YOU ARE CURRENTLY ABOUT TO START READING THE SEQUEL TO I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH TO STAY AWAY!

This chapter and the next are gonna be just catching up with the missing year, so lots of Gari having flashbacks and stuff. Sorry if that annoys you, but I like it, and it needs to be done!

I still do not own the boys, to my utter dismay. But, as always, I love manipulating them.

So go ahead, ENJOY!

I splashed water on my face, then looked up into the filthy mirror, my hands white-knuckling the sink for support. Haunted, empty eyes, currently a deep blue-grey, gazed back at me, the terror of my nightmare only betrayed by the slight reddish hue of the whites around my irises.

I sighed deeply and ran a hand through my messy hair, making a face at its dark color and shortened length.

The day after I left Bobby's, I had gone to a drugstore and bought hair dye and a pair of scissors. I got rid of my long, natural blonde hair on which I had always prided myself, cutting it off to my chin and dying it jet black. It had grown a lot since then, though, now coming almost to my shoulders.

I had tried to tell myself that I just needed a change, that I was starting over, remaking myself, but every time I saw my reflection, Lucifer's words echoed in my head: "He's always loved your hair."

I tended to avoid mirrors.

I was disgusted by my reflection, by my entire being. I thought of every ghost, every monster, every demon I'd ever hunted and knew I was a million times worse. Those creatures couldn't help how despicable—how evil—they were, but I could.

But I didn't.

Back when it mattered, I hadn't been strong enough. And now that he was gone, I was.

I had turned down a dark road, and I knew it could only lead to utter disaster.

But I couldn't stop now. Now I was addicted. Now I depended on it.

Demon blood.

What it did to me—the adrenaline rush, the increased strength, the heightened senses, the absolute control over my powers, the all-around high—it was the most exhilarating feeling.

But after I crashed, I realized how disgusting I was, how pathetic I had become.

I'd considered going back to Bobby's and begging him to lock me in the panic room until I was clean, but he would call Dean and Ella, and I couldn't bear to see the revulsion and disappointment on their faces.

I'd even considered killing myself, but despite what I'd done, I still had too much pride for that.

I imagined what he would do if he were there.

I could almost see those deep, beautiful, hazel eyes, filled with disgust, but also pity and empathy and love.

He would understand. He would be there every step of the way, making sure that I would be okay. He would hold me when it started taking its toll on my body and mind, and he would stay calm and supportive and tell me how much he loves me…

Oh, God, I missed him.

I watched in the mirror as a single tear rolled down my cheek. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips together firmly. "What do I do, Sam?" I croaked, then let out a little gasp of pain. Keep talking. Nothing else has helped. You have to get past this. It's been a year. "I miss you so much. It's been so hard without you. I wish you were with me…"

It was the first time I'd said his name in a year, and it still hurt just as bad as when he first left.

"Why can't I move on?" I asked aloud, my voice cracking slightly. "Why can't I just accept the fact that you're gone? Why can I still feel you everywhere? You're dead—" I choked out the word, and misery washed over me. "—I saw it happen. So why does it feel like you're still here?"

I stared into the mirror, waiting—for what, I don't know. An answer, I suppose, but I knew I wasn't going to get one.

I sighed again and brushed the tears from my face, then turned away from the mirror and walked back to my bed. I laid back on it and stared up at the cracked plaster of the ceiling, trying to think of a way to keep my mind off of my nightmare and the memories that it brought forth.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion making my lids heavy. I'd been keeping very busy, hardly leaving any time for dwelling on the past. But it was nights like these where the past was inescapable.

As I tried to clear my mind, my hand went absentmindedly to the amulet that Bobby had given me and my thoughts strayed to Ella.

A year.

I had been away from her for a year. A whole year with no contact of any sort, not even a text message. And I was suffering.

I knew that it had been my choice to leave her, and I knew that it had been the right choice. But, man, did I regret it.

The past year had been the most miserable time of my life, even more miserable than the years before she and Greg found me.

She had never let me dwell on the past or wallow in misery—which seemed to be all I did now—and she had always been there to at least try to comfort me. And I missed that. I missed her.

But finding her again would mean finding Dean. And even though he looked almost nothing like his brother, those few similarities would drive me mad with grief.

Ella had tried to keep up contact with me, of course. I was the one who didn't reply.

Once she and Dean found a house, she called and left a voicemail telling me the address. She called again to tell me that she'd had her babies, but that I already knew—I'd had one of my weird dreams and witnessed the entire thing. I saw Dean faint when she went into labor, and made a mental note to ridicule him about it if I ever got up the courage to see him again.

I was there when Dean came into their house, fresh tear tracks on his cheeks, as he held up his amulet for Ella to see. I had known that Sam had kept it, but I hadn't known what he did with it. I then learned that Dean found it shoved at the back of the glove compartment in the Impala.

When I woke up from that one, I was sobbing, and I didn't stop for a long, long time.

Ella called a few more times to check up on me, but had eventually realized that I was purposely ignoring her and stopped all contact.

I wished she hadn't. Her voicemails had been one of the few things that kept me going.

But I had been keeping up with her and Dean. Due to the demon blood, I could now bring the dreams on practically whenever I wanted. I did it almost every night—anything was better than my nightmare.

It had gotten worse since I left Ella. Now I always woke up screaming.

It was always the exact same thing. It started with Dean coming out of that warehouse in Detroit, his eyes filled with hopelessness as he said, "He's gone."

