Post by Datura on Jul 16, 2016 22:38:48 GMT -6
Sunset fell upon the city like a blanket, snuffing out the last flames of the day. For some ungodly reason, I had passed the time in a dream, trying to sleep away to sunlight. I would have slept halfway through the night, had it not been for the ungodly ring of my iPhone.”
“Insatiable fucking collectors.”
I rolled away from my pillow and reached over, expecting to see an unfamiliar amalgamation of numbers from a state i’d never been to. Instead, Morgan’s gorgeous face greeted me from the screen. I jolted up, a sea of fluttering doves swarming in my brain. I panicked, pressing every space on the screen in an attempt to answer the call.
“Morning, love!” I couldn't wait to hear her voice.
“Blah…” There was a shipwreck in my sternum. It started in my chest and sunk toward my ribcage. A distinct pause lingered over the sound waves-breath in a desperate ocean.
“Blah?” I asked.
“I think I gotta go on walkabout and I'll see you when I see you. We never labeled this thing and we never have to, and if you need me, send up a call. Until then I'm just a feather in the wind.” I blinked and leaned forward in bed as if a new position would help me understand what I had just heard. I bit my knuckle, trying to quell the water in the corner of my eyelids.
“Listen, we didn't label a thing because I though you didn't want to…” I sputtered.
“I didn't.. My mind is fog is all.” It took every fiber of my being to not break down into a fit of yelling. This cop out, this excuse shoved the word coward onto my tongue, but I bit it down.
“Didn't suggests a change. Is there a change?” I asked. A brief moment of hope, a requiem from the storm. “I respect what you want. You're the important one here.”
“I just don't want to waste your time.” The last syllable of time forced me to roll my eyes. I had heard this excuse before. It had come from my own lips.
“Any time with you is time well spent, but if you'd prefer to not see me I'll respect that.” I responded, immediately regretting sounding so desperate.
“I just feel that itch to run again, it's imprinted on me. Every time there's a fork in the road ...heaven or hell? I take the lesser one. Call me sometime, Elizabeth... Let's see where I am after this particular funk.” Funk. How cute. Just as I grew the slightest bit comfortable, she went to the opposite side of the spectrum. I inhaled deeply through my mouth, cracking my jaw in the process.
“Run, little one.”
“Take care of yourself, bluebird. Kick ass.”
“Don't look back.” I snarled. I heard her attempt to reply, but I had already hung up, letting the phone call from my hand to the sheets.
My breaths shortened. My chest compacted and compressed into itself. I scrambled to pick up my phone and dial Cameron’s number. Each dial felt like an eternity.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“You've reached Doctor Cameron Behringe-”
I slammed finger against the red button and redialled another number.
Ring.
Acid kicked up in my throat.
Ring.
My eyes began to blur.
Ring.
I bit down on my bottom lip.
“You've reached Cameron Behringer's personal line. If this is a medical emergency, hang up and dial-”
The message was longer, but my phone had already taken flight. The glass screen cracked against the impact of the wall and the ruined body slammed onto the floor.
My eyes darted through the room, my vision a tear induced kaleidoscope. Between Ryan’s marriage and Morgan, I was drawn toward a state of surrender. Without thinking, I stumbled into the bathroom and threw myself onto my knees. The cabinet, cluttered and dingy, served as a special hiding spot. After throwing aside the cotton balls and liquid medications, my hands grasped onto a small, golden box. I tugged on it and took it to the kitchen.
Muscle memory is an interesting complex. Before I could determine the reasonable aspects of the situation, the spoon had been lit, the tourniquet was tied, and I was on the tile kitchen floor. In the distance, I could hear Kristoff Krane’s voice coming from the ghetto blaster.
“Better than I ever felt,
pleasure is a leather belt
Never mind the path to heaven
winds directly through Hell.”
---
Sirens play out in the distance. They catch Elizabeth’s attention, and her eyes flutter toward the window. She attempts to swallow, but her saliva gets caught in her throat.
“Tristain. Tristain Ambrose.” Elizabeth turns back, running her tongue across her top row of teeth. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, bags dark and obvious underneath them.
“Do you remember last we spoke?” She tilts her head. Her voice is worn. Her throat scratched with every word. She coughs, attempting to clear it.
“I remember it very clearly,” she purrs, “you said quote,” she raises her fingers into air quotes, “‘last I checked it was Tristain one. Datura zero.’ I..,” a noise at the door jolts Elizabeth to her feet. She listens carefully, her breath growing to a quicker pace. “I..,”
Her head, cluttered with Morgan’s face, pounds with each heartbeat. She returns to her seat and lights a cigarette, “I'm afraid I have some terrible news.”
“Now, I don't doubt your ability to win again, Tristain. You've beaten some…some..” Datura’s eyes close, and her forearm moves to her nose. As she removes it, she finds a trail of blood. Her blinks grow more rapid and she begins to shake her head violently.
