Darkness (Chapter 5-9)

I can't help smiling.

“Right you are sir, what do you need me to do; I don't need an excuse to get away from the flat.”

“Ah goose, you could move back here; I mean, we have the room and your room is intact and I'm sure the lads could use a role model to teach them how to get things done...”

“No, my flat is mine. Might as well make good use out of it; I'm sure Roman is teaching them sufficiently. When he's not trying to get off with the teens.”

“What are you talking about Ellie? I feel like an army general and...hey I do not try to get off with teenagers, they just admire me...”

“Yeah, right. The girls' ovaries practically explode when you enter the room. You say you haven't noticed but I think you get off on the attention.”

“Oh piss off, just because you're jealous.”

“In your dreams, douchebag.”

“If you two are done flirting, it's time to go to work.”



Time to go to work; oh it's going to be a long day...







                                                                                Chapter 5



There's this old saying that John used to repeat when we were younger: 'calamity is the touchstone of a brave mind'. I never used to understand what it meant; it was cryptic as John always was. Now I understand. It is at times of crisis that the great and courageous are separated from the sheep in wolf's clothing. I have learnt this so many times and yet human nature still perplexes me; people will always put up a front to mask themselves from the world, they will pretend to be stronger than they are to fit in. It sounds hypocritical coming out of my mouth.

 

  John would always spout off old proverbs when we went on a run. I think it was his way of reconnecting with the time before everything went to Hell. The stories he'd used to tell about the days when Christmas lights lit up Trafalgar Square, illuminating a city that never seemed to sleep. When commuters would wake at the crack of dawn and cram onto packed trains and the tube. When the world seemed to be alive. It would be mad not to yearn for that type of a world; instead of the perpetual silence that has fallen.



Roman and I walk in silence out of the front door; John has sent us on a run to get more supplies, I can be persuasive when I desire to be, and I still cannot contemplate everything I have seen and heard over the past day. To think I thought solitude was the best thing for me; maybe I am needed.

I am dreading what Roman is going to say next, he can't stand awkward silences. He is a lot more eloquent when he expresses himself than I am.



“So medical supplies...food...yeah, cool. Wait, they had tonnes of supplies; I saw the medical cupboard. I do believe we have been had by the old codger; I guess we'll just have to talk instead.”

“Really, I'd prefer to get supplies. Not that I find your company dull but I find your company dull, with the greatest of respect.”

“If you will insist on being a bitch about it. I really wonder what goes on inside your skull, you know that. Nothing phases you, does it? Not killing people, not the prospect of death, not the idea of people you love dying. It can't be easy but I guess John has got you well trained in that ideology, am I wrong?”

“I guess you're not. I think I've proved things do phase me, I'm not a sociopath. I just want something to take my mind off of things. Like Annie and Isla...”

“Who told you about Isla? She's not dead, she can't be. Rita said she was but she couldn't be because she was Isla and I was supposed to protect her and...”



Roman inhales and places his head against the crumbled wall that stood before us. He begins to hit his head continually until he begins to bleed and he begins to resemble Frankenstein's creature.

“Roman, stop. Stop. It wasn't your fault, it's nobody's fault people become infected. We all know the risks and you shouldn't have to bear the weight of her death. Que sera sera. For god sake, stop it! Do you need me to rohypnol your arse.”

“I still had responsibility for her. It was still my fault; you wouldn't understand. She was pr...”

Roman takes one look at me and falls like a log. You bash your brains in against a wall hard enough and you're going to faint, naturally. But he was going to tell me something which seemed important. He was disorientated so maybe he was just a little delusional but just him to knock himself out when things are getting interesting.



I have to continue on without him. He should be fine if I leave him here; I can't wait for him to wake up and he will be fine. I just have to get a few things and if he wakes up while I'm gone it won't be difficult to find me; I really don't want to sit and watch his dumb ass.



