Darling, Clementine

13| Desolated wasteland

I was sick. The sick that burrowed itself into the very marrow of your bones, gnawing at the essence of your being until you were left a hollow shell, a desolate wasteland. I was isolated, my existence reduced to the confines of my mind, a prison cell where the bars were made of my depression and loathe. Valentino knew I was drowning, that the currents of my mental state were pulling me under, threatening to consume me whole. I had confessed my weakness, allowing a sliver of trust to slip through the cracks of my armor, clinging to him like a desperate, drowning woman. He was a monster, a creature of darkness and violence, but in my sick, fragile mind, he paled in comparison to the demons that haunted my thoughts. They were cannibals, feasting on the remnants of my sanity, replacing the light with shadows, the warmth with an icy chill that seeped into my bones.

I was sick, a fact that was no longer up for debate. I was broken, the pieces of my once-unshattered psyche scattered like a jigsaw puzzle left out in the rain. I was scared, petrified of the world outside my mind, and the monster within it. I was suicidal, the dark thoughts that had once been fleeting whispers now screamed at me, a chorus of voices urging me to end my pain, to silence the noise once and for all. I was falling, spiraling into the depths of my mind, the abyss calling to me, beckoning me to join it in its infinite embrace. I welcomed it, eager to lose myself in its comforting grasp, to silence the screams that echoed through my mind.

I was sick, and there was no cure for what ailed me. I was broken, and there was no fixing me. I was scared, and there was no escape.

The days blurred into a monotonous parade of despair as I lay confined to my gilded cage, a prisoner of circumstance and my failing resolve. Each dawn, the sun cast its piercing gaze through the window, illuminating the dark circles that had become permanent fixtures beneath my eyes. The world outside seemed to carry on, indifferent to my crumbling existence, while I remained trapped in the clutches of my mind, a willing participant in my descent into madness. Food lost its flavor, and sleep became an elusive dream. My reflection in the vanity mirror revealed a ghostly visage, with hollow cheeks and haunted eyes that stared back at me with a silent plea for mercy. I was drowning in the quicksand of my own making, and no one—not even Nakova, with her unyielding optimism—could reach me in time to save me from the abyss.

Where was Valentino?

The question echoed through the empty chambers of my mind, a ceaseless refrain that gnawed at the edges of my sanity. It wasn't longing that drove me to seek him out, but rather a desperate need for distraction, for something—anything—to break the monotony of my existence. I yearned for the fire of his presence, the scorching heat of his wrath, even if it meant being reduced to ashes in the process. Days turned into weeks, and still, no sign of him. No threats whispered in the darkness, no menacing shadows lurking in the corners of my room. It was as if he had vanished, leaving only the echoes of his intent.

Where was Valentino?

My mind, a shattered record spinning in an endless loop, refused to let go of the question. It clung to me like a parasite, its tendrils burrowing deep into my psyche, twisting and contorting my thoughts until they were unrecognizable. He kidnapped me, leaving me to rot.

Where was Valentino?

The questions circled like vultures, picking at my hope, and leaving me raw and exposed. I craved the comfort of familiar faces, the reassuring touch of a hand, and the sound of a voice that didn't belong to the shadows. But I was alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. Yet Nakova, with her unwavering optimism and relentless chatter, tried to fill the void. She brought me food, attempting to coax me back to reality with her tales of life beyond these walls. But her words fell flat, their meaning lost in a cacophony of my despair. "Clem, you need to eat something," she'd say, her voice gentle yet firm, as she placed the tray on the table beside me. "You can't just give up. You're stronger than this." But I wasn't strong. I was weak. Weak and broken and alone. "Where's Valentino?" I asked her one day, my voice barely above a whisper. It was the first time I'd spoken in days, and the words felt foreign like they belonged to someone else. Nakova hesitated, her eyes searching mine as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind my question. "He's busy, Clem. He has... important things to take care of." A bitter laugh escaped my lips, the sound harsh and grating, like nails on a chalkboard. "Important things," I repeated, nodding my head. "Like leaving me here to die?"