as I completely passed out.
Chapter 6 Drinks
I wound up sleeping far less than I needed to. The nightmare prospect of what was now breeding in my home town seemed to creep into every dream I had. Though I wasn't an expert in pathogens or diseases, I had more than enough medical training to do the basic math. Unchecked, a vampiric plague could spread quickly, especially if the vampires didn't need to kill to breed. The specifics of their breeding process all depended on the mythology you drew them from; almost every culture had a vampiric equivalent. Even with those grim dreams, I forced myself to at least try for a few hours to rest. It was better than nothing.
Maybe an hour before sundown, I crawled out of bed and into the small bathroom. The pain in my back and forearm had turned into a dull, throbbing ache. Far worse was the gnawing hunger in my stomach as my body eagerly went about rebuilding itself with no mind as to whether there was anything in the tank to build with. As I cleaned myself up, I glanced through the cornucopia of medications in the drug cabinet. If the me of three months ago had seen this, she never would have believed it.
Pills for muscle pain, nerve pain, antibiotics by the bucket, muscle relaxers, multivitamins of every shape and color, and let's not forget the hunger suppressants. Most of the pain relievers and hunger managers were close to empty ... I had taken to some creative combinations to deal with my needs. What struck me, in the context of the day, was that I hadn't really believed the degree to which it happened. I just kept doing what I thought needed to be done, damn the consequences.
I touched a bottle of oxycodone with my fingertip. I really could use help today, what with the prospect of a den of vampires to deal with. The gouge in my back sent up a flare of pain so as not to be forgotten. I flipped it forward into my hand and brought it close, reading the label, as if I hadn't already memorized it. Who would know? And if they did, what right did they have to judge?
I let out a cry of rage and turned, hurling the bottle with all my strength. The plastic cracked and splintered against the wall, sending the last few pills scattering across the tiny room. I knew and I had every right to judge myself.
My own body tried to rebel against me as I tried to get myself ready. It was if it acted on its own volition and, seeing as it wasn't getting what it felt it needed, turned every pain, weakness, and twitch up to eleven. Somehow, though, I managed, putting on a pristine new uniform. I stared in my dresser mirror for a few moments, strangely entranced by the bloodshot eyes, the early wrinkles, the dark circles around the eyes, and the wet, limp, brown hair. I forced myself to reach for the mask and the spirit gum.
The Brooks-Choi Foundation only had offices and work space in the bottom two floors of the building; the rest of the space was rented out to a variety of other small business and some private interests. The elevator ride from my fourth floor apartment to the main lobby seemed to take forever. Finally, thankfully, the doors slid open and I strode quickly across the lobby into the offices. I patently ignored, as I usually did, the perpetually camped paparazzi outside the door. They, like so many other things, were a fact of life in our new reality.
The conference room where everyone was discussing our next course of action was seemingly divided by a series of invisible axis. There was the axis that split Rachel and Duane from the Pushed in the room. That one at least had a name: the Pulse, the something that drew the Pushed together, Hero or Crook, and made the common man worship or shun. There was the wall that seemed to instantly sprout between Argent Archer and Extinguisher. It wasn't just the fact they were on opposite sides of an impending conflict; something else was going on. Another subtle divide even
Chapter 6 Drinks
I wound up sleeping far less than I needed to. The nightmare prospect of what was now breeding in my home town seemed to creep into every dream I had. Though I wasn't an expert in pathogens or diseases, I had more than enough medical training to do the basic math. Unchecked, a vampiric plague could spread quickly, especially if the vampires didn't need to kill to breed. The specifics of their breeding process all depended on the mythology you drew them from; almost every culture had a vampiric equivalent. Even with those grim dreams, I forced myself to at least try for a few hours to rest. It was better than nothing.
Maybe an hour before sundown, I crawled out of bed and into the small bathroom. The pain in my back and forearm had turned into a dull, throbbing ache. Far worse was the gnawing hunger in my stomach as my body eagerly went about rebuilding itself with no mind as to whether there was anything in the tank to build with. As I cleaned myself up, I glanced through the cornucopia of medications in the drug cabinet. If the me of three months ago had seen this, she never would have believed it.
Pills for muscle pain, nerve pain, antibiotics by the bucket, muscle relaxers, multivitamins of every shape and color, and let's not forget the hunger suppressants. Most of the pain relievers and hunger managers were close to empty ... I had taken to some creative combinations to deal with my needs. What struck me, in the context of the day, was that I hadn't really believed the degree to which it happened. I just kept doing what I thought needed to be done, damn the consequences.
I touched a bottle of oxycodone with my fingertip. I really could use help today, what with the prospect of a den of vampires to deal with. The gouge in my back sent up a flare of pain so as not to be forgotten. I flipped it forward into my hand and brought it close, reading the label, as if I hadn't already memorized it. Who would know? And if they did, what right did they have to judge?
I let out a cry of rage and turned, hurling the bottle with all my strength. The plastic cracked and splintered against the wall, sending the last few pills scattering across the tiny room. I knew and I had every right to judge myself.
My own body tried to rebel against me as I tried to get myself ready. It was if it acted on its own volition and, seeing as it wasn't getting what it felt it needed, turned every pain, weakness, and twitch up to eleven. Somehow, though, I managed, putting on a pristine new uniform. I stared in my dresser mirror for a few moments, strangely entranced by the bloodshot eyes, the early wrinkles, the dark circles around the eyes, and the wet, limp, brown hair. I forced myself to reach for the mask and the spirit gum.
The Brooks-Choi Foundation only had offices and work space in the bottom two floors of the building; the rest of the space was rented out to a variety of other small business and some private interests. The elevator ride from my fourth floor apartment to the main lobby seemed to take forever. Finally, thankfully, the doors slid open and I strode quickly across the lobby into the offices. I patently ignored, as I usually did, the perpetually camped paparazzi outside the door. They, like so many other things, were a fact of life in our new reality.
The conference room where everyone was discussing our next course of action was seemingly divided by a series of invisible axis. There was the axis that split Rachel and Duane from the Pushed in the room. That one at least had a name: the Pulse, the something that drew the Pushed together, Hero or Crook, and made the common man worship or shun. There was the wall that seemed to instantly sprout between Argent Archer and Extinguisher. It wasn't just the fact they were on opposite sides of an impending conflict; something else was going on. Another subtle divide even
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