I walk down the road. I shouldn't feel guilty, he'd do the same if it were me lying on the concrete. I can't think about it, I can't.



The sky seems somewhat darkened by the clouds, threatening more bouts of rain; absolutely fantastic. It still looks like it could be dawn but it has to be somewhere about midday. I can see why the world misses clocks, they make things so much easier when deciphering time. I still have my wrist watch but it's been battered to hell. It hasn't told the time in years but I've still kept it, I guess for the sake of being sentimental. It used to belong to my dad from what I can remember. Or it might have been my mum's. It gets more difficult to remember my past. As far as I'm concerned, my life began again when John took me in. There was no real life before otherwise I would yearn for it, wouldn't I?



After 5 minutes, I reach my favourite goods supply; the old supermarket responsible for my broken leg and a literal stab in the back. You'd think I wouldn't have ever come back after that 'trauma' but I got over it. The promise of feeding people is worth getting over your own crap. It looks even worse than ever; if I'm not mistaken, it looks like there's been a fire here recently due to the fire damage and white smoke bellowing from the building. Crap. I'm guessing that's all the supplies up in smoke which means I am up the creek without a paddle. I just have to hope that there are some supplies that are salvageable. I mean the fire may have not affected the stockroom; oh God, I am so screwed. Why are people such dickheads? Everyone's got to survive, for god's sake we need each other or we're all going to end up as worm meat.



I have some rope in my backpack which I always keep in there in case I need to climb, which is the most common, or stem bleeding. Who knew rope had so many uses? Oh, that would be everyone that has survived thus far.

  I throw the rope through the small opening in the window. My throwing is pretty bloody amazing, even if I say myself. I make sure the rope is secure by tugging it; I have learnt my lesson in regards to unstable climbing apparatus. I really can't afford to be disabled at the current time but I have a choice.



Climbing up the wall never gets easier; I pride myself on my abdominal strength so how the hell do the others do it. Oh wait, they don't because they lack judgement.



Once I reach the destination, I realise how difficult this is going to be. There is still a small fire blazing in the centre. The gap in the window seems slightly too small. The last time I went to this supply haunt, I was a few pounds lighter and smaller in general. It must have been a year since I graced the building with my presence. Shit.



I struggle. The gap begins to look like the space is sufficient but it will be a tight squeeze. Damn having muscle; if I was just a skinny little wretch I would not be hanging with my head and upper torso in the building and the rest of me hanging in mid-air attached to the rope. Oh god, I am going to have cuts on my hips by the time I'm through.

Crap, crap, crap. My belt is stuck. My sodding belt is stuck.

If I wasn't so busy using my hands to steady me, I would be able to detach it somehow. Maybe it's a blessing that Roman knocked himself out. I don't think I could live with the shame of Roman always talking about the time he saw me with my trousers around my ankles while performing a belly flop into a building. Uh, the shame. The shame.

  If I move one hand, I can keep a hold of the rope with the other. I just need a few seconds. My only issue is if I drop my belt, there goes my knife. If I get into any shit, I am dead. Well, at least without the belt, I have a chance.



Yes. The belt is detached. Okay, one last push.



Ow. All I can say is...ow. I was right. My hips have been cut to pieces. I look back. There is a significant amount of blood. I'm going to have a fun time tonight; picking out splinters with blunt tweezers. Damn, I need a disinfectant otherwise I could get an infection which could lead to septicaemia which is not something I need to worry about right now.



I let out a little wince. Great...no weapon and now a trail of blood; it's like Christmas.

The fire doesn't appear to be near any of the supplies, which worries me. The last time someone set fire to a building with supplies it was a statement. It was saying: 'if I can't have these supplies, you can all starve with me, you bastards.'

History does have a tendency to repeat itself which is why this worries me.

What are they trying to burn?

Purification by fire? Torture?

Oh god Elektra, what the hell have you got yourself into?



“Get down on the ground! Drop any weapons and get on the ground!”

Damn. Shit's about to hit the fan.









