My Heaven

Finale: Swan Song

"I'm tired." Those two little words used to sum up my time at Southway... summed up my misspent life. The bad choice road was indiscriminate to whoever drove around its potholes, its loops, and detours. The exit barely revealed itself. To what felt like a lifetime ago, retreating inside my mind would help me come out better for it. Refreshed.

When I finally opened my eyes to the real world, I was anything but. The second I saw my window reflecting the gray cloudy skies, I was gasping for air. Every joint, every muscle... Jesus, every square inch of me cried out in agony. The stink of my detour filled the apartment, making my eyes water.

Yep, this was the warm welcome "dreams" were made of. I couldn't move my legs either, leaving my upper body to carry me towards the fridge. The physical pain alone had me howling like a wounded animal; thirsty too.

Damn... if I didn't appreciate water before all this... oh, who was I kidding? Water was a side luxury where a shot of Jack was concerned. Looking around the place, someone definitely broke in. My broom closet of a kitchen had footprints all over the floor, treading dirt all the way to the front door behind me. The stench only got worse when I opened the fridge. "Oof," I cringed, didn't think cut up watermelon was capable of smelling like that; a fermented nightmare.

"Ffffffuuuuck me," I wheezed. "N-n-eeeeeed... wa-wa-water..."

My neck was stiff, like someone implanted a metal rod on my spine. These gifts just kept on giving. I couldn't believe I actually sat still for eight days, much less eight hours. I felt a sharp pain in my lower stomach. Using my elbows to move, I didn't know if it was hunger or... something else. Luckily, all it took was a good whack from my left hand, followed by the unlucky sound of glass hitting the floor.

One of the shards sliced one of my eyebrows; the smell of cheap whiskey did very little for my senses. I whacked the fridge again to see a water bottle hit my head and rolled towards the base of the stove. As I rolled over the dirty footprints, I grabbed the bottle and downed that bastard like there was no tomorrow. A cool rush went from my throat all the way to my legs.

Thank God, I thought. Some feeling was coming back from the waist down. What a shit show to come back to as I stared at the ceiling in all its cream puff colored glory.

I still had faint images of the hotel. Their shower for one... man. The five-star treatment was a small victory I focused on. I'd kill for a hot shower if my landlord actually fixed the hot water in the building. I then rolled back on my stomach and felt that sharp pain running south.

"Ugh! The... fuck?" Using all my upper body strength, I leaned against the bottom cabinets to see what happened. Lifting my black tank top, a hospital bandage was wrapped around my mid-section. I knew something felt binding. I just didn't know what caused it.

That was when the name "Calliope" came to mind. No, I emphasized, there was no way someone like her would exist in the real world. She had to have been a scrapped character for Deshiim. There was no way a 400 year old barkeeper would come to my rescue because I was a "Creative" or some shit.

It had to have been Rusty. He was the only other person besides mom who knew where I lived. Being sore still, I adjusted my back against the cabinet. "One step at a time." I said. Having a door handle sticking into me was a pain in the ass. I gave myself twenty minutes before I had gotten the feeling in my toes.

I first placed my left arm on the counter, using whatever I had to lift me to my feet. It became a freaking balancing act from there. Sweat seeped down the back of my neck, trying to stand straight. "You can do this, Luke." I psyched myself. "Just pretend it's a Charlie horse. Fuckin... put one f-foot in front of the other."