Dustin Whyborney wondered how they would end his life.
Would his parents kick his ass until his nose bled shit, or would they roast him slowly over a fire fueled by his hopes and dreams?
Not only had his car not come back from Harvey, but Harvey himself had gone missing with it.
Why had he trusted that little vixen in the first place!? Sure, she was hot, but that hardly merits such complete trust from anyone. He shook his head to try and remember the exact conversation they had had, but was having trouble. Instead his mind drifted to his parents. Dustin shivered when he imagined all the things they could do to him.
He was nearly in tears as he opened his front door at seven A.M., expecting them to be waiting just inside with belts and a sock of oranges.
Instead, his living room was full of men in black business suits and dark sunglasses. His parents seemed to be in a state of shock; his mother shook slightly as she attempted to hand out cookies from a tray and his father nervously sipped an empty cup of coffee.
Dustin froze in the doorway as they all turned to look at him.
"Dustin Whyborney?" One man with cropped hair and a smashing mustache asked. Dustin nodded. "Do you own a '68 Trans-AM?" He nodded again and considered his chances of outrunning such large men. He WAS the captain of the football team after all.
"We have a few questions for you." The man continued. "About a certain friend of yours."
Dustin nearly pissed his pants with dread.
-----
Pain.
That was the first thing I was aware of. A sharp, shooting pain that ran from the back of my head down my spine to my stomach, where it did somersaults.
I was having one of those days, I guess.
I awoke lying on a small, stiff mattress that smelled lightly like bleach.
Naturally, I hate the smell of bleach.
My mind was, well, foggy. What had happened that brought me to this room was a blur of color, like someone had wiped a still wet painting. I sat up and cradled my head between my knees.
Maybe I had admitted myself to a Hospitol to cure my vampirism and now I was suffering some weird side effect? I looked at the drab white Hospitol sweats and T-shirt and was lost in the pure whiteness for a time. Until a loud chime roused me.
A white door that I hadn't noticed against the white wall opened inward, rolling on hidden wheels and hinges. In walked a male nurse in olive green pushing a small chrome cart.
"Breakfast, Mr. Daniels?" His voice was calming and deep.
Now that there was some color in the white room, the colors of his clothes, tanned skin, and my oatmeal breakfast all seemed too vivid. They seemed to sometimes bleed outward like some child coloring just outside the lines.
"Whu-" I tried to say 'what?' but vomit filled my mouth.
The colors were hurting my eyes, blending into each other in ways only seen in cartoons and always blindingly vivid.
"It's alright." The man's voice said as I threw up on the floor. His voice was too... soothing. It was like the colors. It was unnatural.
"The medication is to help you." He said. I had looked up in between bouts of vomit and saw that his lips didn't move when he talked.
Whatever they were giving to "help" me, they needed to use less of it.
I had one last fit of dry heaves and then everything went black.
