Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
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Maddox.
The powdered cloud I lived under doesn't leave, doesn't dissolve just because I declare it too. The ghost, they're too rooted in me to just vanish because I wished it, no, they linger. They flash before my eyes the second I wake, playing nightmares I can't wake up from, but do, only to wonder if I'm still back there. Like a movie, they play on repeat, a rotten clip that sends me into major panic while I try to figure out where I am, who I am, what I am, and if I'm dead. The amount of times I've had to convince myself that I'm not actually buried is... while, sad.
The amount of times I've shot forward in bed, blinking back into reality all while repeating to myself that I'm not about to be stormed with unbelievable volts of electricity any moment is uncountable at this point. I remind myself that I now live in a new body, a new version of myself that's been untouched. And a part of me knows that, but another part of me just can't seem to forget what it was like to be brought into a reality where I was constantly hurting. A living nightmare. And the ghosts won't let me forget that; they're hellbent on it being the first thing I'm reminded of every time I wake up. That's how they keep me in their grip. So, fuck them. Fuck them for messing with me, and making me still feel the sharp jabs of electrify on my bones, even when it's long gone.
Because even now as I sit in bed, labored breaths clawing their way out of my body, trying to survive the first few seconds of waking up, I'm still not quite sure where I am. I can see my messy room, the walls are there, and the furniture is just in reach, but the thought of it all being a trick is spreading wide with doubt. Is this an illusion from my nightmare? I can feel the lack of scorching pain in my body, can lift my hand and move my feet, but am I just imagining it all? Imagining freedom. Will it all snap at some point, and will I be left staring back at the top of the coffin, waiting for the air to finally dry out of my lungs. That's the true fear here. Am I living in a simulation that my jagged mind has created for me after I shut off my ability to feel?
Am I really alive?
Kicking the blanket off my burning body, I forced my legs over the bed and sat up. The movement caused Alvin to perk up from his bed, and he cocked his head at me in question, then stood and jogged at me, not finding my state of mind comforting. Jumping up, his paws dug into my bare thighs, allowing my first breath of relief to fill my lungs. I can feel the sensation of his nails on my skin, and if this was a dream or simulation I won't. Inhaling deeply, I ran my palms through his freshly groomed fur just to feel it on my hands. Feel myself present. "Hey, dude." I crooked, my throat dried out.
I'm waking up alone today, without Mateo. I've decided it's time for me to kick that habit because like Kirsan likes to say, it's a crutch that doesn't help my true problem. A coping mechanism I can't indulge anymore. I guess not laying on Mateo's floor, staring up at his mirror ceiling, and wondering how I got there won't be happening again... good thing, right? And yet maybe not because falling asleep is nearly impossible on most nights. Then again, that's normal for me.