                                                                  Chapter 6



“I don't have any weapons. Easy, easy. I'm getting down; it's okay, don't do anything irrational.”

“Shut up and just get down bitch!”

I kneel down on the ground slowly, trying to formulate an escape plan. I have no physical weapons but if I can get him on the ground, I can make a clean break for it. Nobody has to get their bones broken. I shouldn't of left Roman. I'm not new to confrontation but it's always ended in blood.

  That's when I spot it. A shard of metal shelving. If I can reach it then I have some form of leverage, a way to make this confrontation fair and not one sided.



“Give me everything you have on you and I won't have to slit your pretty little throat. Nothing personal but I have people to feed so hand it over. I will kill you, make no mistake.”

He is right behind me. Close enough for me to smell the odour of stale cigarettes masked slightly by mint. I have always hated the stench of cigarettes and my coffee is threatening to make a reappearance; if I am about to die, I'm going to spend my last moments with a little thing I call self-respect, not in a pile of my vomit.



“I understand. People to protect but really...do you have to kill me? I don't have anything on me; I don't travel with my supplies so what would be the point in killing? The group I'm with will be royally pissed if you harm me. We're a big group, fifteen strong and I'm sure you don't want to start anything, do you?”

  I edge closer to the shard. He hasn't noticed. At least I think it's a he; if it isn't a man, god give that woman a lozenge. I'm not technically lying about the size of my group; we are a group of fifteen, but ten of them happen to be under the age of fourteen. Plus, they would be pissed if one of their most proficient hunter, gatherers were to vanish or to be put out of commission.



“Oh really? I don't give a shit about your group. I need supplies and if you ain't gonna give me what I want, I guess I'll just have to kill you...”

He pauses in the middle of his sentence as if he is trying to subdue a cough. He turns his head momentarily and begins to have a violent coughing fit. Every cough seems to intensify, as if with every cough he suffocates more. When the coughing begins to calm, I hear him bring something up. The reflection from the shard hits me like a tonne of bricks. Blood. He's brought up blood.

Oh my god. He's infected.

I am trapped in a blazing stock room with an infected with a gun to my back...typical Saturday afternoon.



If he's coughing up blood, he's pretty far along which means in a day or so he will die choking on his own blood, struggling for breath. I cannot stay here. The longer I stay here, the greater the chance of becoming infected myself. He's reloading his gun. I have a few seconds. This is good; I can do stuff with a few seconds. I just have to strike.

 

  I dart at the shard. He notices this and shots at my abdomen. One of the bullets finds a way into my stomach. Getting shot hurts a lot more than I remember. However, there is an exit wound which means that I'm going to bleed more profusely but it is likely to be cleaner, at least that's what Rita said. The bastard's really going to get it now. I was going to let him go but now...how can I?



I crawl over to the shard. I block everything else out, especially the searing pain in my gut. I grab it. It is relatively sharp but whether it is effective as a weapon still is to be seen. All I can see is a red mist. So I dive at him, knocking him off of his feet. It is dangerous to be in such close proximity to an infected but I don't really give a crap at the current time. It's either him or me and he's close to death anyway. I'm not planning on becoming worm meat just yet.



From what I can tell, he didn't come prepared. He only had three bullets in his gun; all of them are gone. Two in the ground and one that ripped through me. He grabs hold of my arm and tries to twist it. I lift up my other arm, which I had been using to put pressure upon my wound which would stem the bleed, and punch him in the face. I hear a crack; I think I just broke his nose as a great deal of blood flows out of it. He lets go of my arm.



I should leave. He's relinquished his minuscule claim on me but I can't. I can't take the risk that he might leap at me again or might try to find me. No, I have to make sure he can't be a threat. He's heading for the grave anyway. I'm trying to think of it as a form of involuntary euthanasia.



I stand.

He grabs my foot.

I act on impulse.

I lean down and I...I ...I slit his throat.



