Infection

Chapter Three - Wrong

—21st June 1996–

Cake in hand, all alone. The room I was in had not seen an inch of colour; apart from the several scrapes of blood. It still had that vomit green under tone when first walking in.

That cake was the first proper thing I had eaten in weeks. Life had began to feel meaningless, and I was about to pull the trigger. Though, I didn't know which one. Killing myself would mean that I would be dead. But I still had shit to do, thing to see. So why not just completely disassociate from reality. Flip the switch and turn savage. Anything to take the pain away. So that's what I was about to do.

I lit the candle and made my wish, the blew.

I picked up the glass bottle next to my right and took a swig. Burning my throat. Unfortunately, just as I was about to indulge in the cake and knock came from my left. The well known soldier opened the door but then stopped mid track.

"Why are you crying?" He asked.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I hadn't realised how emotional it had made me. That's when I felt the hardened residue of tears on my cheeks and just under my waterline. I place the bottle down and turned to him.

"What's up?" I asked back, trying to steer away from the subject.

"Why are you crying?" He persisted.

"Don't worry about it, okay." I finally bit into my cake, missing the taste of chocolate. "Why are you here?"

"Mission. Karpov wants to inform us."

"Okay, I'll be down in a bit." I finished as he closed the door. I grabbed back the bottle a chugged the rest of it down; looked in the mirror to wipe away my tears and then headed through the door to Karpov's office.

I opened the door forcefully and stood in the door frame. "Hey boys." I smirked as I stepped off the door way and kicked the door closed from behind. "What's on the agenda for today?"

"Elizabeth, are you drunk?" Karpov queried in an angry tone.

"Noo." I stumbled a bit while walking towards my seat. The realisation hit me when a sudden pounding began in my head. "Yes." I mumbled, slumping in my seat.

Karpov put the matter aside and started to inform me and the soldier on our mission this weekend. But everything went through one ear and out the other. It's as if the world was spinning. A little voice in my head which I couldn't control them spoke to me.

"You know what you could do this weekend, run away." It spoke.

"No, its intriguing, but where would I go." I responded.

"Well, if you had been listening you would have heard the man over there saying your going to London."

A little switch went off in my head. London. The voice went on. "You could go back home. See your family."

"Yes."

"But then again, who would take you in. The murderous, killing machine you are. They'll find you dangerous. You could get yourself in prison; and be reminded of all the terrible things you've done these past years. And more in the past."

"Stop."

"No. You need to know what you've done, and what you'll do in the future. The best thing for you to do is to get caught. Get help." The voice then began to scream. "Do you not feel any guilt."

"No." I didn't realise, but I had said it aloud. I blocked out that voice and my mind went dark. That's what it took to switch it off, to make the pain go away. My face went cold as i directed my full attention Karpov.