Fang Junkie

6. A stalker maybe

Warning: lots of violence

6                    A stalker maybe

As expected, my night didn't go well. The first couple of hours went just fine, but then the trippy dreams came, and I woke up with a wave of nausea. I pushed the sheets of my sweaty body and sat up with great effort, arms shaking with the effort of supporting my weight. The world was spinning around me. I held my head; the pressure was nearly unbearable. I tried to get up, but dropped back on the bed again. The sudden movement made the dizziness worse. I did another attempt. A groan escaped me. Somehow I always forgot how bad cold turkey got; it certainly wasn't the first time I tried to kick the habit.

My legs were weak and I grabbed onto everything I could on my way to the bathroom. The wall served as my sole support, my hand not leaving it for a second. I shuffled into the bathroom, dropped onto the floor and crawled until I hung over the toilet. I dry-heaved and spit out some clear liquid. My cheek made contact with the ground, right next to the toilet bowl.

Sleep had put a haze around the first stages, the ones that warned me for these kind of symptoms. Usually I made it to the bar before I could get past the sweating. The coolness of the bathroom floor eased the nausea and the headache at least a little. A groan escaped my lips, sounding much louder than it was in the silence of the bathroom.

I got up eventually, when the floor warmed up beneath my body, without an idea of how much time had passed. The moon might have come up twice already, or maybe only a couple of minutes had gone by. A black hole filled my mind where the memory of how I got to my bed was supposed to be. But the covers were cool beneath my heated, sticky skin, and that was all that mattered.

I got up by sunrise. The nausea had reduced considerably, but the headache was still there, as were the hot and cold waves, and my entire body was still shaking. I shuffled down to the kitchen, got some water and some pain killers, as well as something to ease my stomach. Probably not wise to overdo on meds on an empty stomach, but I figured everything was better than the way I felt right then.

Trinket jumped on the counter I was leaning on, pushing against my arm, nearly taking it out from underneath my chin. She meowed exasperatedly, wanting food.

"I can't right now." I moaned. I really couldn't. There was no way I could reach the box with cat food and her bowl. I could barely get myself a glass of water. She meowed again, loudly, making my head throb ridiculously hard. I tried to ease the pain by rubbing it, but my hand felt too hot and it actually seemed to get worse. But I couldn't leave Trinket without food either.

Maybe I should call someone, but there was no one I could think off. There was no one, I realized, even if my head allowed me to think. I was going to die alone with a hungry cat in my apartment. Maybe not today, but eventually. I grabbed onto Trinket's bowl, placing it on the counter, and then went for the box with food. It fell to the ground, grains rolling all throughout the kitchen. At least Trinket had some food now.

"Need help?" I jumped at the voice of a stranger in my apartment, and almost dropped through my knees with the loss of very necessary energy. My hands gripped onto the counter to keep from hitting the ground. From the corner of my eyes, I could see a figure moving my way quickly. Whether it was to attack me or to stop me from falling, I had no idea, but I fumbled to grab my dagger in preparation for the worst.

Whoever was previously seated in my living room stopped. I shook my head to try and get rid of the blurriness. I was going to die, but at least my cat wasn't hungry.

"Are you kidding me?" It was a male, an irritated one, that much I could tell. "You even carry those around in a state like this?" And then I knew who it was. "Only you would worry about my knifes compromising my safety." I mumbled.