S/D: I bet Toriyama's lawyers come up with terrible, awful things to do to fan-girls like myself.
Prey
Chapter Six "When the Sickness is Your Soul"
If it chance your eye to offend you,
Pluck it out, lad, and be sound:
'Twill hurt, but there are salves to friend you,
And many a balsam grows on ground.
And if your hand or foot offend you,
Cut if off, lad, and be whole;
But play the man, and up and end you,
When the sickness is your soul.
-A.E. Houseman, A Shropshire Lad, xlv.
I woke up in my own bed.
It felt like a surprise.
Like one of those nights when you don't remember where it was you passed out, so you're always pleased when you find yourself still clothed and at least somewhere comfortable.
Wait. I'm dressed?
I made to sit up and found myself with such a head-rush, my vision blackened entirely and nausea swept over me in a tsunami. I flopped back onto my pillow and waited for it to subside. I fell asleep again in the process.
My dreams were horrible. I was always screaming, fighting, wishing I was dead. I dreamt I was being chased after by a man who looked like a reanimated cadaver. He could not be killed, no matter how many times I ran him over or tried to drown him. When he caught me, he would always torture me. I dreamt that I was blind and managed to drink acid. It burned my mouth, lips and tongue terribly, only to tear into my esophagus and damage my voice so badly, I could no longer scream.
My throbbing head woke me up this time.
I still got up before my alarm.
Getting to my feet, I staggered into the kitchen for some water and perhaps something to eat. The more I thought about it, the hungrier I got.
Eggs.
I wanted eggs.
I ate breakfast in silence: three eggs, three pieces of toast and two huge glasses of milk. Guess I was hungrier than a thought.
10:30. Time to shower and clean up before work.
The phone rang while I was in the shower. They left no message, just the dial tone.
It rang again. No message.
By the time I had gotten out of the shower, the phone had rang no less than half a dozen times.
When it rang this time, I answered it with my "what the fuck do you want" tone.
"Yes, hello." It was the leasing office.
"We're just calling to ask about a disturbance in your area last night. Seems several of our tenants were woken up last night by loud sounds."
She had yet to ask me a question. I stayed quiet.
She gave out a distressed sigh. I almost laughed. "Is everything all right ma'am?"
I guess she couldn't outright accuse me of causing this disturbance, whatever it may have been. "Yes. Everything is fine."
"Where were you last night, ma'am?" and then she followed quickly with, "Were you woken up as well?"
"I was in bed, asleep. I don't know what you're talking about."
"I see."
There was a pause. She couldn't point any more fingers and I was loving the fact she was stewing. I decided to break the silence. "Anything else?"
"No, ma'am. Thank you for your time. I hope everything is we--."
I hung up.
Those ass pirates get on my case for everything. If it's not a phantom stereo that the deaf old bat next door narcs on me for blasting, it's the outrageous number of male visitors I have that like to stomp the ceilings in of the renter below me. None of this has happened, naturally. I don't even own a stereo and my laptop speakers just can't carry a bass riff that loudly. I'm also new in the area and my only friends are my co-workers. ...yeah, friends.
The mercenaries I rent from went as far as to charge me twenty five dollars for putting my garbage out for the trucks the night before rather than that very morning. I suppose it's my fault I have a job that keeps me up late at night and comatose in the mornings. I started leaving it in my neighbors plot. The next notice I got was saying how they'll dig through the trash to find out whose it was, and then charge.
I think my neighbor's boinking the landlady.
Ew.
I ran my hands through my hair, tousling the wet locks in an attempt to dry them. My nails scraped over my neck and I felt my spine twinge involuntarily. Investigating further, I soothed my fingers over my neck to find a small scab right at the base of my hairline. Scratching it at more or less hurt, so I left it alone.
How'd I get a cut there?
You must have scratched yourself.
When'd I get it?
Probably last night at work. You're always hurting yourself.
Who's gonna argue with their own brains like that, eh? I believed myself in an instant. Nicely done.
Time to go.
I ignored the phone as it rang while I was walking out the door. If they know me and need me, they have my cell phone number. They can get a hold of me. It's not hard.