The look of shock haunts me. I must have hit an artery because I am greeted with an initial jet of blood. I've stabbed and shot people but never have I used blood loss as a weapon. I've always been kind before; I've always delivered bullets and stab wounds to the head or heart, leading to a fast, almost painless death. The blood leaves his body as water spills out of a bucket. He makes a few sickening gurgling noises and then falls unconscious. He won't feel anything. He's already suffocating.



I just sit, in shock.

I just killed someone in cold blood. No, I killed him in self defence. He was going to kill me but I acted first.

Just as promised, my coffee makes its glorious reappearance.

It definitely tasted better on the way down. Now it just burns like bitch.



The adrenaline has began to filter out of my system and now, my bullet wound really begins to become agonising. I need to get supplies and get back to Rita. An exit wound at close proximity means that the bullet has ripped through me. I am already sitting in a pool of my own blood.

  I drag myself up. I walk over to the shelves and grab a couple of tins. There's very little left; no medical supplies or anything really useful. Tinned food is starting to become the only consumable food item. Most medication has expired which makes it more dangerous to get ill these days. Unless you can manufacture drugs, you need to grow some form of medicinal herbs if you want to stay alive.



I can't help looking at the assailant. He's wearing a balaclava and he has a rucksack a few metres away from his corpse. Maybe he has something useful on him. I need the supplies more than he does. I walk over to the rucksack; he has a few bottles of water and a pack of handgun bullets. I open the box. So that's what ripped through me. It's not too large meaning the damage is likely to be minimal. No food. I take the rucksack anyway, I need something to carry my loot. I walk over to the corpse and pick up the gun.

  I'm tempted to take a look at his face. The face of the man I murdered. No, I can't. I don't want to see him. I prefer to have his identity blank. An anonymous victim.



I walk over to the window. The place can burn for all I care. I secure the rope around my waist. It kills but maybe it can stem the bleed. I don't know if I have the strength to try without the rope. I feel like I am going to pass out. The amount of blood I've lost, it's only natural I'm becoming a little hazy.



I finally reach the ground. The tug of the rope brings a little consciousness, enough to become aware of things. Pain is a fantastic thing for clarity.



I have to get back to Roman. To the camp.

I pick up my backpack from beside the bench and I walk on. I don't have the strength to try and get the rope back. It's going to burn anyway so it's not like I am giving somebody else an advantage.



I begin to stagger home. My head is so faint; I can't concentrate. Everything aches and the pain is consuming me. I am near the street where I left Roman. The bags are beginning to fall off of my back but if I trying and pick them up, I may not get up again. I need to stay awake. I can't collapse because if I do, I'm dead. For good.



The fact that there is an exit wound means that there is nothing to stem the bleed; I can only hope that little damage has been done but I doubt that. It must have hit something, organ or bone. It hasn't gone through my spine otherwise it would have been instant paralysis.



I can't. I'm going to faint. I'm going to faint.

I have to find a place to sit so I don't fall and hit my head. I don't need brain damage on top of everything else.

Oh god. Oh god.

I can't hold on.

If I can just get a little further, I may be alright. Along this road, there is nothing but concrete. Maybe Roman is still there. I can do this. If he is still there, I may be okay. Huh, the only time I have actually wished for Roman to be there to scoop me up in his arms. Flash me a charming smile. Tell me I'm going to be fine. Oh god, did I actually just think that?

That's how you can tell my brain is being deprived of oxygen. I think I just threw up in my own mouth. If I'm going to die, I might as well keep my sense of humour, the only thing I can control.



I can't. I can't hold on. Where is Roman?

The bastard's abandoned me.

I can't think about that; why does he abandon me now? The one time. The one time. I have never abandoned him. I have always been there and he never returns the favour.



My legs begin to buckle.

I've lost control over my body.

Then, the world goes black.