Then it jumped to show the most intense moments of my dream of Lucifer, a constant reminder of how utterly horrible I was.

Out of everything bad that I had ever done, even drinking the demon blood, that was the worst. And what made it even more terrible was the fact that I could still remember his gentle yet commanding touch and all of my ravenous lust for him. I hated him, but that hatred was nowhere near the amount of loathing I felt for myself.

The last part of the nightmare took place in Stull Cemetery, starting with Lucifer killing Castiel, progressing through his assault on Dean, then skipping to the moment that the cage closed, swallowing the only man I had ever loved and ripping him away from me forever.

I could never go back to sleep after I had it, and I really didn't know why I still tried. For the first few months, I had been a borderline insomniac, afraid of what I would see when I closed my eyes.

And then I started drinking the demon blood and realized what it could do.

I could still clearly recall my first taste of the poison and the way that first hit had made me feel. I even remembered what the unfortunate blood donor had looked like, the exact spot from where I had taken his blood, the location of the incident, the thoughts leading up to that moment, everything—it was all just floating around in my head, waiting to ambush me when I least expected it.

This was one of those times.

It was about six months after I had gone solo. I was in Arkansas, checking into a simple spirit, when I noticed that I was being followed. Demons was the first thought that went through my head. They had been following me a lot since I left Ella, but I never got any answers out of them.

But this time was different.

The demon made his move when I went down an alley, just like I knew he would. I turned and blocked his attack, then slammed him into the wall, my powers giving me extra force and busting his head open against the bricks. He had been shocked, his hand going to the back of his head and coming back covered with blood, but it didn't stop him from attacking me again.

His bloody hand clawed at my face, smearing the sticky red substance all over my lips, and that was when I had my first taste.

I wasn't sure if it was good, to be honest, but the effect was explosive. It sparked on my tongue and sent a wave of adrenaline through my entire body, and then it was gone, leaving only a slightly rusty aftertaste in my mouth.

I knew immediately that I needed more, that I needed whatever that feeling had been, no matter what the side effects might've been. For that split second that the blood had touched my tongue, I hadn't felt hopeless and defeated, like I was simply going through the motions of living. I had felt whole, just like my old self, and I desperately wanted that back.

So, instead of using my powers to kill the demon, I lunged at him, knocking us both to the ground. I pressed one knee into his stomach to keep him pinned, then took my dagger from my boot and held it to his neck. "Why are you following me?" I growled, and the demon eyed my blade nervously.

"Orders!" he answered readily. "We're under orders from Crowley to keep an eye on you!"

"And why would he want that?"

"I dunno, I'm just one of his cronies, okay? He doesn't tell me anything!"

"You're scared of me, aren't you?" I realized, a slight bit of surprise tingeing my voice.

"Of course I'm scared of you; you're Crowley's protégée, the witch with the demon blood!" His eyes, currently black as night, grew wider as I pressed the knife harder into his throat. "Please, don't kill me! I told you all I know!" He gasped as I just barely nicked his neck, and I stared, transfixed, as the smallest droplet of blood attached itself to my dagger.

Suddenly, he started to laugh. "Oh, you tasted it, didn't you?" he asked, grinning. "It's all over your face; it must've got in your mouth, too. Oh, Crowley's gonna love this. It's about time you went dark side, Garideth."

"Shut up!" I snarled, pressing the blade in even harder. More blood seeped forth from the wound, and my breath hitched in my throat, my heart pounding with the unimaginable want—no, need—that was filling me.

I loomed over his neck and he chuckled, the smallest trace of panic under the usual snarky tone that demons used. "Go ahead," he coaxed. "Do it."

Just one taste. Just one demon. I won't become addicted to this. I won't insult Sam's memory. Just one taste…

I sliced deeper into the demon's neck and pulled my dagger away, then quickly put my mouth to the gash. The blood flowed into my mouth and over my tongue, burning its way down my throat and through my body, and I found that I didn't want to stop drinking. I could drain this monster completely and still not have enough.

By the time I was done, I was trembling with adrenaline. I briefly thought back to how Sam had changed after drinking all of that blood to get his body ready for Lucifer, how unlike himself he had been.

But I didn't feel like that. I felt as though I had never been myself before that moment, only a ghost of what I was meant to be. I had never felt more in control or more invincible. I had never felt more alive. The sensation was indescribable in its magnificence, and I never wanted to come back down from the elated high that I was experiencing.

Later, once I had crashed, once I had realized what I had done, I'd gotten violently sick and ended up puking my guts up in the toilet. And when I noticed the deep red color, it only made me more nauseous. I stayed by the grimy toilet for at least three hours, occasionally retching and wallowing in self-loathing the entire time.

I swore that I would never do it again, but I was fooling myself if I even considered that a possibility.

Even without the feeling of completion and control, I wouldn't be able to give it up. It had done more than just given me that.

In some sick, twisted way, drinking the demon blood made me feel close to Sam. And I wouldn't give that up for anything.

2,318 words.

So how do you feel about it? Are you shocked and alarmed?

I know, it's kinda tragic, but be real. Things won't get happy for a long time. Not until Sammy gets his soul back, at least.

Also, Ella won't be in this as much as she was the first one. She has the twins now, and she has an actual house, so, while she will still be in it, she just won't be as much of a major player.

I honestly love this book more than the first, even with Soulless Sam, whom I hate more than anything in this universe. I hope you'll love it, too!