The ride to work was the usual; traffic leaden and hot, almost unbearably so. My skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat, trickles of it ran down the backs of my legs from the joint of my knees. I had to switch anti-perspirant brands just to stop pools from showing in my arm pits. All because of the car ride. I don't sweat that much at work. Besides, there's a walk-in freezer with my name on it any time the temperature becomes slightly intolerable.
When I made it through the doors, I thanked technology for air conditioning. You know the feeling of being all sweaty and hot and then you go somewhere cool and the sweat gets all cold and sticky and then you feel like you've just gotten out of a pool or something? Yeah, you don't have to tell me I'm crazy for me to know it. And why the Hell is it called air conditioning anyway? The conditioning I know about is not for air.
Friendly hellos and high fives fill the server alley. The familiar smacks and jeers welcomed me back to the working place. It felt like I never left. Did I?
I had a smile on my face until I ran into my general manager.
Now to say Jon was always cheerful would be incorrect. Besides, jolly would be the word to describe him. After all, the man was as large, if not larger, than the mythical Santa Claus and he was jolly, not cheerful.
My GM resembled an upside down top in many ways. He was skinny in the legs, sharply widening below the belt (now folks, that's just his descended intestine) to swell at the stomach and taped off at the shoulders and neck to a point called his head. Sure, the top would be incredibly lopsided, for the man's front was twice as bulbous as his back, he was perfect for the human-top job. Now if I only could draw Jewish symbols on him and get some chocolate.
On account of the Jolly Green Giant being jolly, that was not the case. He was looking as severe as the Stay Puffed Marshmallow man could look. True, this is not so bad, but it was enough to know I was in hot water and didn't know why.
Time to call backup.
Looping my arms in Laurie and Laura's, I chauffeured them to a quiet space in dry storage and dodged a head on collision with king sized manager.
"What's eatin'?"
"You were a no-call-no-show yesterday! Where were you?" their sweet little voices chirped out simultaneously. Hold on, lemme regurgitate something for you sweety.
Now wait just one minute, "I was here yesterday! What are you talking about?"
I think it was the look of abject horror on my face that made my co-conspirators turn to face the same direction and gaze upon a yeti of a manager. "Uh-oh," was uttered by one of our mouths and they suddenly gave the term scatter new meaning.
I, however, was left underneath the eyes of Jon. The Three Amigos was suddenly the Lonely Amiga. He turned (and it was his birthday again, haha) and beckoned me to follow him. We were going into his lair filled with empty pie tins and receipts: the office.
"Explain."
"Explain what?"
The one ton eyebrows wiggled.
I came out of that office angry and incredibly confused. I was suspended for my no-call-no-show and was written up formally. I had to sign a piece of paper explaining that I knew I was breaking the rules and knew I was in the wrong. Yeah. When I totally had no fucking clue what the Hell was going on!
It appears, folks, that I missed an entire day.
How do you do that?!
How do you fall asleep and wake up two mornings later?! It's ridiculous!
Okay, sure, I've done my fair share of sleeping. I've slept more than a day before, yes. But not on days when I have work and I knew my alarm was set. I turned it off this morning, in fact! I got up early! That's right. I got up early just to get bitched at for missing a day!
Which brings me back to how in the Hell I managed to miss a day...
This has never happened to me before. I was so disoriented I felt like I was going to hurl. A whole day. What happened to that whole day? It was Friday and I went to sleep on Wednesday.
I was unnerved and uncharacteristically agitated.
The back of my neck itched. It itched bad.
What does one do when their neck itches? They scratch it!
Little did I know how bad of an idea that was.
Wheeee. I was on a roller coaster! I could see the lights and could hear people shouting, some laughing. It was fun! I was dizzy! Wheee! Up another hill! Oops, the ride's over. Time to get off!
I woke up on the floor, paramedics and co-workers hovering over my head. Now, the smartest thing I've ever said. Here it comes: "I wanna put it in my mouth."
Just for future reference, if you ever find yourself waking up on the floor and looking up at seven heads staring down at you, don't tell them you want to stick something in your god damned mouth, okay? You'll never, and I mean never, live that down. Hell, the paramedics themselves are going to tell everyone they know for the rest of their lives! Just imagine their little grandson asking them to tell a story about work to everyone in their class on Your Hero day and every parent in the room (your hero's always your parents when you're in kindergarten, come on!) now knows that you wanna stick it in your mouth when you first wake up.
