Chapter Text
The emergency bottle was, more than anything else, a test. She could make it through the worst days without Adderall, without even opening the purse where she hid the bottle.
The closest call was the night of their second disastrous bottle episode. She turned off her phone and sat on the floor for an hour, turning the bottle over and watching the pills fall. Ultimately, she resisted the urge and went to bed. She had survived finals, the Tranny Dance, and six conversations about discretion, all of which were humiliating in their own way, and she wasn’t going to let this break her.
She checked into her sobriety app more often and spent weekends with Troy and Abed instead of alone at her apartment. She watched them more carefully than she ever had and tried to unravel what they had to see if there was room for her. Troy stared at her ass when he thought she wasn’t looking and at her breasts when he could get away with it, but would he touch her if she asked?
Abed didn’t stare, but sometimes he would cock his head at her smiles like he was tracking her happiness. If I held his hand, would he let me? Jeff and Britta can’t be the only ones who can keep a secret.
She tried to keep study group gossip out of their outings, but Abed was too intuitive for her to get away with crying in public bathrooms. He assured her that Jeff and Britta were over, he would know, but he still shot her looks only she and Troy recognized as sympathetic when Britta slid into her chair with a specific vicious smile. Jeff’s only tell was his silence; he mercilessly mocked her smugness when he wasn’t afraid of what his voice would betray.
The third time it happened, Annie and Abed were the last to leave. They sat on the couch, her head on his shoulder.
“It’s just mid-season drama,” he assured her. “This is all lead-up to the finale of revelations. Spoiler alert: if anyone thinks they’re endgame, they’re watching a different show.”
“Why are they the only ones worth watching?” She had stopped being annoyed by his TV framework, at least in private; she knew it was the way to his wisdom.
“They’re not, but their recklessness would be out of character for the rest of us. We care about each other too much to take that risk. Maybe the audience is interested in them, but they’re invested in us.” He almost pulled away when she threaded her fingers through his but settled into it when she squeezed his hand. “They root for the group, and Jeff and Britta have become another obstacle for us to overcome. Another romantic subplot would change the genre and love triangles aren’t really in my wheelhouse.”
She didn’t ask if he meant her position relative to Jeff and Britta or him and Troy, but the clear message was that she didn’t belong near either. She hugged him goodbye and walked to the bus stop alone. It had been a big night at Dildopolis and she only slept when she let herself swallow two Ativan with her usual melatonin. They were Britta’s and maybe the only worthwhile thing from the vents; only she would let her controlled substances end up there of all places, but for once Annie was grateful for her messiness. The combination took her far enough outside her body that she couldn’t feel the heaviness in her chest. She had a paper to draft, but it could wait until morning.
She overslept for the first time since Troy’s birthday. She didn’t overthink the Adderall she took before she left; she was giving the morning back to herself, and relapse was never that logical.
A few days later, Britta was smirking and failing to hide a hickey. Jeff couldn’t resist snarking about high school boys, and Britta was too proud of her retort about spending too much time with men who kiss teenagers. No one tried to hide their stares, but Annie ignored them, looking at her nails and focusing on the quiet rattle of pills in her bag when she shifted her weight.
The one she took in the bathroom was to make up for time lost crying after everyone left.
Annie knew what addiction looked like, and this wasn’t it. Weeks passed and she didn’t come close to doctor shopping or calling Starburns his real name. Not that she was dwelling on it; she didn’t stop moving long enough to think about how fast she was going until Jeff asked her to hang back after a particularly grueling diorama confrontation.
“Everyone is worried about you,” he said, not even attempting a Winger speech
“Everyone should be worried about that B minus diorama. Britta really Britta’d her model of herself.”
“C’mon, I think Britta knows what she looks like better than we do.”
“Better than some of us,” Annie said, loud enough for Jeff go hear but quiet enough that he could pretend he didn’t.
“Aren’t you more concerned about Troy and Abed building Trobed?”
“Aren’t you? That seems more important than whatever you think I’m doing to keep myself—and the rest of you—from Winger passable.”
“Annie,” he started, putting his hand on her bare shoulder. “You know we care more about you than this grade.”
“Yeah, well.” She took a deep breath and pulled her cardigan up, shrugging him off. “Maybe they should’ve sent someone who sees that I don’t.”
“No one sent me. I noticed that, on your good days, you’re jumpier than Pierce on his bad days.”
“Is Britta’s psychobabble rubbing off on you? I thought a phony would spot someone even worse at the game.”
“Objection: deflection.” He smiled, his lawyer grin, and she remembered how it felt to punch him more vividly than how it felt to kiss him.
“Jeff,” she started, ready to be mean but losing her fight when something softened behind his eyes. “I’m fine, okay? I know it’s hard for to you to believe, but I’m an adult. I can handle myself.”
She left the room first, and the pill in the cab was for over a year given to a man who didn’t want it.
She stopped going to study group; she answered emails with links to Google Scholar and no commentary. She slept at apartment 303 when Dildopolis had their new Frisky Fridays: Fursuits, Friends, and You! workshops, but not often enough for it to feel like home. She ended the semester with the best grades of her Greendale career and barely cried when she realized she didn’t feel like celebrating. Troy offered to throw a party but couldn’t understand why not even Shirley was welcome. Annie didn’t know how to explain without admitting she was afraid of the pity, and even more afraid of how she would cope.
The pills were barely a problem, but even barely was too much to say out loud.