                                   

                                                                      Chapter 7



I've always found the darkness to be comforting. That's why the vividness of the colours perturbs me. I know this isn't real. It can't be. It can't be because there is a woman staring at me and I pretty sure I know her.

I think she's my mum.

She has to be my mum. I don't really remember the specifics of her appearance or the sound of her voice. How can I not remember those things? I wasn't a baby when they pissed off and left me so why can't I remember?

  I want to remember my mum. I hate her for abandoning me but I want to remembering the sound of her voice and the scent of her musk, the thing other kids remember. I want to know why. I just want to see her in the flesh and here she is. Glowing in the light.



She looks just like me, I guess she would. I have her eyes, her piercing green eyes. The thing is her eyes are too piercing, the green too vivid. Her  hair is cropped and blonde, a platinum blonde that overwhelms me. She is beautiful. However, this is how I want her to look; I don't remember her face. I don't remember his face. This is how I want her to be but...she can't be like that. She's worm meat now.



“It's okay, darling. I'm here. Come to me darling. Let go; it's okay baby, let go.” Her voice is like a chime, resounding in my head. She looks and sounds angelic.

Let go? Let go of what? Life?

Maybe I should give up. What is the point in living in this craphole? Nothing is ever going to get better. Even if a vaccine was possible, so many people have died that it would seem redundant. I don't want to live in this and I'm tired of fighting; maybe it's my time.



“Mum?”

“Yes baby, I'm here. Come with me, let go.”

“I'm scared.”

“There's nothing to be frightened of. I'm here, my love. Just come to me.”



I don't know what to do. Is this what I'm meant to do? My end game. Kill an infected and die by a bullet. Alone. Always alone in the darkness.

I could be free. I want to be free.

I'm ready to say goodbye. To the bloodshed. To Rita. To Roman. To John...

How can I leave him? He's been like a father to me and he's already lost so much. This is my choice. I can't hold on for him or anyone.



“I'm ready. I want to come with you.”

She just smiles at me and extends her hand. I walk forward to take her hand. I want this; I want this.

My fingertips are just inches away from hers when everything changes. A bright light appears to burst. It dazes me. Is this the literal light at the end?

“Elektra. Elektra, look at me! Oh god, you're bleeding so much. It's going to be okay just stay with me. Please!”

Roman? I can hear his voice. How can I hear his voice? I'm dying; do I have a choice?

He's pleading with me to stay but can I really? He didn't abandon me. I'm scared. I'm conflicted. My mum is beckoning me to the great beyond and Roman is pleading with me to stay.



“Elektra, it's alright goose. You're going to be fine, I swear. Please don't die on us. Rita, can you stem the bleeding?”

“John, I'm trying but I don't think I can. The bullet has torn a hole in her intestines. I don't know if there is anything I can do. John, Roman, now might be the time to say goodbye.”

“No, Rita. We can't lose her. Elektra, listen, if you can hear me please keep fighting, I can't lose you.”

Roman's starting to snivel over me already. Why are they begging me to stay? I can't. I want to die but this is heart-breaking. Usually it would sicken me to my stomach but these are people that I care about. People that care whether I live or die. Do I really have the right to die? After everything with Isla?



Uh, why is this so difficult?

Why did their voices have to penetrate the bubble around my mind as the bullet pierced my flesh?

“I need to stitch the hole in the large intestine but I can't see anything. There's too much blood,  I can't see a damn thing. John, please accept...”

“No Rita, I am not losing her as well. Stitch her up or I do it myself. She's a fighter, she can make it. She'll be pissed at you when she wakes up and discovers you gave up on her. Do what you have to do. I need some air, Roman? You coming with, I need to talk to you.”

“But...I want to stay here, in case something happens. I should have been there, John. I...I..should have been in the haunt with her. She wouldn't of got hurt. It's my fault.”

Roman begins to hyperventilate. There's something about his cry that gets to me; a desperate futile yearning. That's the second time in two days that he's cried. Are they sure I'm the girl?



