Family Affair (Rosalind) [COMPLETE]

Deimos let her move around at will, his eyes drifting down as she poked him. Sweety, I need a good two bottles of this stuff before I'm at your current level. He said, the smug look returning to his face. Though some alcohol is stronger than others He added. He finished off his cup, gently taking both of their cups and placing them on the nightstand. You should probably sleep He suggested. Before you drink too much, which it seems like you might have already, or end up doing something you'd regret later.

Deimos was surprised it seemed like she was going to comply to his request for her to sleep, but jumped back a bit when she started undressing. He hadn't been looking at her, so he was surprised again when she straddled him while lacking quite a lot of clothes. He let her kiss him once, then pushed her back a bit. "Don't. I won't let you use alcohol in order to do this." He told her firmly, looking at her straight in the eyes. He gave her a kiss on lips before firmly, though not roughly, moving her back to his bed.

Deimos again allowed the kiss, but lowered his head as she started running her hands through his hair. Of course I do. Just not now. He told her, ducking away so he could get out of her embrace. He turned and sat on the edge of the bed, trying to convince himself his girlfriend wasn't inches away in barely any clothing. He closed his eyes, resting his head against (lightly) closed fists, and let out a sigh. He felt warm, not drank too fast warm, a different kind of warm. His girlfriend, the one that convinced him to finally give love a try, the one friend he had for so long, was seriously testing him. He gritted his teeth, jaw tight. Just go to bed. Once you're sober, if you still want to go further, then I'll happily join in. But not now. You can't make good judgments right now. He told her simply, more softly than any of his prior words.

Deimos sighed, turning to look at her in time to see her pouting and on the verge of tears. No, I'm not mad. I'm... agitated. Not at you. He tried to recollect his thoughts, but it wasn't working very well. He ran a hand through his hair, Look. He began, turning to fully face her. I love you, and you're beautiful. I want to go further with you. I'd want nothing more. But not even an hour ago, you woke up from a nightmare. You freaked on me just being over you. Alcohol impairs judgment, and I don't want to wake up tomorrow with you feeling like you've been assaulted twice, okay? I want you to be fully aware of what's happening, and not hiding behind liquid courage. Saying it as he did felt mean. She'd probably be more upset with him before she was happy with him, but if telling her that chased her back to her dorm for the night, then so be it. He didn't want her to leave, not in the least, but his willpower was being tested a little too hard.

Deimos nodded, glad she finally understood his side, bringing back a shirt she'd previously commented on liking because it was so soft. It was one of his favorite shirts, he really didn't want to risk losing it to his girlfriend, but he saw it as a sort of peace offering. He handed it over to her, giving her a kiss on the forehead. "Get some sleep, alright?" He told her softly, then to give her (belated) privacy, turned and busied himself with cleaning up, grabbing the glasses and bottle. He put the glasses in the sink and then the bottle back in his fridge. He stared at a different, smaller bottle, just a miniature he had, though a much stronger alcohol, debating for a moment before grabbing it and shoving it into his pocket, and then he turned to see what Rosalind had gotten up to, or if she listened to him finally. He hooked his thumb onto the pocket with the bottle. If she had listened, he'd probably drink some more and then take a cold shower. Or both at the same time. He thought himself with a carefree shrug.

Deimos kept his eyes closed for a few moments longer, though he felt Rosalind stumble over him (she didn't appear to notice him though) and knew she was awake. He squinted as he peeked an eye open, seeing her in the bathroom. Poor kid. He thought to himself, closing his eyes again. He didn't really know when he had fallen asleep, but he was glad for it regardless. It had been hard to sleep lately. Everything in his body seemed to hurt, and sleeping on the floor did not encourage the pain to lessen. He sat up, blinking wearily as he tried to wake up, looking to his phone. It was about 8am, and the last time he had looked at his phone it was about 3am. Wow, a solid amount of sleep. He thought to himself. He crawled closer to the bed to lift himself up, though his hands were finally revealing the pain of the wounds he'd inflicted yesterday. He glanced over to Rosie again, seeing she was still preoccupied with his toilet, and lowered his head, looking down at the ground. He hadn't been paying attention to the moon phases, but he figured the full moon must be near, since his pain was getting worse and denying Rosalind last night was not easy in the least.

He wanted to get some medication in his system before she got out of the bathroom, but it seemed like even if he breathed too deeply, something would hurt. His bones felt like they were on fire. Some of that he attributed to sleeping on a hardwood floor, but he knew most of it was just his regular, expected pain. But just because he expected it everyday, didn't make it any easier to tolerate. He only learned to shut up about it, and how to get through the day.

He flopped down on his bed, feet still on the floor even though he was on his side, staring at the bathroom door. His vision was a blurred from sleep and pain, and no matter how much he tried to blink it away, his eyes wouldn't focus. Instead, he just closed them again, focusing on breathing. Fire. Someone had to have set his bones on fire. There was no other reason for this amount of pain when it wasn't directly a full moon, hardwood floor or not. He rolled so his legs went up on the bed with him and he was on his back, letting out a groan as he moved. He rubbed his forehead, it felt like he had a migraine, or something like it. He paused, eyebrows furrowing. He never got hangovers, or at least he very rarely did. And sure he'd blacked out, but he was already exhausted from the day and so he really wasn't surprised it happened. He shook his head slightly, telling himself it couldn't be that.

He had to get to his pain medication before Rosalind came out. He had to. She knew he took pain meds but she'd never seen him before them. He didn't want her needlessly worrying when she clearly wasn't feeling well herself. It would be just like her to ignore her health for someone else's. She'd already done it with her emotions, her feelings, her past. He counted to five as he breathed in, five seconds again as he breathed out, and repeated it. He felt like he wouldn't even make it to the medicine cabinet. It appeared to be one of those days where usually, he would just hide away from the world and try to sleep the day away, whether he could get to the alcohol or not. Whether he could get to his pain medication or not. I should really start keeping them by the bed. He thought to himself, then as his head seemed to start pounding, and water. A lot of water.