Post by Jack Owyns on Nov 21, 2014 16:40:13 GMT
Darkness was all he found when he awoke suddenly from his sleep in a rage of panic. His heart was pounding, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead as he rubbed his eyes and took in a deep breath to calm the attack down. He pulled the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his face in the palms of his hands.
For months, the dream haunted his tortured mind. She was in it. It always started the same. He'd be sitting on the beach, close to a fire by himself, waiting for her, to join him. He would hear her call his name and feel the calming touch of her palm on his right shoulder blade. He'd look up, her smile enough to soothe his tortured soul. Then it would happen, her smile would disappear, replaced with fear. Clear tears would begin, but soon the clearness would turn red, tears of blood. She'd cough, and two perfectly straight lines of blood would run from the corners of her mouth, and she'd fall into his arms and body cold as ice with a blank stare.
He'd try and save her, but it would be too late. She was gone, and then he'd walk up, holding a butcher knife dripping with blood, a sadistic grin plastered ear to ear. Echo stood in front of him, and without saying a word, sliced his throat, and he'd wake up.
Jack reached over and flicked the nightstand light on. His half-full bottle of whiskey called for him by name. He grabbed it and emptied the entire bottle into his stomach. He opened the nightstand drawer and pulled from it a tiny baggy from which he emptied a decent-sized portion onto the nightstand. He played with it, forming it into a line, and sniffed the entire rail of cocaine.
The pain, the suffering, the dream vanished from his mind, replaced with an emptiness that had become a happiness for him.
Jack left the bedroom, stepping out into the living room. Oddball was lying back with his feet up on the sofa, a laptop resting on his chest as he typed away.
"Bad dream?" Oddball questioned, never taking his eyes away from the screen.
"No."
Oddball looked away from the screen. "You sure? It sounded quite intense in there, like –"
"Mind your own fuckin' business," Jack snapped, making his way over to the liquor cabinet.
"Alright, alright, alright. Hey, so guess what?"
"What?" Jack replied, sounding annoyed as he opened the cabinet.
"Sounds like Holli... how do I say this?"
"Just fuckin' say it!" Jack said, pulling another bottle of whiskey out.
"Fine. Well, she's moved on. She's already meeting a new guy." He said, as if to rub it in.
"Good for fuckin' her, like I..." He twisted the cap off, taking a drink. "Like I give two shits, man."
Jack took the bottle with him and headed back into his room, closing the door. It felt as if somebody had torn his heart out. The news brought so much pain. He headed over and sat on the edge of his bed, and started the sequence that had become the norm for him.
Drink.
Sniff.
Pop.
And chase with more drinking.
Jack collapsed on the bed and returned to round three hundred of his bad dream.
