𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 |𝟏𝟖+

62 || The Apocalypse

*edited*

Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

𝔚𝔚𝔚
Celina

I forgot how tiring torture could be. Stabbing someone to death was easy. Dragging it out and playing with them until they cried and begged for death was more work than I remember.

I'm not the work type. I'm reminded of that as I wake to sore limbs and endless sheets.

Empty sheets.

The birds outside can't seem to shut the fuck up. The curtains do a shit job of blocking the early sun while the sudden emptiness around me sours my morning.

I roll out of bed, until I need my feet to walk to the bathroom while my muscles ache in reminder of all I'd done last night.

My step mother was a whiny bitch until the end. And as satisfying as her death was, as I try to stretch out the tightness in my joints, I feel that I may have gotten carried away.

Not only did I pull out all her hair, slap her around like she'd done to her children, only worse. But I'd had my men drag in those cousins of hers.

I wanted to watch them beat her to death, sadly one of the three meatheads ruined it for everyone when he decided to break away from his confines and come after me instead.

And while I was skilled, I wasn't able to get away unscathed.

Doesn't matter now, he's dead. I'm not.

Only it feels like I'm worse off with the pounding in my head, and the heaviness in my limbs.

Brushing my teeth doesn't help, neither does the cold water I splash on my face. It's an annoying tingle, a twinge of nausea that forces me into a routine I know all too well.

I find my bag in the corner of the room, empty it out onto the floor and search through its contents until I find what I'm looking for. But before I move away with the small pouch in my hand, something prompts me to shove my mess back into my bag.

Maybe I'm turning into a clean freak or maybe I'm just being fucked so good by one that it's rubbed off on me.

Either way I find my way back to the bed and take a seat on the ledge of it. The pouch sits in my lap, atop the pool of fabric that's gathered from the shirt Adrik had most likely slipped on me in the night.

When I unzip it and reach for my glucose meter, the door clicks open. Instinctually, I shut the pouch and shove it somewhere under the covers behind me, before bringing my attention up to the man that walks into the room.

He's dressed for the day.

A crisp white button up fitted to his perfect frame, slacks without a crease out of place and a tie a new shade of green, one that matches the face of his watch. And a shade darker than that of the liquid placed atop the tray he carries.

When the blue in his eyes meet the green in mine, he stops and sets the tray atop the nightstand, before returning to his full height. "You're awake early."

My eyes trail to the clock across the room and when they move back to him, he's watching me, his attentive eyes trailing all across my face.