My mother gave me to that cold Reaper, damning me to a life of slow death. I no longer had her, either. She'd left and never come home.
My blurry vision caught on a tan tab atop the papers that came from another Reaper I hated so. Reaching out, I plucked it up, staring at it until I stuck it in my mouth. As if swallowing it permitted me to continue, I became frenzied, searching for all of them and shoving them in my mouth as quickly as I could find one.
Shadow returned and pressed her visions into my mind, but I propelled her out. Her soft fur and scent of mother's milk only pushed me harder.
When I had no more tabs, I hopped up and ran to my room. My things flew across the room as I dug for what I needed. In my dresser drawer lay everything I had left from Con's last delivery. Container after container emptied as I chased oblivion. I wanted to rid myself of it all; the monster, the pain, the past.
But even that wasn't enough to wipe the thoughts from my mind, so I searched for the alcohol I had lying around, ever ready for the instant I woke. When my hand wrapped around the neck of the first one I saw, I fell back on my ass and sucked down as much as I could until I coughed, choking because I drank too fast. I couldn't feel the burn it usually had, not while the pain in my soul overwhelmed the rest of me. While I caught my breath, I laid on my side and curled into a ball.
The thoughts that I'd tried to destroy blasted through my mind, anyway. Each of them ran together, overlapping and becoming jumbled as though they were so eager to destroy what bit of me I had left.
Why do I care? Why does it hurt to know my living monster doesn't want me here? Does anyone? Maybe I shouldn't be. I can't do this. I am so tired. I'm so fucking tired. How can I carry an entire world when I can't even carry myself?
Weak pricks pierced my gut, inciting nausea, and I glanced inside to see my monster reaching up as if begging me to save it. I beat my fist against the cold floor while I cursed it and wished it would drown. The red of its eyes disappeared as it grew too intoxicated to stay awake. It slipped beneath the swirling surface, disappearing bit by bit.
A cruel laugh bounced around inside me, but no one was there to hear it. I left my monster to its fate and shoved myself up before fumbling around for the cheap, sour-tasting elixir of peace.
Instead of finding the cool, slick bottle, my hand slipped in the wet puddle of wasted alcohol, and I tipped over. My face smacked against the floor, but I didn't feel it. I was so far beyond caring that I remained sprawled out with my soaked cloak bunched around my waist.
My eyes fluttered closed, similar to how my monster's had, and I tried to pull my cloak over my legs.
I failed, but I couldn't even function enough to realize that. All I knew was that I finally felt dead inside, and the corners of my mouth tipped up.
Chapter Eight
“Wake up. Wake up!”
A dull ache, one that didn't even compete with my usual, erupted in my cheek. My head whipped around, bouncing my brain enough that it caused my gut to clench.
“She's not waking up. What do we do?”
“Here!”
Something cold and wet swiped across my brow, and I attempted to shove it away. When that didn't work, I tried to strike whatever kept trying to prevent me from wallowing in the nothing inside.
“Hey, Zella, come on, Princess. I need you to open your eyes.” When I didn't, that soft, lyrical voice became more insistent, deeper, and harder.
“Wake the fuck up. I didn't say you could do this shit. Get your ass up.”
“Stop talking to her like that,” the pretty voice said.
“Your nice version didn't work, Kian. Neither did Trace's demands. Move. Let me try,” someone else instructed.
My body jostled around as I was passed to someone's lap. Instead of that offensive rag, warm fingers traced my face.
“Zella, I know you want to sleep, but will you open your eyes for a moment? We just need to see you,” he pleaded. “Let me see you.”
“You don't want that. No one does.” Hot tears disappeared