Before you read this, I want to explain that I wrote this specifically to trigger myself. If you are in the position where you could possibly be triggered in any way by self-harm, drug or alcohol abuse, please don't read this. It's tailored to be triggering (for me, anyway).

I'm posting it because I want to see what people think of it… I've lost touch with reality a little bit, in my own problems, and posting this piece that I have used to trigger myself for a while is strangely soul-bearing for me. I think it's sort of about reaching out, but I don't really understand it.

Anyway, enjoy – Review if you have any real feelings about it. Xx


He had to tilt his head back and clench his throat muscles to keep the whiskey down as he took another gulp. The blood-lust was making him sick. He wasn't sure anymore whether the world was reeling as a result of starvation or drunkenness, but it didn't really matter to him; what mattered was that the pain was bearable. Bearable – not gone. He wanted it gone, and for the first time in months he had the opportunity to drink himself senseless without worrying about the humans being attacked.

Closing his eyes, Gabriel drank deeply from the bottle he held clutched in one trembling hand. He finished it within a minute and threw it to one side where the glass smashed against the stone wall of the fort.

He wiped his mouth clean with one clumsy hand, tilting his head back to rest against the wall he was leaning on to wait for the alcohol to take effect.

It was far too slow for his liking. Slow and not as powerful as other drugs… like vermillion, or heroin. Or even just cocaine. He would have settled for any of those in that moment. He rolled his head to one side to press a feverish cheek against the cool stone of the fort wall and breathed in deeply, focussing blearily on a small piece of moss just a few centimetres from his eyes. The liquor was no-where near enough to eradicate the pain that was crawling beneath his skin.

He considered going to get his stash from where it was buried in the bottom of one of the saddlebags. But they had been taken indoors and into the rooms they had been given, and there was no way he would be able to get away with retrieving them without the humans seeing. They couldn't stop him taking the drugs, of course, but he had managed to keep the extent of his substance abuse a secret so far and he would rather keep it that way. Drug use was weakness.

He was very drunk. But he still wasn't far gone enough that the starvation felt any better. Waves of pain accompanied by terrible nausea rocked his body, and it wasn't getting better. He shifted his gaze away from the stone as his vision began to blur, and looked down at his hands. He was almost shocked beneath his pain and alcohol induced delirium at how badly his hands were shaking. Shit.

Somehow he got to his feet, but was only just aware of it. He couldn't think – his mind clouded by pain and nausea and drunkenness. He was only vaguely aware as he emptied the contents of his stomach violently onto the heather, falling to his knees again as he did so. And then instinct dragged him back to his feet.

You're vulnerable. Instinct told him, You need strength.

He staggered back through the hidden door into the city and made his way slowly to the palace, the supernatural vampire part of him the only driving force. He could have easily killed in that moment, but he didn't. His body was used to starving, and so was the vampire part of him. Instead of responding in the way that most vampires would in his state, he went automatically to the things he had conditioned himself to turn to. First, physical pain. He dug his nails ruthlessly into his own arm, so that he dripped dark blood.

And then vermillion.


I should probably explain that vermillion is a drug that vamps use (in this story, vampires don't do drugs in reality). It mimics the effect of drinking gallons of blood and gives them a proper high while eradicating bloodlust. x