Drinking Numb (The Numbing Series #1)

Chapter Ten

<"Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don't fool.">
Robert Brault
•RUE•
October 27, 2015
Picture waking up by getting your head repeatedly, agonizingly beat against the floor over and over and over until your eyes cross, your brain feels like it is pounding out of your temples, and your limbs can do nothing but curl around yourself in a fetal position.
Now picture yourself shivering with a fever on a cold, unforgiving slab of concrete in the rain.
That's how I feel right now as I wake up at the beach. It's already passed nine, and I feel like an abused rag doll.

I peel myself up, coming to a crouch. I zip my jacket all the way up before wrapping my blanket over one shoulder and my back pack around the other. The ground almost comes out from under me when I stand, nausea rolling through me.

"Just make it home," I tell myself. I'm so not gonna be able to make getting coffee today. I'm four hours later than usual, and Charles won't even be there by now. It's two hours after his shift. Who knows if I'll even make it home.

By the time I'm stumbling past Yak's, I feel like I'm dying. Suddenly I feel an arm wrap around my waist, and I screech pushing all of my weight away from the other body, and almost knock myself out against the wall of the building in the process.

"Ruby, it's just me, Charles. Are you okay?" he asks full of concern.

"No, you scared the shit out of me," I moan. Then a wave of nausea hits me, and I puke... right on Charles' shoes.

"I scared something out of you alright," he mutters flicking emesis off his shoe before replacing his arm around my waist and tossing my bag around his other shoulder. "Come on. I'll take you home."

"You don't know where I live," I moan and clench my eyes shut as the world continues to swirl around me.

"I do though. Now no talking. There's no need to trip your gag reflex with the dull banter of it. Just breathe," Charles instructs as we continue down the street.

How does everyone seem to know where I live? What the hell is going on? I find myself moaning again at the sudden realization that I look like a hobo right now in front of Charles. A sick, desperate homeless person. I'm supposed to be downplaying my situation to everyone, including him. It's nobody's business, but now he's going to be prying more than he already has been. Him and his worrying, I swear. I appreciate it, but still, it's not really his business either. That's what I like to tell myself anyways.

I keep thinking that things can't get any worse than they are now. They just can't. I'm already dying and a homeless person. Now I'm tripping over my own feet, even with Charles half carrying me himself. He must come to the same conclusion because he makes a show with an abrupt stop and a big sigh before swinging me up bridal style.

"I just puked in my mouth," I whisper burying my head into his chest and moan. I have so got this moaning/dying thing down pat. I could totally be a zombie...

And now I'm going delirious.

With each step Charles makes, it's a blow to the head. In a matter of seconds, my blood sugar is dropping, and my ears are ringing. Somehow the door manages to be shoved open, and Charles stumbles us inside.

"Bat," I whisper.

"Bathroom, got it," Charles responds, and my eyes squeeze tighter shut. That's not such a bad idea either.

Things go black for a few seconds before me knees hit the floor right in front of the toilet, and the suddenly I'm left alone as I throw up the rest of my guts. When I'm done, I feel a hand brush my hair out of my face and gently pull me off the toilet.

"Here," Charles says volunteering a glass of water.

"Thanks," I barely make out before taking a sip. The taste in my mouth is awful, but at least I feel a little better now. Dragging myself up, I quickly make an effort to wash my mouth out with some toothpaste.

"Ruby, is that you?" I hear my mother call throughout the house, and I immediately tense up. I so hoped she wasn't here.

"Charles," I whisper turning to him, "it's fine. You can go now." His eyebrows scrunch up in concern, and his eyes flick from the bathroom door to myself.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Go. Now. Please," I persist. My mother's middle name is TroUBle with a capital UB, and he has definitely done enough. Plus his puke shoes really are starting to smell.

Charles sighs, nodding his head and leaves quietly before Mother sees him.

"Ruby? Were you just throwing up?" She asks peeking through the doorway of the bathroom now.

"Are you sober?" I shoot back taking in her casual and yet proper, for her at least, jeans and a T-shirt.

"Seems like," she smiles softly, but it quickly fades to a scowl. "I never see you anymore."

"I could say the same," I shoot back as my body begins to clam up again and sweat drips down my back.

"Do you need help to your room?" She asks a little too quaint.

"I'm fine," I reply sucking in a deep breath before dragging my feet the best I can past her and to my room, but when I get there, the door to my room is... locked?

"Oh yes. That's been locked since I came home last night. I figured if you aren't staying here anymore is just lock it up for safe keeping. You know, for when you come back. Maybe I'll end up doing the same thing with the front door. What do you say?" She asks wickedly as one corner of her mouth smirks.

"I say all of this is your fault."

"How's that?" She says tilting her head to the side and blinking innocently.

"If you wouldn't bring so many men home that you'd think you were trying to break your bed, it wouldn't be a problem. Lord knows you'd already had it worn in well enough the week after you got it," I breathe back as my head leans back against the door behind me.

"Oh like you can talk," she scoffs. "One of your little man whores just sneaked out the door leaving you throwing up and probably pregnant. I'm sure it's not the first time."

"Yeah, right. Of course you would know," I glare back as I small amount of adrenaline pushes me off the wall. "You don't even know me well enough to know that my best friend is dead or apparently to remember something as small as my birthday. You missed out on that big time," I say suddenly becoming aware of placing the blame of everything that's happened on her. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have been at that party, or in the hospital, or sleeping on the beach sick. "Too bad for me," I whisper.

"I can't fucking believe you! Here you go again, trailing down the familiar I'm So Self Centered lane. Who do you think-," she screams at me as I push past her as fast as I can.

I can't be here.
She's really gone off the deep end this time.
I can't be here. I have to go.

I find myself running back to the beach, back to my pavilion as fast as I possibly can. I hear somebody scream my name, and then another someone.

I can't be here. I have to go.

The world turns dark.

Wait no. The world is a evil place. It has always been dark.

I've just lost my light.