Loving a Dangerous Life (editing)

Chapter 4- White.

I was in a world of white- pure nothingness. I couldn't feel my body, the confusing numbness soaking my bones.

The voices of my past haunted me sometimes, and I sobbed, wanting nothing more than them to go away and leave me alone in this white, white world. This world of nothing- of no pain, no emotions. It was heaven for me. My mind was at rest, my body peaceful. I couldn't feel anything, and I loved it. The pain and the fury that always hung over me were gone, and nothing was there anymore.

My emotions are gone, and I feel at peace. How fucked up is that?

Sometimes, my eyes opened against my will, and the pain came back.

It hurt. I want the pain gone, far, far gone.

I don't ever want it back.

I don't ever want to runway from this heaven where I was numb- until the memories flooded in like a wave determined to take a city away. The pain rushed back- the tears that I've fought my whole life, threatening to break me down. I want this to stop. I want the world of endless white to take me back and make me numb to this war against my memories. I want it all to stop, no matter the price. I just want it to stop. When I was moving around, it never got this bad. I could distract myself with the turmoil of simple day-to-day necessities, and my kills.

I've never felt it this bad before. I don't want to feel this.

With this thought in my mind, I forced my eyes open- braving the pain of life again.

I squeezed my eyes together, the mental pain being replaced by the excruciating physical pain. I cracked them open to slits, and groaned, bringing my arm up to my face and squeezing my eyes shut again.

It's fucking bright.

I started slowly moving. I flexed my toes first- gritting my teeth harshly as tingles of pain ran up and down my entire body- then moved my feet around. I did this for my whole body, and the pain was bad but I slowly tried to sit up. The physical pain was far, far, far better than the pain I had held in my memories. I preferred to be in physical pain because then the memories didn't hurt as bad. I leaned against the headboard and lifted my legs up and out of the covers, examining the collection of scars that told my stories. I was only wearing a bra and underwear, and every shiver sent more torment to every bone and nerve in my body. I noticed a leather jacket on the chair by the bed, and I leaned over to grab it- my head spinning and my chest heaving. I shrugged it on over my shoulders, slowly sliding my arms into the jacket and closing my eyes- waiting for the pain to leave me fucking alone.

I looked around, having no clue where I was. I had no weapons, and I have no idea what happened to me. I pushed the pain of waking up into the back of my mind, focusing on the evident problem.

I carefully slid out of the bed, sucking air in through my teeth at the excruciating agony. My arms were limp- feeling like thousands of needles were stuck into every inch of my skin, and baseball bats had smashed my joints in tiny pieces. My legs were shaking- throbbing with the effort of holding up my weight.

But none of that compared to the pain on the fucking skin of my back. Dizziness took over my mind for a second, and I could feel a huge headache building. I couldn't breathe because every minuscule movement hurt. Tears built up in my eyes, and I quickly told myself to get over it. Pain is nothing I haven't dealt with before, and I shouldn't be taking this brief amount of suffering this weakly.

I held onto the plain wall and walked around the room a couple of times forcing myself to keep going- warming up my legs. It was a small room, with a window that let in bright sunlight that flowed onto the simple bed and into the bathroom. I looked out the window, and onto a completely unfamiliar town. I ran a hand through my hair, the strands messy and brittle. I made my way into the bathroom that was connected to the room and dashed water onto my face, looking into the mirror to see my normal hot self looking very tired.