Zoey woke with a start at sunset, feeling sunlight filter through a window across her face, and pushed herself up from the floor. She trembled as the air hit her sweat laden body. She looked around and realized there were kitchen knives spread all over the floor. Her stomach sank. Not again... She had a tendency to thrash, scream, and sometimes even walk around in her sleep. When it was bad, it was really, really bad. Her side stung. Her arm hurt. Her back throbbed. She must've acted out her dream.
That damned nightmare again. She thought, silently cursing.
She went into the bathroom and drearily looked at herself in the floor length mirror that hung on the wall next to her sink. Her pale skin contrasted greatly with her long blue-black hair. Her pale, almost silver eyes lined with thick, long black lashes stared back at her from sunken sockets. She looked like death. She pulled her shirt off, which was stained with blood, to inspect herself as she often did after a specifically bad episode. She was thin, but not emaciated.
Her ribs were visible, but not too badly, at least she thought. Then she saw the cuts. one on her upper arm and one across her left ribcage. her skin was smeared with flakes of dried blood. She turned around and looked at her back, her eyes stinging with tears. It was like someone had hit her with a baseball bat. An angry red and purple bruise lashed diagonally across her back. No telling how that had happened. Zoey gritted her teeth and screamed through them, pounding her fists into the mirror, sending spider cracks through it, tears flowing freely.
Zoey stumbled off to her room, rifling through her dresser and finding a long sleeved black shirt and a pair of black jeans. She pulled them on slowly, wincing at the pain from her injuries. Then she grabbed her phone and her thumbs dialed the buttons on her cordless. It rang. And rang. A third ring. Someone finally picked up the phone on the other side.
"Zoey?" came the male voice on the other end.
"Rion, I had an episode," Zoey said, trying to keep the tears out of her voice.
"I'll be there soon," came his reply.
Click.
Zoey sat across the table from her ex boyfriend, staring down at her hands as she twisted at the material of her shirt sleeves. They had decided to talk at a diner about eight blocks away from her house. She had excused herself to the restroom to wipe away any lingering tears, and he got them a table and sodas. She watched the bubbles fizz in her drink quietly. She bit her lip, her eyes welling up again. Rion reached across the table to hold her and hand she shrunk away instinctively. He sighed.
"Still afraid of being touched, I see," he said.
Zoey turned her head. "You promised me," she replied pointedly.
"Yes, I did. And I will keep it, but how do you expect me to be your friend if you won't let me do anything to comfort you?" he retorted.
Zoey shrugged at him. "Kind words of encouragement?" She supplied, yawning deeply.
"Drink your soda, Zoey. Caffeine will help the drowsiness," Rion assured her.
"I'm not thirsty right now," she said defiantly.
He made a sound of disapproval, but dropped the subject. They had broken things off a little over a month ago, but he demanded that they stay friends. She agreed on certain conditions. They wouldn't be affectionate AT ALL, he couldn't keep tabs on her like he used to, and no more calling her every five minutes. She had broken up with him for a great deal of reasons, and those reasons were why she had rules. He had been overly controlling and jealous, but he was her only friend, what could she do? It had been a couple weeks since they last talked.
"So, what happened?" Rion inquired, staring hard at her with piercing hazel eyes.
"I had a nightmare... woke up covered in blood and knives everywhere," Zoey recalled.
"That sounds pretty bad. Do you, I mean, have you gotten the cuts looked at?" Rion asked, furrowing his brows.
Zoey shook her head silently. "They weren't life threatening. Most of them have healed over, they are just sore."
Rion stared at her, shaking his head and sighing leaning back against the booth.
"You should at least let me take a quick look at them just in case. I did go to medical school after all," he reminded her.
Zoey shook her head again in defiance. There was absolutely no way she was going to expose herself in front of Rion. That was the other thing she had problems with when she was with him. The guy could not keep his hands to himself. No, definitely not a good idea. She would much sooner eat a bowl of razor blades than take her shirt off in front of him.
Rion sighed once again and seemed to accept defeat. "How about we go to the bar around the corner and get a few drinks?"
"I will go, but I'm not going to drink anything," Zoey told him.
"Why not? You need it more than I do!" He exclaimed, chuckling.
"One of us has to be sober enough to drive," she reminded him.
"Fair enough Zo," He responded, using his old nickname for her.
"I like Zee better," she informed without thinking.
Rion gave her a funny look then shrugged it off. "Alright, Zee. I will buy your drinks and I will stay sober, since you need it more."
Zoey contemplated his new offer, carefully weighing the pros and cons. The worst that could happen is him getting drunk behind my back and me having to trek the eight blocks back home. With that murderer lurking about.
"Oh c'mon" Rion pleaded. "It's been so long since we hung out!"
True. Zoey thought to herself.
"I just don't want to end up having to walk back home," Zoey said with exasperation.
"You really think I would do that to you? Zo, seriously. You're being dramatic," Rion said sourly.
"OKAY. Fine. Let's go," Zoey agreed finally.
Rion grinned happily and escorted her out of the small diner, walking with her to the small bar that stood on the corner.
Johnny sat on his couch, staring down his telephone intently. A small pile of shredded paper lay at his feet, the note Zee had given him had fallen victim to the nervous, destructive nature of it's owner. It didn't matter. He had the entire thing memorized. He stood up abruptly, walked over to the phone, and reached for it. Then he drew his hand back as if it had hissed at him. He paced in front of it instead. Paced and paced, then sat back down on theb couch, resuming his staring contest with it. He stood back up and walked back over to it, staring down at it.
"God damn it, Nny! Just do it! Call her! We will all be better off for it!" Meat wailed.
"Shut the fuck up, lard ass, I am trying to think!" Johnny shot back viciously.
"Even if she doesn't answer it doesn't mean she doesn't like you, Nny," Nail-Bunny reassured him.
And what if she doesn't like me? What if she changed her mind about being my friend?
"Then you march straight over to where she works and make her like you! Take her! Take what you want!" Meat exclaimed joyfully.
Johnny blanched, horrified at the disgusting suggestion the figurine had just spewed forth.
"SHUTTHEFUCKUP YOU OOZING, FESTERING, MAGGOT TRAP. I WILL NOT LISTEN TO MORE OF YOUR SWILL TONIGHT. FFFFUUUUUCK!" Johnny ranted at the top of his voice.
"Might I humbly remind you, Nny; I AM you. Your desires and cravings incarnate. You are only arguing within yourself," Meat explained.
"ENOUGH!" Johnny yelled, punting the doll with his foot. The fragile Bub's figure landed safely on the couch.
Johnny then deftly crossed the room and yanked the phone receiver off its hook, dialing Zee's phone. This will make him shut his face.
The phone rang and rang and rang... and rang some more, until Zee's tired, soft voice came on, telling him to leave a message. He hung up as if the receiver had caught fire in his hand. She didn't answer. Well fuck. His blood burned inside him like hot oil. He dug his fingernails into the wood of the side table, leaving gouge marks, and gritted his teeth.
"Nny, there is always a chance she just went out, or is at work. You don't know her schedule, remember? She is not rejecting you," The bunny's head floated beside him reassuringly.
Nail-Bunny was right; of course he was right. She could be at the store. Or running some mundane task. His temper dropped. He would, of course, check the music store first. If she wasn't there, he would comb through the other shops. He was good at finding people. Unnaturally good at it, unless by some chance something distracted him along the way. Which reminded him... He grabbed his daggers and slid them into the inside pockets of his coat.
"I will be back later," he said, walking out into the balmy night air.