You bunch of pervs.
Stop thinking about it already.
My show of superior intellect continued as I smiled rather retardedly and asked the nice nurse with blue hair if I could dye my hair purple so we could match. Then I told them my kitty was the bestest kitty in the whole wide world and could beat up all their kitties. Soon I told them about how I could still manage to put my foot in my mouth. Literally. I've done that figuratively way too often for people to miss that one.
I asked the nice nurse lady type thing what the bad smell was, more or less accusing her of being the cause of the bad smell.
Right about then I bit my tongue so hard, blood pooled into my mouth. I jerked as pain lanced through every nerve of my spine and I smacked my head hard on the tile floor. Later on I was told that I asked permission to use the car while nearly choking to death on my own blood.
I heard the medics shout and curse as they fought to control my limbs. My co-workers also piled on, each sitting on a writhing body part. I was lashing with the strength inside of me I did not know I possessed. Perhaps all victims of seizures do. I must have marked someone with my swinging legs and fists. I don't recall.
Something jabbed me in the back of the neck, right above my spine. The blue haired nurse was holding my head. Now she smelled like lilacs. But I hated her because she hurt me. A burning sensation trickled through my body, spreading with each heartbeat, unclenching the muscles one by one. Oh, how it ached. I felt as through I'd been dipped in lye. I cried and sobbed, it hurt to breathe in, and so I cried harder, only making it worse.
I curled upon the floor, my tears and blood mixing in my hair and clothes. I was a mess.
I don't think I was going to come into work the next day anyway. So you can just go ahead and suspend me.
Asshole.
I hate waking up in a place you don't know.
There's something intimidating and sinister about it.
It's only compounded by finding yourself naked.
Has this ever happened to you?
And you so-called alien abductees, I don't wanna hear about it.
On a side note, I seem to be doing a lot of this waking up stuff.
So there I was. By moving just the slightest, I found cold metal biting at my skin. Harsh lights illuminated the room that was entirely white; stark, plain, clean. I felt like I was in the E.R.; surgical steel plate beneath me and hot white lights above me. I guess my hunch was right.
The blue haired lady from my episode earlier leaned over me and smiled. Her perfect lips mouthed words I could not hear, but the corners of her mouth were curled up, suggesting she was pleased with something. I was comforted in knowing the paramedics were smiling. Things were okay.
I obviously don't remember them carting me off from the job site in an ambulance. Much less remember them tearing away my stained clothes to perform CRP while they warmed up the paddles. I suppose I woke up once or twice, the electric shock to stimulate my heart also stabbing me to a semi-conscious state. Words like "too much," "cardiac arrest," "epilepsy," and "fucking idiot," were shared among the EMTs. I couldn't make sense of it. I don't have epilepsy and cardiac arrest is rare in people my age. Fucking idiot I could agree with. Someone out there was a fucking idiot.
I tried getting to my feet, eager to discover just how wounded my body was from the whole ordeal. I found my limbs strapped to the table, mercilessly pinning me to the cold slab that now served as my bed. I tried to turn my head to survey the room, perhaps whine piteously at a nurse or technician, to find my head held stationary by a thick Velcro strap at my forehead. Similar straps were positioned over my wrists, ankles, waist and shoulders. They weren't taking any chances of me falling off this table, I guess.
Panic must have filled my eyes. My heart rate must have rocketed. I broke out in a cold sweat. My teeth sank into the plastic mouthpiece positioned to keep me from biting my tongue. I writhed in my bindings and howled from my throat. Rational thought was not my friend at this point in time. I can honestly say, however, that it is the best reaction one could have. Waking in a place you do not know and strapped to a table without a single way of fighting back, you're damn right your body's going to jump to conclusions and pump adrenaline through you.
The blue haired doctor did not like this at all. Her gaze hardened into a cool mask of professionalism. I glared at her, blaming her for this ordeal. This was her fault. It had to be. She was there when I was in pain, and she's here now. The sound of Velcro tearing was music to my ears. A sense of victory filled me from head to toe. It was addictive, satisfying. Hell, it was better than chocolate. My lips peeled into a vicious grin, stretched by the mouth piece and my joy in my soon-to-be freedom. My hands... they would clamp upon her throat, and I could gain what I have always wanted. I would be free.
