Revved Up Soul

Chapter 29

Augustus

Licks of cold fire washed over and all that he could do was hold himself tighter, slipping against his own sweat in the white tub. Augustus tossed his head from one side to another, groaning to himself and muttering a string of apologies – the stabs of pain never ceased, shanking him anew with every dying ember of her memory; each subtle motion of her angelic face another torturous reminder.

Beads of sweat rolled down from forehead to chin and Augustus opened his eyes, gasping for breath – his sweats soaked in his own perspiration. "Come on!" He yelled, the veins in his neck bulging, his hand shooting out to the rim of the bathtub and clutching it so hard that his knuckles turned as pale as his gaunt face.

Just make it stop, just make it stop, just make it stop.

You're too weak, a little voice reminded. Nothing will bring her back.

Remember, down, all the way down. Not along.

The sound of Augustus' fingers slipping against the rim of the tub filled his ear; he arched his back, trying to lift himself a bit into the air – in a violent motion he slammed back down, his head thumping against the porcelain.

He yelled a litany of curses and rolled over onto his side – the perspiration of his own body soaking through his sweats. Everything was too hot or too cold and it was all at the same bloody time. Pinpricks of pain danced mercilessly across his body as he weakly brought himself to his knees, and then to his feet. Clutching the wall and onyx shower curtains, Augustus clenched his teeth and brought one leg out of the tub, and then another.

You're a damn, stupid idiot, you coward. She'd never forgive you, he chided, neither of them would. Augustus' tired, sleepless eyes, settled on the medicine cabinet mirror just feet away.

Puh-lease, you can't even pretend to resist you fool. Even with the lights dimmed, the soft orange glow seemed all too bright – the temples of Augustus' head felt like two screws were being cranked against them.

One step, two step. For every motion, another wave of pain crashed against his person – the bones of his body drinking the agonizing waters deep.

You'll just go back to drinking, come on, just do it – do it. You can't grieve, you can't function – you never could. A whine escaped the man's lips as he shambled inch by terrible inch, his hair a wet mess.

Finally, he almost tripped against the sink, throwing out his hands to catch himself, a hard breath exhaling. For all that the man cared, seasons could have passed outside – leaves could have faded and snow could have come and gone; Augustus managed to lift his head up and look at the misery that was his person. Take it, Augustus taunted, you know you need it. His muscles ached with a dull fire, the blood in his body becoming thick; every ill pulse another blow against him.

Body quivering against the sink, he tried to repress the terrible memories, tried to smother all of the pain away. 'Clock, clock' Augustus heard.

Shadowy as a wraith, she appeared in the mirror. It felt as though the grave itself clutched his heart, Augustus dared not look back. Her once platinum blonde hair, so long and beautiful, was now soaked, frayed and split and horrible; the luster in her amber eyes now glassy and distant: dead. What was once a smile that calmed his soul was now a scowl; her green summer dress once bright and colorful, now dark and dull – it clung wet to her shapely, if not ghostly thin, figure.

Augustus shuddered, "Go away," he murmured in a choke. But she did not. Her ethereal coil lingered, practically gliding more so than stepping, closer to Augustus. Thin, long fingers touched along the man's hips, a chill blooming where they met. Three sounds filled his ear again 'clock, clock, clock'.