(A/N)—This chapter is written in the point of view of Twisted Metal: Black's character, The Bride.
I glanced at my watch as it began to beep. The shrill, annoying sound seemed to drill itself into my brain, giving me just a taste of that old feeling that used to live in my brain all the time.
Shortly after the competition, when it was made apparent that the man of my dreams wasn't…exactly what I wanted him to be, I realized that I needed help. I moved into a small apartment, started going to a shrink, and got put back on my meds.
I had to take them every hour on the hour and they were strong…The strongest anyone could legally prescribe me.
My fingers drummed on the table next to the bottle of medication and I closed my eyes, thinking of old times.
I licked my lips as I thought of all the carnage laced memories that were flooding through my mind these days. They especially came out as I slumbered, decorating my dreams with bloodstains and bloodcurdling screams.
Those were the loveliest dreams I had ever had, and yet, I knew if I kept taking the dreaded medication, they would be silenced for good.
A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I pondered deeply whether or not it was even worth going back on my medication. The memories of the past were becoming just that, memories. An intangible nothingness that seemed close enough to sense, but too far away to touch.
I wrapped my fingers around the bottle, delicately removing the cap and peering at its small, blue inhabitants.
As I licked my lips, I could almost taste the spray of bitter blood that always made its way to my face.
I thought of that gorgeous wedding dress made even more gorgeous by the crimson that imbrued its lace.
I remembered how the dress clung to me and showed off my lovely curves. The dress made me look so beautiful…No, I made the dress look beautiful.
The garment I once wore with reckless abandon now stayed hung up in my closet, hidden from everyone's eyes but my own.
These days, it seemed the nostalgia got the better of me every time the watch alerted me of "Pill Time".
Just as always, my obligation to my mental health overcame my yearning for the past. I dumped two pills into my hand, planted them in my mouth, and washed them down with a gulp of water.
As I put the cap back on the pill bottle, I felt a cold tear slide down my cheek.