I hesitate. My mother waits in front of me, still smiling radiantly. How can I make a choice between life and death? I'm needed here. There's something I heard in all of their voices. Love. John loves me as a daughter and Roman...Roman loves me in another way entirely. I should have seen it before; he's not discreet and he does love me as more than a friend. Maybe I feel the same. I mean I have always cared about him. He is an annoying dickhead but I would be devastated without him in my life. Not that I will ever tell him that if I ever wake up. What am I saying?



Do I pick a certain, a promise of a violent life surrounded by love or do I pick the unknown? The end of everything. If death is the end, I am surrendering to the eternal darkness.



Maybe I don't have a choice.

Death or life?

Is there really any competition between them? Are they really the same thing?

Suddenly, I can feel again. The pain begins to rip through my body. It feels like I'm being ripped apart. I can't do anything. I can't move. I can't scream. I'm trapped inside of my head. I can feel Roman holding onto my hand. His hands are clammy and sticky. It must be my blood I can feel on his hand. He must have found me and carried me back.

  If I could just move my hand, it might give him hope. I think he realises how futile it is pleading to me. Uh, why can't I control my own body?

Am I paralysed?

If I am, my decision has already been made. If I'm not, the choice is still there.



Mum still stands here; looking at me. I am ready to do either.

I can feel Roman letting go of my hand. He must have moved because I can  feel him kiss my forehead. I can hear his footsteps leave the room.



I'm ready.

“I love you mum.”

“I love you too, baby. Let go. Come with me. Freedom, you deserve it baby”

“But...I can't do this.”

I take out the blade in my belt. I thrust the blade into her stomach. A blinding ray of light consumes me.



I'm not ready to die. I have so much to live for. I want to live, should my body permit it.



I focus everything on  moving. The pain is searing through me but I can't think about it. The time for giving up has past. I can find the strength.

I have been so stupid; of course I have something to fight and fight for. I will never stop fighting to live.



“Elektra, sweetheart, can you hear me? If you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Please squeeze my hand. I don't know what else to do. Sweetie, do something.”



Rita, I can hear you. I can hear you. I can hear you! I can hear you! I am screaming. I am trapped in my own mind. My own consciousness is fighting me, trying to subdue me. I break through. My heart is still beating and I am still breathing. I can break out of my own mind.



Rita takes my pulse. Her hands must be covered in blood. My blood. She gives a sigh of relief. I guess I am still alive after everything.



“You're a tough girl, you know that. People have died from less. You're not going to give up are you, honey?” She strokes my head “Beautiful girl, it's going to be alright, hey? Keep fighting okay?”



Rita always saw me as an apprentice. I never thought I'd be under her blade again. After getting stabbed in the back and a broken leg, it never had the potential to be fatal. I was conscious the whole time. There was also a greater availability of valid pain medication. I would kill for paracetamol or morphine. Morphine. Anything to take away the pain. Oh god, this is tearing me apart. I can't even ask for it. I just have to open my eyes. Blink. Anything. That's all they need.

I can do something so simple. I can give them hope that they are not wasting drugs.



I will not die.

I will not die.



I feel like there is a barrier. Keeping me from my mobility.

I feel like I am attacking it with a pick axe, trying to escape from the darkness. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins yet again. Natural, not synthetic. That's the only thing keeping my heart pumping.



Adrenaline and rage are a dangerous combination.

The barrier is a brick wall. I just keep hitting and hitting and hitting it. It seems strong but I am a stubborn little bitch.

The foundations become weaker and I can see the first cracks. My eyes are watering so much I cannot see anything but I keep going. I can't stop for anything.



Again and again. I will win.

I will not be beaten by my own body.

Suddenly, the first brick begins to fall. It's not long before the wall begins to crumble. Ha, brick after brick seems to float into the abyss. I begin  to tear the rest apart with my bare hands. My hands are becoming bloodier and bloodier. My fingernails begin to rip off but I can't think about it. All I can think about is destroying my Berlin wall.



