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The trek through Vault 106 was rough and the hallucinogenic drugs pumped through the air hadn't helped whatsoever . The constant flashes Ivy saw of her father teased her, drawing her deeper and deeper in until she had lost her way and her companions. She was a fucking idiot. Her dad was long dead, she fucking knew that but no, she had to go running off chasing a figment of her piece of shit brain like she was a 6 year old.
She took another swig from the whiskey bottle in her hands, thoughts cleared for a second before they came rushing back. Ivy stared at the pile of assorted bottles on her desk.
When she and Butch had gotten back from the vault she had sent him out to sell the shit they had found over at Moira’s and pick up some supplies. He would spend forever deliberating on what to get if she wasn't there to pick for him, so it made for a great way to clear the house long enough for her to cope. A full ashtray showed the remnants of her last pack of cigarettes, the smokey smell clinging to the walls of her room. The flashes of her chasing the image of her father made themselves known in her mind once more, and she dumped the last of the bottle -not a small amount of whiskey- down her throat before launching it at the wall.
Wadsworth will clean it up and I'll make sure I'm out before Butch comes back. As if she had summoned him, she heard the front door open, announcing his arrival. Fuck, I must’ve lost track of time.
She could hear his footsteps beneath her as he went to the kitchen, presumably dropping off food there before putting away other stuff in their lockers.
“Ivy? You still up?" She contemplated pretending to be asleep. He would come upstairs, knock on her door, and then head back to his room. The small expansion that had been added for him had been beneficial. Not just because he stopped whining about sleeping on the couch. She shook her head to get her thoughts back on track. Making up her mind, she drunkenly rose to her feet and yelled back.
"Yeah! 'M up!" Her steps were unsteady as she made her way out the door and towards the railing. She sat down there, not trusting herself to keep from falling over the edge.
"Whatcha up to Bitch?" She decided she was gonna at least try to seem somewhat sober, and using the nickname she knew annoyed him would be the perfect way to throw him off. He flipped her off as he turned to put away some stuff in their weapons locker.
"Yeah, fuck you too. Moira had our usual stuff set aside so it didn't take as long to grab everything. Fusion cells for your rifle, couple 'a boxes of ammo for me. Grabbed some bandages too." He was getting better at making sure they stayed stocked up on everything they needed. She planned on nitpicking what he had gotten, usually he forgot something or bought some random useless junk. She couldn't seem to find anything wrong, so she settled for diverting.
"So how are you?" Fuck! She regretted saying it the second the words left her mouth. It was a stupid question, she knew he would answer quickly, and it opened up the option for him to ask her how she was doing. Sure enough his answer came exactly how she expected it.
"I'm fine, how about you?"
"'M fine." Her answer came too quickly and her voice was too flat but she prayed he wouldn't push. Clearly whatever force above -whether it was God or whatever the Children of Atom believed in- didn't care because Butch did.
"You sure? You seem a little..." He trailed off and before he could continue she piped up.
"Drunk? Yep. Probably verging into the pathetic end of it now." He looked taken aback by her words.
"That- I- was-"
"Wasn't what you were going to say? Eh, doesn't matter. It's true." All pretenses of sobriety were dropped and Ivy decided to just continue. "C'mon, look at the goody-two-shoes nosebleed , little miss perfect, drunk off her ass and not even in the fun way!”
"Ivy..." His voice held both a plea and a warning; he was asking her to just stop talking and telling her she may say something she would come to regret. She ignored them both.
“Just her sad old self drinking alone. You wanna know something Butch? Something I haven't told anyone else?" His concerned look turned questioning and she giggled a bit at it. "I don't care. Not about gunshots or feral bites or even stab wounds. Y’know I got shot once and just left it? Didn't think it was worth the stimpack. Didn't think I was worth the stimpack. The bullet's still rattling around in there somewhere." She clumsily tapped her left shoulder, indicating where it was. "It’s nice. I get what I deserve but if I don't, other people get what they deserve! My bat through their skull" She giggled again. "Don't care if I get hurt out there. Don't really have any reason to live, not for myself at least. I'll help people and I know they'll miss me a bit when I die, maybe make me a sad little grave, but everyone will move on. No need to look so sad, 's just a fact." She shrugged, jacket falling lower on her shoulders. Butch looked stricken at her words, but she still continued, tone a bit more somber this time. “I’ve got scars from this kinda shit. Not just the gunshot.” Stopping for a moment, she made up her mind. She shrugged her jacket off and began to trace the faint lines along her forearms. "I- c'mon, whas the word..." She stilled, the slurred words trailing off. "Neglect! That's it. Neglect isn't the only way I've hurt myself. They hand out those razors to all the girls for shaving their legs or whatever bullshit they said we should do. I put mine to a different use." A smile twisted her lips but it didn't reach any farther. "Didn't start right away. I always found my eyes catching on it. Sometimes I'd just pick it up and fiddle with it. It was a Sunday. I was stressed, sitting in the tiny fuckin' church didn't help, and then those goddamn confessionals. I could easily tell Overseer Dickface had bugged them but I just kept bein' pushed." Ivy could remember the uncomfortable metal benches and the almost hidden wire in the confined room. "Got home an' I just picked up the knife, cut right along here." Her finger slid along one of the lines halfway down her arm, "Funny how much one little cut can bleed." She began tapping along to some silent beat on her arm. "Got a few on my legs too. Was kinda hard to clean up though. You wanna see them?"
"Ivy, please. You're drunk. Go to bed."
"Hah. This doesn't even come close to how I was after dad died. Y'know I saw him? Oh. That's a little unclear. I saw him back in 106. Although I did watch him die. Anyways, I chased him right down into the vault. Got a bit lost down there. What was I talking about before?” She stopped for a second, muddled brain trying to remember what she was saying. “Oh right, my pathetic excuse for a life. I don't think I was fully sober for at least a week after that. Either drunk, hung over, or passed out somewhere. I even got cut off at the Muddy Rudder. Still had some drinks on me and some back here. I couldn't go over to Gob's though. I couldn't have the people here seeing me like that. Not at all." Tears start to stream down her cheeks and her vision turns blurry. "Cou- couldn't disappoint anyo- one else." Her voice cracks and her words are interrupted by hiccups. Ivy screws her eyes shut and buries her head in her hands. A few silent seconds pass and she thinks Butch has left, but suddenly two arms wrapped around her, one supporting her knees and the other holding her back. She opens her mouth to say something, but gets cut off. "Shh. Let's get you to bed." Soon she's laid down in her bed, and the last thing she sees before she lets the darkness claim her is Butch with his hand on her cheek and worry? concern? sadness? -Ivy's impaired brain can't tell- painted on his face.