Page 14 of The Ecstasy of Sin

I uncurl from my position gradually, cringing as my aching muscles and sore joints protest the movement. I force myself into a seated position, awash in the totality of my unmedicated pain.

The throbbing inside of my skull is unyielding and severe as I push myself to my feet. I nearly collapse, my knees buckling, and throw my hands out to grab for the wall before I crash back down to the ground. I anchor my fingers into the jagged cracks between the bricks, and a wave of nausea washes over me.

I swallow hard against the urge to vomit, knowing the dry heaving won’t be productive since I haven’t eaten in more than enough time to leave me with an empty stomach. It will only make the pain worse, and might even knock me out again.

Shouldering my backpack, I cinch it tight and lean into the wall, taking a couple of minutes to collect myself and catch my breath. Once the nausea settles into a dull, burning ache in my gut, I push off the wall and stumble out into the street.

My vision is blurry from the agonizing pain. The left half of my face is completely numb, along with my arms and hands, as though parts of my body are disappearing beneath the blanket of agony.

I move carefully, one aching foot in front of the other, scanning for any landmarks that can help orient me.

If I can find a shelter and get some food and water, maybe even a sample packet of painkillers they often have on hand, I’ll make it through the night. Tomorrow, I’ll fill out the application I keep stored in one of the side pockets of my backpack, and walk the application forMedical Assistance in Dyingback to the doctor I got it from.

I have no other options. Even if I manage to secure some painkillers, there’s no way I can afford my prevention medication. Without that, securing a job is nearly impossible.

I’m so damn tired. I have nothing left to give.

I wander for several blocks, stopping often to take breaks whenever the nausea spikes and my stomach begins to cramp painfully. My body, desperate to purge an invisible enemy, can’t fight without support.

Although the pain makes it nearly impossible to focus, a familiar symbol catches my eye. Bright, red, and glowing—the large cross hangs above the door to a tucked-away building on a quiet back street. It glows like salvation in the haze, and I follow.

A twenty-four hour clinic, an oasis of hope in this miserable hell.

I climb the three steps to the door, grip the handle, and pull myself inside.

They probably can spare a few sample packets of over-the-counter ibuprofen, if nothing else. Anything to reduce the intensity of the headache will help.

If they’ll even tolerate my presence. I can’t imagine passing out in a grimy alleyway has left me looking even remotely presentable.

The door closes behind me with a weighted click. The space is small; understated, but clean and tidy. It’s minimally decorated, but appropriate enough for a clinic.

I shuffle towards the front desk, but it’s empty. I scan the white counter for a bell to announce my arrival, but they don’t have one.

I lean against the clean counter top, the strong scent of disinfectant invading my delicate senses, while I brace my head against the palm of my hand. My vision darkens around the edges, and I realize I’m running out of time. If I don’t find something to take the edge off the pain soon, I’m going to collapse.

I push back from the counter, doubling over to clutch my stomach as intense nausea hits me. I clench my jaws shut as my body threatens to vomit nothing but bile, saliva pooling behind my teeth.

It’s better this way, if I’m being honest. This dry heaving on an empty stomach. Wasting food, when it never comes easy to me, feels like the universe is rubbing salt in my wounds.

I swallow, then blink back tears and glance around the room. Other than the door behind the front desk, there’s only one other—off to my right, past a row of empty black chairs lining the stark white wall.

I head for it, my hand fumbling for the cold, silver knob, only to find it locked.

Frustration overwhelms me, and a small sob leaves my chest as I rattle the doorknob, willing it to open so I can find someone to help me.

The agony is too much now. Every nerve ending in my body is screaming. My skin is cold, my stomach hollow, my skull feels like it’s splitting open.

I’m tempted to ram my shoulder into the damn thing, and set up to do exactly that, when it pops open. I stumble forward, only for a set of strong arms to surround me as I slam into something hard.

Someone, actually.

I look up, and then up a little more, until I fall right into the narrowed gaze of a beautiful stranger. With green eyes like deep, dark forests.

I should pull away. I should apologize for touching him, and step back. But I don’t.

The warmth of his body surrounds me, the first and only comfort I’ve had in days, and I sink into him willingly. Thoughtlessly, desperate for any relief I can get at this point. Who needs to worry about embarrassment when they don’t intend to live much longer? Certainly not me.

Yep, the delirium is in full swing now.