used to it after all.