Afterlife

08 | Pain, Pals, and Promises

"Stupid bugs," I murmur before taking another gulp of alcohol from the brown glass bottle I help tightly in my left hand. I don't even know why I had stayed out this long. There are so many frickin bugs, which probably has to do with the bug: human death ratio.

The balcony seemed like the best place to go, but boy, was I wrong. If anything, the alcohol and the stupid stars made me feel worse. Amara could be looking at those stupid stars. I think... I still don't understand this place.

At this point, it was even the fact I saw Julius kissing another girl. He isn't my boyfriend, so he isn't doing anything wrong. But that sudden surge of feelings, let all my other emotions loose. Only to make me realize I hate being dead.

I hate leaving Amara alone.

I hate knowing I can never leave.

I hate being stuck.

I hate being alone.

"Ana?" A voice startles me enough to make me drop the bottle. It shatters into pieces; blood beings to pour from my foot.

"Shit! Ana!" I sit there quietly, watching as the crimson color keeps bubbling out.

A panicked Flint grabs my foot, and his green eyes are filled with fear. "Ana, everything is going to be okay," He reassures me. I just stare at the ground, while he runs back into my room.

The pain of the bleeding foot is unfelt, for I have no pain receptors being dead and all. Instead, the only pain I feel is emotional, which is beginning to be dulled by the alcohol. My hands itch for more, and in an attempt to distract them, I twiddle with my the hem of my dress. Parts are stained with a mixture of blood and alcohol. My nose crinkles in disgust.

Flint's black hair is messier as he rushes in for the second time. "Here," He says, shoving gauze into my hands. "Use this and apply direct pressure. I have to carry you into the bathroom."

"I can walk." I snap a little too aggressively, considering he was just trying to help. "I'm sorry I'm just-"

"Save it. We can talk after you are better." I apply the gauze and he reaches down to pick me up bridal style. Arguing seemed pointless, so I let him take me into the bathroom.

"Don't get too handsy." He laughs at my comment breaking his face of determination. The muscles of his face relax as he sets me down.

"Was that handsy enough for you, your majesty." He doesn't wait for my reaction and reverts to Nurse Flint.

The 'your majesty' reminds me of Julius, but I shake it away before it stays too long. Julius wasn't interested; he had made that pretty clear.

"What are you doing up here anyways? Or did you forget there is a whole party for you?" He lifts the gauze and starts to clean the wound. 

"I just-" I stop quickly. Should I tell him? Tell him about how I feel. About my life. For some crazy reason, I was leaning towards yes. It might be the alcohol, but I wanted to tell him. "I didn't just die." He looks at me with furrowed eyebrows. "I was murdered."

He stops dabbing and looks at me dumbfounded. "You were murdered?" He whispers the last word, as if it was wrong to say.

"Well, I just said that, so yeah."

"I'm sorry, it's just the fact that you were murdered. Sort of hard to comprehend." He grabs some sort of bandage and wraps up my foot.

"What does that mean?" I say, a bit offended by the fact he doesn't think someone like me could be murdered. Though the more I think about it, the more I realize it may be a good thing.