Mortal Siege by N. Isabelle Blanco

Author:N. Isabelle Blanco [Blanco, N. Isabelle]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2019-02-25T05:00:00+00:00

chapter 38

s he ran from me.

She ran from me.

She ran from me.

She ran from me.

It’s all I hear nowadays. The only thing I’ve been hearing for months now.

Or has it been years?

Time is a joke of a concept. A hooded, beastly torturer that exists only to taunt me. To remind me that I’m still here, no matter how hard I try to leave, that she’s still gone.

That, at the first hint of me closing in on her, she bolted.

How long ago was the trip to Illinois? Again, no clue. I stopped tracking time after my return, stopped tracking life itself. I remember getting off that plane with Finn, knowing my father was probably on my heels or some shit. Remember the jubilation, the sheer high of believing I was about to have my girl back.

Also recall the Earth-shattering realization that she was no longer at the school. That “Lily Bennet” had enrolled and disappeared, leaving behind only her grades and a few screenshots off the school’s camera feeds to confirm she had ever existed.

No confirmation of why she ran again, but who the fuck needs one? There can only be one reason.

Me.

She loathes me. Is done with me.

While here I remain, a specter trapped in his own destruction, unable to do what’s necessary and end myself the quick way.

It’s the hope. That insidious, cruel hope. It whispers that she’s out there, that as long as she’s living, I need to go on, too.

I can’t. It’s too painful. Not without the drugs to numb myself.

The sound of a glass bottle rolling along the concrete echoes down the alley. I ignore it, huddled behind this dumpster, I shut off my phone light to avoid detection. The plan was to make it back to the motel room; walking became too difficult, the agony in my soul spreading through my limbs.

Weed was never enough. Alcohol? Pathetic. Cocaine did nothing but fuel the rage, the need for destruction. That first hit of heroin was the only thing that came close to easing this hole, but even that is nothing more than a pitiful band-aid.

Didn’t stop me from using more and more, though. Not with the way my body seems equipped to develop tolerance. Don’t know how many months it’s been since I started, due to my break-up with time itself. Yet it was within days that I realized, although this is the closest I’ve come to not being consumed by the blackness, nothing will ever suffice.

Yet, it’s all I’ve got for now, so fuck it.

There’s a shuffle of feet at the mouth of the alley. Paying them no mind, I wrap the tourniquet around my arm, right above my left elbow. The skin beneath it is riddled with red, raised marks, the veins bulging and irritated.

I’m smart enough to understand what that means, what I’m mostly doing wrong, and also damaged enough not to give two shits.

Finding a decent vein, I slide the syringe in and press down on the plunger. Instantly, parts of the world melt away, my mind floating in a cloud of pleasure.

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