I've knocked it down. I can see the light. I keep running and running to the light. I am so close. Just a little further and then...who the hell knows what? Do I die after everything? Or do I wake up? Do I live to fight another day?



I've made it.

One more step and then...it's go time.

I'm ready. Oh, I'm coming for you, you bastards. I will not be beaten by this. Just one more step. One more step. Everything will be fine, why worry?



I step forward and am consumed by the light.











                                                                      Chapter 8



“Welcome back, honey. John, John!  Woah, take it easy you've sustained massive internal trauma.”

The light burns my eyes. I did it. I opened my eyes. I blinked. I'm awake.

Roman is the first to rush through the door; he's like an excitable puppy. He just looks at me in shock. I'm not sure if he's going to cry or faint or both. I'm still trying to find my voice but I can still open my eyes and I can move. I daren't try to get up without incurring Rita's wrath. I am still in discomfort but that's good. Discomfort means I'm alive. My victim is not my murderer, even though the irony would be overwhelming. It would be fitting.



“Hey Ellie, you're looking radiant. Don't ever do that again; I thought I was going to lose you, “ he bends down to hug me “Don't ever die okay.”

I hug him back. The pain is torture but I don't care. I am loved. What a gratifying thought.

He pulls back and just stares at me. His stare is intense, so intense he seems to be analysing me. But then again, I'm analysing him. His eyes are red from crying and there is the reminisce of snot on the top of his nose. There is also a red mark on his cheek; it looks like he's been slapped. I wonder if it was John that walloped him when it was my fault for leaving him.



I don't want him to let go. How can my opinion of him alter so drastically in a matter of moments? Maybe the others were right with their distorted views of an 'apple pie' life in these times. That may Roman and I were meant to be.

Am I in love with him or the idea of him? It's not important anyway, I need time to understand what I'm feeling. Maybe something will come of it or maybe not. I don't know if I could even involve someone in my life in that degree. It's difficult enough when friend after friend perishes but a lover dying...I don't know how I  would cope with that.



“You scared us all. John buggered off and no one has seen him. Erin went to see if she could find him. A bit of good news at last; turns out you are a little ray of sunshine miss invincible.”

My eyes have to do any form of communicating because my vocal chords are out of bounds. There are so many things I want to say: I want to say I'm sorry that I left Roman after he fainted; I'm sorry that I contemplated dying and I'm sorry for being a weak, pathetic, detached little bitch with delusions of absent strength. But now...now I get to make up for it in some regards.



“ Elektra, I'm going to  give you some morphine for the pain and some Valerian to help you sleep. Do you understand what I'm saying? Squeeze Roman's arm if you can understand.”

I squeeze his arm without thinking about it.

Drugs. I need drugs.



John used to tell me about the way drugs were moderated; growing herbs like cannabis was prohibited and making drugs such as cocaine and various opiates was illegal. John told me how his unit waged full on war on the UK drug trade. He said he won but then again, he would say that. He was a cop.



Thank god for poppy cultivation. Rita injects me with the newly extracted morphine; it takes a while to take effect but once it does, I feel somewhat peaceful. The pain in my abdomen begins to subside and make way for other sensations. Sensations like hunger, I am absolutely starving, and the sensation that I have to pee. Great, I'm famished and I'm at risk of pissing myself. It just gets better and better I swear.



However, at this moment in time, I am just relieved at the distinct lack of pain. The pain spread through my bloodstream like a venom, a fire that never subsides. But, I don't want to sleep. After the whole debacle, I don't really want to close my eyes as I'm scared that I won't open them again. Rita still hasn't told me what she's done to fix me up which worries me. I was like an apprentice, I can take whatever she has to say. Why wouldn't she tell me when I woke up? Why?

