Perched.
Fighting it. Deep with in me. I can feel it. It's either the drugs or the wolf but something's definitely out of it in there.
My guts. In trails. Organs. Vital Fluids. Blood.
These word games are all I have left. I play them, night after night, hoping to god I'll wake up. And it'll be gone. I'll be with Ginger in Bailey Down's, with mom and dad and poor little Norman. Even Trina. I would never have gone out. Never learned about the wolf. Never had to infect myself. Ever.
It's a fun game. Pretending. All I wanted to do was be different a year ago. Now I want more than anything to be normal. Just to be me. And have my Ginger back.
My sister. My only friend. My protector. My fellow outsider.
But she could never. She wont ever come back. At least not the same. Never the same. Too much has happened and now too much has changed. I lost Ginger. Then Sam. Then me. And my mind.
My brain. Lobes. Occipital. Back of the head. Hair. Red hair. Orange. Ginger.
Why didn't I try harder? Why didn't I try to save her? It really is my fault. Everything is my fault. I couldn't stop her from killing. I couldn't stop her from dying. What am I good for?
Nothing. No thing. Thing. Some thing. Some one. No one. No body. No good. No.
Here we go. The needle's at my arm. Do I really want to do this? Why not just give in? Why not give up?
Renounce. Surrender. Resign. Relinquish. Quit. Stop.
But I can't stop. That's what an addiction is. I can't stop. I never will. Not unless I give up. Not unless I let it take me like it took Ginger. No. Not that. Anything but that. Not like she died.
Dead. Deceased. Departed. Lifeless. Without sensation. Frozen. Anaesthetized.
Pressing. Inside my skin. Needles in. I press down . And the purple disappears. Oh God.
God. Lord. Saviour. Jesus. Christ. Christian. Catholic. Holy.
It burns. Sizzling my flesh. Burning. Grab the pen. Between my teeth. Hold close. And tolerate.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Counting.
D O W N
Okay it's gone. I take a breath. And suffer the aftermath. I'm dizzy. I'm out of it. I'm vapour. The Door. Shit.
Twist the knob and pull close.
"Hey, you forgot these at the library, I thought I'd bring them over. Figured you'd want…" His voice drops and then so do I. Catch me. I'm falling.
"What did you take?" He's seen the needle. He's seen all the needles.
He's talking. But I can't hear him. I'm cold. I'm moving. He's carrying me. Then I'm warm. A car. I'm in a car.
Vehicle. Machine. Oil. Petrol. Gasoline. Tires. The wheel. A circle. Spinning.
I'm panicking. So is he. But he's moving. I can't. That scares me more than anything. I'm frozen. I'm a statue. I'm weightless. Mindless. I'm disappearing.
Fading. Diminishing. Vanishing. Deteriorating. Vapour. Evanescent. Gone.
There's a crashing. Glass. The Glass is broken. Shit. On his side. Yes. He's screaming. He's falling away. Smashing.
Crashing. Breaking. Shattered. Broken. Braking. Awaking. Okay, that's stretching it.
He's gone. Pulled out. I'm coming back. What was his name? He works at the library. He keeps the books. Blood lettings. Or something to that effect. Why can't I remember? The drugs. Right, the drugs. Their doing this to me.
I'm screaming. I've been screaming since the crashing.
A hand. From my side of the car. Pulling me out. Up and out. A man. A tall man with dark hair. And a gun, a big one. He's grabbing at my arm, around the shoulder and dragging me away.
I'm in another car. Still screaming. A hand, over my mouth. Oh god. The gun's at my head. I'm coming back now. Back to reality.
He's driving away and I'm still. Afraid.
Fearful. Terrified. Anxious. Troubled. Scared. Petrified.
(End Chapter One)