Something traded hands and she pricked my skin. I could not see.
I fell asleep almost instantly.
That was my moment in the sun, my second of insanity. I felt, well, I would not say alive versus not being alive previously, but I felt like a new type of blood surged through these veins of mine. I was full of energy and craved the pursuits of life I had never before dreamed. I felt like a woman reborn.
My desires were base, instinctual, and focused rather egocentrically. They were also fairly easily obtained. Safety was a priority. And through achieving my safety I would be willing to exercise myself and slick my blood lust.
Let me step back a moment here. To say I knew it was blood lust at the time would be false. For someone who has never experienced the cry to take a life, you would not recognize the need. Imagine: you've never felt anger at any time in your life and suddenly, bang, you're madder than "insert funny quip here" and don't know what the Hell is going on with you. You're sweating and breathing hard, you can't see clearly and all you want to do is break something (well, I know I do when I'm really mad).
It's confusing to have to label your emotions so late in life. I'm used to experiencing the known and named ones so to have a completely foreign feeling coursing through my body is not only a rush, but a revitalizing experience. It was a healthy reminder that I am not done. I am alive. I am young.
To sum up, I felt empowered. As though someone had handed me Zeus's triton and told me to go for it.
After my safety was no longer in question I had planned to knock off my bodily needs, one by one: food, water, shelter, and finally sex. Oh boy.
I wanted it from one place and one place alone would satisfy me. I wanted the Stranger.
To say I wanted him would be an understatement. I cannot adequately describe the need that tugged the tendons of my body and raged in my poor excuse of a soul. Ahem. I have a pitiful grasp of this language stuff. And sharing my feelings, well, that's hard enough.
Anyway. The Stranger. Yes. In the mere instants that I had become the unleashed beast within, I had staked my claim in the man's hide. I sought his blood, his flesh and his bones (haha, go dirty puns!). I could not wait to dig my nails upon his back, to spell my name in his very skin. I wanted to bathe in the filth that was his sweat and blood.
My desires for the Stranger were no longer of a woman who merely required companionship and a simple lover. They were taboo and immoral, dirty and distasteful. Society frowned upon women who dreamt of peeling the skin off her lover's face to kiss the bared muscles of his lips. I wanted to kill him as much as I wanted to fuck him. Was that too much to ask for?
A heavy hand descended upon my heart, quietly constricting, silently squeezing my life away. I clawed and howled, thrashing beneath the murderer, tearing at the limbs that sought to end me too soon. A ragged scream tore through my throat, finally waking my slow body up. I shot to a sitting position, hands clutching my abused chest. I had ripped my shirt and scraped at my skin. Small welts were forming on the white flesh of my breasts where I had attempted to free myself of a killer.
Again, I knew I was somewhere alien. The clothes were not mine. The bed not formed to my body. What was this place? Am I dreaming?
Then I saw him. He was there, sitting across the room, watching with those raven eyes.
Oh, how venerable I felt beneath his gaze.
I was small again; powerless, fragile, pathetic. I wanted to go home. I wanted to cry.
But most of all...
I wanted to die.
I didn't understand what was happening to me. None of it made sense. When I put it all together, it was all too random. I had incomplete memories and flashes of what I thought happened that totally discredited the events that actually happened. I was torn between my own memories and the stories of others.
Pain and flashes of light would accompany returning memories, the smells, the tastes. What has happened? Shouts echoed down the halls. Empty halls. No, they were the halls of somewhere else, another facility. My hand came to my head to fight the oncoming colors.
I was falling. To where, I don't know. My hair licked my face. It was soft, smelling so sweet. The wind was gentle, calm, shrouding my limbs and bodice in a smooth sheet of silk. I looked up to the place I fell, it was so far away. But there she was: the blonde with the blue eyes.
Her jaw length hair fluttered in the same wind that carried me away, her arms still outstretched from pushing me from this cliff. Those eyes. They were there. Cold, unforgiving blue. The depths of the sea could not possess the frightening aura in that azure gaze. I feared them without thought. No one had to tell me to be afraid, or to run from them, but I did.
A/N: Moving's a bitch. Arrr.
Uh. I forgot to update this thing. Whoops. Heee...