Calm down Elektra, you're being paranoid. Oh god, am I talking to myself now? That's when you know things are going downhill when you find the only adequate company and reassurance comes from yourself. Oh lord, this is only going to get worse. I see it now. Insanity. Straitjacket. Me. Padded cell. Ah.

Uh, I need to talk to someone. Anyone. I'll take talking to an animal at this rate. Am I insane? Or bored? Or both?



Uh, maybe I need sleep or rest. I have just nearly shuffled off of this mortal coil. I think I deserve a few hours of peace before everything begins again. Is it strange that I still don't want Roman to leave? I just want my bloody Valerian. It'll look better in the morning. If I can survive the rest of the day, I will make it. I am tired. Tired, hungry and bursting for a piss. Yeah, greatest combination available.



I can hear Rita grinding the roots in the old pestle and mortar. I just focus on my breathing. In for 5... out for 7. Roman has pulled up a chair by my head and just sits, stroking my head. Usually, I'd bash him for even thinking about touching me but I can do with the comfort. In for 5...out for 7. The last time someone stroked my head was so long ago I can't remember. I tend to bite people when they get close.



“Okay, just chew the paste and you'll begin to feel sleepy. What am I going on about, you know the drill don't you? It's all going to be alright now. As long as you stay still and don't rip your stitches. Not that that will happen.”



I open my mouth and begin to chew. I've always hated the taste of Valerian. I've only taken it when it was absolutely necessary. I went through an insomniac phase when I was about twelve years old. It's all that I could do not to go insane through sleep deprivation.



“I'd better go and make myself useful. Sleep tight Ellie.”

He bends down to kiss my head again and I grab hold of his arm. He was about to flinch, whenever I've grabbed him before it's usually been to inflict pain. But now, I think he can see what I want to say in my eyes.

Please don't leave.



“It's okay Ellie; if you want me to stay I will. God, if near death experiences make you so affectionate, I should have tried this years ago. Spare years of animosity hey, angel?”

A smile creeps on my lips. Only he can make me smile at a time like this.



However if he does try to kill me in the future, I will not be responsible for my actions. As if he would dare.



He moves his chair around and keeps a hold of my hand. His hands are still clammy. If I could talk, I would tell him to wipe his hands or something. I can't complain though, even if I wanted too. It's my fault. I can see that his hands are still covered in my blood. He just keeps looking at me intensely, as if holding onto me was a way to keep him alive; letting go would lead to his demise.



My vision starts to become extremely hazy, making it difficult to define anything whatsoever.



A sure sign of my impending slumber.

Everything looks so pretty when nothing is in focus. It hurts my eyes to keep them open but I want to. No definition. No edges. The colours seem to blend into each other. Temporary miosis.



I must have relinquished my grip on his hand because Roman begins to squeeze my hand even tighter to compensate. It's nice to feel his presence. Roman is a man of his word so he won't leave. At least, not until I'm in a deep enough sleep for him to leave unnoticed.

I think I've caused more than enough chaos and disruption for one day. Ha, more action have I brought today than has been seen in years. Can't accuse the end of days of being boring or stagnant.



Ugh, I'm getting so tired but I just want to hold on a tiny bit longer. Why am I fighting sleep? I shall answer that now. Darkness is no longer a safe haven for me. The colours and vibrancy of life far shadow the darkness of isolation and fear.



I want to relish in the blurred and smudged colours.

The off white walls blurring into the emerald shades of the light shade. The grey of the sky blending into a barren horizon. The peach tones of Roman's complexion blending into the dark of his hair.



Life, when you think about it, is beautiful. The way water rushes down it's course, undeterred by circumstance or time. The way the birds sing. The way the blades of grass seem to sing on a summer's day. The way life continues after the worst catastrophe.

Survival is the most precious and heavenly.



Oh god, I am becoming delusional. I'm drugged up. I have the right to be completely out of my mind. Ha. I've survived more than I could have anticipated. Bitches can come at me if they think they can but they have to be prepared to shed blood for the privilege.



I just have to...close...my...eyes...