Darkness of the Soul

Control

Jack almost fell flat on his face when the linebackers hesitantly released him. Whatever had invaded his veins was gone; the adrenaline rush fading away. Now his body was shaking and his knees were weak. His mind retreated back to that blurred fog, the world listing this way and that. The nausea was so vicious that Jack thought he would heave then and there.

It was the countless stares boring into him that kept him from folding in on himself. Suddenly he saw a flash of blonde hair—Kyle. His eyes were wide, but not filled with the same terror as the rest of them.

"Whoa, you okay, dude?" he gasped.

"H-help me get back to the car," Jack replied in a low stammer.

He underestimated Kyle's loyalty, because the teenager took an arm and guided him through the house. Jack tried not to lean on him, ending up wobbling the whole way. He must have looked like a drunk idiot, but instead hushed whispers followed him.

"Did you see what happened?"

"He just went off on him..."

"Crazy..."

Jack didn't remember making it to the truck. Only that Kyle all but threw him in the passenger seat. The military brat buried his sweaty face in his bloody, trembling hands.

"W-what happened?" Jack slurred as Kyle started up the truck, its engine roaring to life. The other boy snapped his gaze towards him.

his co-worker gasped. "How wasted are you?"

Even in Jack's distorted reality, it wasn't hard to put the pieces together. "I had a fight with Vince."

"Fight?" Kyle tore down the street, his driving uneven. Apparently the teenager hadn't sobered much since his last drink. "You destroyed him! You almost twisted his arm off and threw him like—ten feet!"

He did that? Jack didn't remember that. He just remembered be so angry.

"I... just wanted him to shut up," the teenager confessed in a whisper.

"That's not what you said," Kyle retorted. Jack met his friend's wide gaze. "You said, 'I'll kill you.'"

Jack's heart stopped. He really said that? "I—I didn't mean it."

He didn't sound as convincing as he wanted, and Kyle made a face. The drive to his home went by in a blur. He only remembered thinking his "designated driver" was going too fast, and went onto the wrong side of the road more than once. Thankfully, they made it to his house without getting pulled over. His mom would have a heart attack if she got a call from the sheriff.

"Are you going to be okay?" Kyle asked as Jack stumbled out of the car.

"Y-yeah," the teenager mumbled. "Th-thanks."

With that, the army brat slammed the door shut and stumbled to his home. By some miracle, Mom wasn't home yet. She must have been caught up at her shift at the hospital. It was a good thing, too, because it took Jack a solid minute to unlock the front door.

He stepped into the foyer, only for the world to list. The boy took another step, only the floor sloped upward, like he was walking up a hill. Jack caught himself on the wall before he fell to the ground, his knuckles white as he latched on.

You're so weak.

Jack jumped at the voice. He scanned the dark foyer, expecting to see red optics. Nothing.

It's just in your head, Jack, the boy told himself. You're drunk.

It was then the nausea came up his throat. Jack gagged and raced to the bathroom. His legs barely carried him, and he practically collapsed as he stepped through the threshold. He fell over the toilet, purging whatever poison was in his system. The distraught boy tried to pull away several times, only when he tilted his head up, the room spun and he heaved again. Jack didn't know what he was throwing up—the only thing left in his stomach was purple acid.