Holding On For Life

Desiree was exhausted, glancing around at her mess of an apartment, internally raising her eyebrows at herself. The blonde was known for judging others harshly, but few people knew how harsh she was on herself. A weary smile was on her face as she fell back in the desk chair - she was so glad she didn't actually live in the cabin.

Jack walks into the apartment minutes later, hoping the smell of perfume had already worn off. Either way, the stench of alcohol probably covered it up, so he wasn't quite as worried as he probably should be. Seeing Desiree, he can't suppress his smirk. "Hey, love," he greets, running a hand through his messy dark hair.

She's not sure whether to be happy, or filled with dread at his face - everything is confusing. "Hey," she whispers back, tilting her head to rest on her shoulder.

"What did you do to kill your day?" he asks, genuine curiosity prominent on his voice. "Because it sure as hell looks like you just got here," he adds, looking around the apartment.

"The usual," she mutters, not really caring to tell him more than that because he's sure as hell not telling her anything. "You look like you've done absolutely nothing all day again," she deadpans.

"The usual," he replies, shrugging. "We could change that now, though," he adds, his tone and eyes coated with lust? mischief.

A small voice is trying to scream no in her head, he's drunk. He's drunk, ''Desiree. He's drunk. He doesn't really want this and neither do you. Do you?'' She's not sure. She's really not sure. But then she looks up at him again, and the doubt is gone, she finishes the umpteenth glass of wine she's drunk that day.