Page 15

Oh God. Err… What the fuck happened to me?

I feel like I have been run over by a truck. My whole body is screaming at me. Rubbing my eyes several times, I try to adjust to the light. It doesn’t help much. It only causes my head to throb more. Taking a moment to gather my strength, I get up from what I hope is my bed. With a slight shake in my legs, I steady myself. Slowly, I make my way to the bathroom, holding on to any bit of furniture I can along the way. It really does feel like I have just done ten rounds in a boxing match.

Leaning over the sink, I take a second to catch my breath before I reach a hand up to the cabinet overhead to grab some painkillers. I pop a couple of the pills into my mouth and run the cold tap until it’s freezing. I cup my hands to gather water and swallow a large mouthful. My throat must have been drier than I expected because as soon as the cold water hits, it sends a shock down my throat, causing me to spit out the tablets. I cough and splutter water everywhere. I pop another couple of pills and carefully sip the water this time. Once they’re down, I sink myself to the floor; I just need to lay here and wait for the pills to take some effect.

I must have fallen asleep on the bathroom floor while I waited for the medication to kick in. I pull myself up, using the sink to help me, taking my time to make sure I’m steady. I feel better than earlier, but still like shit. I still can’t recall what happened. Last thing I can remember is coming home after searching for Raine. Shit, Raine… Where’s my phone?

With a sense of urgency, I head to the bedroom to search. I ransack everything with a desperate need, but I come up short. Then I do the same in the living room, and kitchen after. Exhausted and completely out of breath, I flop down on the kitchen stool. I try to catch my breath and wait for the slight nausea to pass. Once I feel somewhat normal again, I head to search the office.

What the…No... No... No... It’s empty.

All my files and research are gone. All that’s left is the desk, the monitor, and the stupid fucking chair. Even my diplomas are gone off the wall. As the suffocating wave of a panic attack crashes over me, I grip the door frame tightly, using it as an anchor. My heart races, pounding in my ears. This moment will not defeat me. I dig my fingers into the wood as the panic slowly recedes. But as the fear subsides, it leaves behind a smoldering anger. “FUCKING HELL!” I scream out, gripping my hair with both hands tightly. Unable to contain myself, I rush forward into the room. Picking up the monitor from the desk and lifting it up over my head, I smash it against the nearest wall. The impact causes a loud, shattering bang.

“Fucking years,” I yell over and over. I gave up my life for this. Now, it’s all gone. Stepping back, a moment of unease settles over me, did I do this? No… There is no way I would have done this. I glare down at the now broken monitor. The moment of unease washes away, rage again fills me fiercely. I start kicking the screen hard and continue kicking, only stopping when a shard of screen flies up and hits my arm.

Glancing at where it hit, it’s only now that I notice the marks on my wrist. The raw marks erase all doubts I had about what transpired. This was not self-inflicted. This was done to me, and I think I know exactly who it was. Grey Archer. That son of a bitch is not getting away with this, even if I have to kill him myself; this stops now. Choosing not to dissolve my anger, I will embrace it as it settles deep within me, allowing it to fester and bloom. From now on, I will do whatever it takes, no more playing by the rules. It’s time to get my hands dirty.