My view consists of blur and swirls, strange colors intersecting in between. Abstract figures dance before my eyes as I blink, shaking my head to clear my sight and make sense of things.
The motions set alongside each other as my vision clears and the familiar brown color says hi.
We are still holed up in the cavity, it seems.
But I don't have time to be groggy when my body jerks, smoldering heat taking over the entirety of me. I hiss, suffocated by how my body locks up and freeze until I get the will to have... that.
It disgusts me.
Jamaica's head is lying on my stomach, if the dirty blond tuft is his anyway. His light snoring fills the space, indicating that he is asleep. I know that not much time has passed, maybe thirty to forty-five minutes, and I wonder if the boy is asleep because of plain boredom or his injury.
The latter raises some concerns inside of me, but it's not like I can do anything with this paralyzed body of mine.
"Jamaica," I croak, hoping the boy would wake up with just one spur. He doesn't. "Jamaica," I try again, this time a little louder, but it remains a squeak. Jamaica mumbles something under his breath, growls, and wakes, rubbing his eyes as he pushes himself up.
"Good morn-" he pauses, looking at me. "Are you okay?"
I can't shake my head and tell him that I'm not, and it's getting progressively harder to talk.
"Purple little thing, my bag," I breathe. My throat locks up and I shut my eyes close, gathering the little strength I have left to complete this menial task. If I was alone I would've done it myself one way or the other, but what's the harm in asking for help?
Jamaica catches what I say, and drags my bag towards him, shuffling in it when he unzips it. He pulls some things out before he could manage to get what I asked for. He turns to me after placing my stuff back where he found them.
He cocks his head to the side to ask if he got it right. I can't nod.
"Three little drops in my mouth, okay?" I whisper, parting my lips. I'm placing my life in his little hands, hoping he doesn't drop more than three. If he does, I'll overdose and most likely die. The Scent Eraser isn't a convenient no-strings-attached medicine, but a drug that will have me wither away if I abuse it.
But, like the good boy he is, three immaculate drops slip pass my lips and into my throat, travels through my pipe and lands in my stomach, making the enticing scent disappear without a trace.
125 minutes until it wears off.
Now that I think about it, wouldn't continuous use damage my inside? Madam Tyler never mentioned that, but it is possible. Maybe I can try something else? The white spray that Elizabeth used knocks on my thought-door, coming in without the permission.
The old lady doused the whole living room with it and the guards were none the wiser.
Maybe I can find it and have Madam Tyler examine it, but she's all the way in Lake Maoutsu.
Who do I know in this area that can examine stuff? There's Christol, but he doesn't really handle potions and such, the only thing that that pervert can do is dissect people.
There's Milye... what the heck am I thinking, she handles with bombs. Hydra? No, she's only a human that helped me once. Hardly a candidate. Am I thinking right? No good names are coming to mind.
Lucio.
Lucio, Lucio, Lucio... who's Lucio? Do I know a Lucio? I don't think I know a Lucio, I know a Luigi, but not a Lucio.
YOU ARE READING
Run Away With Me
Werewolf"Fishy kisses are better than kisses," I say, the words coming out of nowhere, "and like that, two people together are better than marriage." "What are you talking about?" "Nothing really," I sigh, hunching over myself more to trap the warmth, "it'...
