Tony groaned in his sleep, restlessly rolling over and over and over. His mouth was dry and his lips were chapped, his mind was foggy and his stomach lurched.

“Fuck,” Tony muttered to himself. He slowly opened his eyes, as far as they were willing to go. The weight in his eyelids was intense, and they remained half closed as he sat up. Tony looked to his left, and the cold, empty mattress beside him made his heart writhe in pain. Tris was still gone; this was no nightmare for him. Tris was really gone, and she wasn’t coming back. “Damn it!” Tony yelled this time, his voice coming out in a broken croak. Tears poured down his face as the image of Tris flickered next to him. He imagined that she was really there, but as he reached over to touch her cheek carefully, her image disappeared again, leaving him truly alone. He pounded his fists into the cushion around him, and then he buried his face into his hands in frustration.

Tony’s stomach lurched again, so he swung his legs sloppily over the side of his bed. His feet met the ground with a heavy thump, and he nearly tripped over empty bottles as he raced to the bathroom, throwing up into the sink when he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Tony hasn’t been sober for days; he has just about run out of alcohol in his house. He made a mental note to himself to buy more later. Tony continued to empty the contents of his stomach, collapsing over to the neighboring toilet. He groaned as the throwing up seemed to never end, and his sight was blurry with both drunkenness and tears.He hugged the toilet bowl desperately, crouching over it as is stomach continued to flip.

A painful thought struck his mind when the throwing up finally subsided, leaving him leaning breathlessly against the tub. Nobody was here to help him. For the first time in nearly a year, Tony was completely and utterly alone. He could easily pass out in any minute, and nobody would be there to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Nobody would be there to help him sit up. Nobody would be there to hold a cold rag to his forehead, or to splash freezing water onto his face, or to carry him back to bed. Tony was so alone that his insides twisted in pain, or, maybe that was just the alcohol doing its job. Tony could easily die, and nobody would notice.

He got sick again, missing the toilet by a fraction of an inch. “Mother fucker,” he slurred, realizing that if he made it through the night he would have to clean it up. Tony continued to get sick, and he wondered when it would stop, if it would ever stop. He relaxed suddenly when he felt a hand caress the back of his neck before holding back his long, brown hair. Another hand held his back, rubbing circles softly.

“It’s okay, baby, just let it all out,” a voice cooed softly in his ear, making him shiver. Tony didn’t fret, though; at least somebody was helping him. Rational thoughts were pushed out of his head because he was so wasted, so it didn’t bother him that he had no idea who was helping him or how she got into his house.

Tony finally finished getting sick after what felt like hours, and the two hands that were comforting him held him carefully. The arms that were connected to those hands wrapped around his waist delicately, pulling him away from the toilet and allowing him to slump into the supportive body. Tony couldn’t form words, nor could he form thoughts. He just allowed the person to hold him as he cried in pain—pain formed from heartache and from the physical exertion of getting sick.

“Shh, shh, you’re okay, now, I’ve got you,” the voice murmured into his ear, and Tony nodded, believing the voice. The voice was sweet, soft, and gentle—how could it tell a lie? Thankfulness filled Tony’s mind; he wanted very much to thank the voice for being there when nobody else was, but he couldn’t speak. “I know, I know,” the voice said softly, as if she could read Tony’s thoughts. Tony tensed up suddenly, recognizing the voice.

He tried to turn and face her, but it was nearly impossible. His head sloped downward to the left, and it was resting on the chest of the girl who was holding him. He couldn’t even feel a heart beat against his ear, but he figured that was because of his drunken state. “Tris?” Tony finally managed to croak out.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” she responded softly in his ear, giving him a careful squeeze to show that she really did have him. Tony smiled at himself, and he closed his eyes, trying his hardest to force his jelly-like body to curl up against hers. Tris was home. His love had come back for him. He smiled as he fell asleep in her arms, submitting to her touch once again and using her silent whispers of sweet-nothings as his lullaby.

___


Coldness swept over Tony. He rolled to his right, coming face to face with the edge of the tub. He was lying on something hard and cold—tile floor, he realized. Tony sat up carefully, holding his aching head with his hand, but crying in pain as he did so. He pulled his hand back, seeing a familiar redness engulfing his fingertips. Blood. The crimson color was also spilled on the edge of the tub, dripping down onto the floor, spreading through the tile in random patterns, like a maze.

Tony looked around in confusion, studying his surroundings. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing a messy mix of blood and vomit in his hair and down the side of his face. Disgusted, he wiped his face clean, and then he grabbed a nearby towel and held it to his minor head injury, realizing that he must have passed out and hit his head in the process. He shivered, standing up abruptly and racing over to his bed.

“Tris?” he called out loudly, expecting her to be curled in the sheets. But then he remembered his head injury, and realized if she were really here, she would be helping him right now. “Tris…” he repeated quietly, fresh tears streaming down his face. Realization slammed into him like a brick wall when he recognized that she was never here, she was never really here. It was only his imagination…

Tony dropped to his knees in despair, angry that he had gotten so drunk that he had literally envisioned her being here. “No,” he shook his head as he sobbed. Tony hated how his mind played that cruel trick on him! He craved her touch; he craved her porcelain skin to mold against his warm, soft flesh! He wanted her back, he wanted her to hold him, he wanted to hold her. “No,” he repeated, falling forward on to his hands in desperation.

“Please come back,” he said to the ground in a husky whisper.

“I’m not coming back,” her words rung in his ears, loud enough to drive him insane.

“No!” Tony growled aggressively this time, violently picking up an empty handle of vodka and chucking it at the wall. It broke immediately, large shards of glass falling to the ground, similar to the way his heart slowly and painfully cracked open, spilling everything into his almost soulless body.