Shaky hands.

That's always where it starts, isn't it? Doesn't matter what it is necessarily; that I'm drinking too much, or not enough, or too much time's passed between my last attempt at quenching the ravenous thirst of my rotten addiction. Just that every time my body tries to tell me anything, it decides to deliver its message in the form of making my grip weak and causing my hand to vibrate like jumper cables were hooked up to all ten of my fingers.

It doesn't help that it's the most noticeable thing in the world, too.

"Hey. You feelin' okay?" Kara asks with a surprising amount of concern in her voice, looking down at my hands as they quiver helplessly. Pressing my palms flat against my legs doesn't help matters any; if anything it was making them worse.

It's a shame she noticed, too. We were having such a great conversation about...

Okay, I'm lying. We weren't talking. Hell, until now she hasn't said a word to me all day, which considering her penchant for not shutting up, comes as quite the shock. Though, it's a shock I didn't even think to notice until it stopped being shocking, should that make sense.

"Yeah, fine."

That was an absolute lie, and it didn't take her having an encyclopedic knowledge of my triggers to notice. That probably helped at least a little bit, but still. She cracks a fake smile for about half a second, teasing laughter before reverting back to the slight scowl that I feel I should be accustomed to from her. Yet, I can't help but feel like for some reason, there's something off about it.

"I'm not blind, y'know."

Alright, something was definitely wrong here.

"Well, you have to be! If you can't see something wrong with me, then I'm pretty sure you're blind as a fucking bat."

"Hey, fuck you too sis! Just tryin' to be nice and shit, didn't wanna hurt your feelings or anything!"

There's the Kara I know and yeah, I guess love. Blunt, rude and profane, almost like she never left. Now that she's actually here and the impostor wearing her skin's vanished in a puff of smoke, the urge to ask her what caused that facade in the first place. Yes, where most people see things and don't question; I immediately jump to something being the matter because no one just acts that way. On anyone else, that'd end up with me barking up the wrong tree about ninety percent of the time. So, I guess it's lucky for me that with Kara, nothing is that simple.

Even when it is, it isn't.

Though, instead of acting on that impulse, I force myself to stop thinking about it. I start to slap my still twitching hands against my thighs and hum something under my breath, waiting for Kara to either change the subject or put this awkward, miserable excuse for a conversation out of its misery.

Really, either one works just fine for me.

"So..."

However, from the looks (or more accurately, sounds) of it; neither's gonna be happening anytime soon.

"How do you handle it?"

"Handle what?"

I feel that I should know what she's talking about. Like my question shouldn't be genuine. More a lie, feigned ignorance to distance myself from answering something I don't want to, even if it's only a few more seconds that I'm buying. Right now though, I have absolutely nothing.

"Y'know..."

She sounds cautious. Like she's trying to tiptoe around something. Something that could possibly offend me; which considering both the things that would offend me and what from that list she hasn't brought up without issue in the past, could only be one thing.

"Your...Alcohol...Issues?"

"For fuck's sake Kara, just call me a drunk or something. You're scary as hell when you're trying to be nice. Like a serial killer or something."

I laugh at whatever I said that I found so funny, before a thought crosses my mind.

"It's not like you've been too scared to do it in the past."

"I'm being serious. I know, weird. But really, I'm being serious."

"Well fine, if you're so adamant about it."

She wasn't. Really. If I told her no enough times, she'd give up and we'd switch over to some other topic. Something less personal and more apt to giving her something snarky to say. So, why am I telling her when I could just as easily not?

I surprise myself sometimes.

"Not very well."

"What?"

"Not very well. I don't handle my alcohol dependency," why do I call it that? Very well. Obviously I don't because I continue to feed my addiction and have no intentions of stopping. I think that alone proves just how I'm handling the problem. Either not at all, or very very poorly."

"That's one way of looking at it, I guess."

Christ, this is awful. She's trying to be my psychiatrist, probably because she knows I wouldn't say any of this to an actual psychiatrist. Which means she did something pretty fucked up and this is her way of atoning for it. For some reason, a grin grows on my face, as I start to think of all the things she might've done.

"It's the only way to look at it!"

Oh, and look at that. My giddiness bleeds into my voice as I say that, causing Kara to raise an eyebrow at me.

"Yes?"

"The fuck are you on?"

It takes all of my strength not to burst into laughter. So, with my teeth clamped down on the tip of my tongue, I shrug with eyes wide and wondering, though not at all about what she asked.

"You're like fuckin' mood swing central, eh?"

"Do you want me to tell you something you don't know, or... ?"

I swear I could be an actress. My face settles back into its normal, flat expression with distant eyes staring off in two different directions. Yes, I'm faking a lazy eye to someone who knows me well enough to know that I'm faking. At least I'm better than Kristen Stewart.

"No, I want you to cut the shit."

"Cut what?"

Feigned ignorance is my specialty. In my own humble opinion, at least.

"You're trying to play me. I'm not stupid."

Oh, the passive aggressiveness in that comment. It's almost delicious and certainly hysterical with how she normally throws the passive part out the window after stomping into dust.

"Neither am I."

"What?"

It's kinda funny how all it takes is one sentence to really change someone's demeanor. Any aggression that she had's left by way of her passiveness. Adorable.

"Why are you asking me all this?"

"Can't I be concerned about my friend?"

"You wouldn't be asking it as a question if you meant it."

"What do you think I did?"

"So, you've jumped to the conclusion that I think you did something without me saying so. I don't know what you did, but I do know you did something now."

"I hate you sometimes. I really do."

I laugh.

"No you don't. Now tell me what you did."

We've become sort of confrontational here. It'd come as a shock if this wasn't how we've been since the relapse. I don't think she approves.

"Well, Jacob and I went out last night, he went home before me, yadda yadda. I had a little too much, and..."

"And?"

Why am I asking? I already know right where this is going. Though, to dampen suspicion, I throw on my best look of intrigue. Eyes wide, lips clenched but mouth open wide, ready to simulate a jaw dropped shock that I'll need once she spits it out.

"I went home with another man."

And, go. I open my lips with an audible gasp that weakly tries to make a shocked laugh.

"Oh my god!"

Oh my god is right. This is quite the revelation. Now, all I need to do is figure out what to do with this information. It'll no doubt be instrumental for getting out of the next few things she wants me to do that I don't particularly want to.

And here I am planning to use my best friend's darkest moment for leverage.

What the fuck have I become?