“I'm sorry. I can't do this.” Elizabeth jumps up again and storms away. Her heavy footsteps resonate throughout the apartment until the bathroom door opens, then slams shut.
“Insatiable fucking collectors.”
I rolled away from my pillow and reached over, expecting to see an unfamiliar amalgamation of numbers from a state i’d never been to. Instead, Morgan’s gorgeous face greeted me from the screen. I jolted up, a sea of fluttering doves swarming in my brain. I panicked, pressing every space on the screen in an attempt to answer the call.
“Morning, love!” I couldn't wait to hear her voice.
“Blah…” There was a shipwreck in my sternum. It started in my chest and sunk toward my ribcage. A distinct pause lingered over the sound waves-breath in a desperate ocean.
“Blah?” I asked.
“I think I gotta go on walkabout and I'll see you when I see you. We never labeled this thing and we never have to, and if you need me, send up a call. Until then I'm just a feather in the wind.” I blinked and leaned forward in bed as if a new position would help me understand what I had just heard. I bit my knuckle, trying to quell the water in the corner of my eyelids.
“Listen, we didn't label a thing because I though you didn't want to…” I sputtered.
“I didn't.. My mind is fog is all.” It took every fiber of my being to not break down into a fit of yelling. This cop out, this excuse shoved the word coward onto my tongue, but I bit it down.
“Didn't suggests a change. Is there a change?” I asked. A brief moment of hope, a requiem from the storm. “I respect what you want. You're the important one here.”
“I just don't want to waste your time.” The last syllable of time forced me to roll my eyes. I had heard this excuse before. It had come from my own lips.
“Any time with you is time well spent, but if you'd prefer to not see me I'll respect that.” I responded, immediately regretting sounding so desperate.
“I just feel that itch to run again, it's imprinted on me. Every time there's a fork in the road ...heaven or hell? I take the lesser one. Call me sometime, Elizabeth... Let's see where I am after this particular funk.” Funk. How cute. Just as I grew the slightest bit comfortable, she went to the opposite side of the spectrum. I inhaled deeply through my mouth, cracking my jaw in the process.
“Run, little one.”
“Take care of yourself, bluebird. Kick ass.”
“Don't look back.” I snarled. I heard her attempt to reply, but I had already hung up, letting the phone call from my hand to the sheets.
My breaths shortened. My chest compacted and compressed into itself. I scrambled to pick up my phone and dial Cameron’s number. Each dial felt like an eternity.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“You've reached Doctor Cameron Behringe-”
I slammed finger against the red button and redialled another number.
Ring.
Acid kicked up in my throat.
Ring.
My eyes began to blur.
Ring.
I bit down on my bottom lip.
“You've reached Cameron Behringer's personal line. If this is a medical emergency, hang up and dial-”
The message was longer, but my phone had already taken flight. The glass screen cracked against the impact of the wall and the ruined body slammed onto the floor.
My eyes darted through the room, my vision a tear induced kaleidoscope. Between Ryan’s marriage and Morgan, I was drawn toward a state of surrender. Without thinking, I stumbled into the bathroom and threw myself onto my knees. The cabinet, cluttered and dingy, served as a special hiding spot. After throwing aside the cotton balls and liquid medications, my hands grasped onto a small, golden box. I tugged on it and took it to the kitchen.
Muscle memory is an interesting complex. Before I could determine the reasonable aspects of the situation, the spoon had been lit, the tourniquet was tied, and I was on the tile kitchen floor. In the distance, I could hear Kristoff Krane’s voice coming from the ghetto blaster.
“Better than I ever felt,
pleasure is a leather belt
Never mind the path to heaven
winds directly through Hell.”
---
Sirens play out in the distance. They catch Elizabeth’s attention, and her eyes flutter toward the window. She attempts to swallow, but her saliva gets caught in her throat.
“Tristain. Tristain Ambrose.” Elizabeth turns back, running her tongue across her top row of teeth. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, bags dark and obvious underneath them.
“Do you remember last we spoke?” She tilts her head. Her voice is worn. Her throat scratched with every word. She coughs, attempting to clear it.
“I remember it very clearly,” she purrs, “you said quote,” she raises her fingers into air quotes, “‘last I checked it was Tristain one. Datura zero.’ I..,” a noise at the door jolts Elizabeth to her feet. She listens carefully, her breath growing to a quicker pace. “I..,”
Her head, cluttered with Morgan’s face, pounds with each heartbeat. She returns to her seat and lights a cigarette, “I'm afraid I have some terrible news.”
“Now, I don't doubt your ability to win again, Tristain. You've beaten some…some..” Datura’s eyes close, and her forearm moves to her nose. As she removes it, she finds a trail of blood. Her blinks grow more rapid and she begins to shake her head violently.
“I'm sorry. I can't do this.” Elizabeth jumps up again and storms away. Her heavy footsteps resonate throughout the apartment until the bathroom door opens, then slams shut.