They are gone. They are finally all gone. You have waited for this, but you have waited for it to the same end you waited to wake up: You regret it. You can move around. One of your arms is still damaged, your liver and broken ribs continue to make walking painful. You have no depth perception. However, you are no longer a cripple, and that you stay in bed all day is more of a choice than anything. At least there is no you-sized bloodstain in your carpet. Innovator is the only one who could have gotten in, cleaned it, and gotten out.
You’re somewhat dazed. Perhaps you shouldn’t be making tea while heavily medicated. No one will let you have coffee, cleared it out of your apartment altogether. Uppers and downers don’t mix, they said. You lean on your counter for support more than you would like, head resting on a cabinet. You’ve been home for three days, and couldn’t take Scout and Brawler and Demo hovering around anymore. You don’t like the way they look at you. Only Scout understands, but he’s too much for you to deal with right now. Since they let you come up out of your coma-like drug sleep in the hospital, you have been in an astounding amount of pain.
Physically, and emotionally.
You have never felt so many strong things at once and perhaps you aren’t crippled, you can move your body and more or less take care of simple things like food and getting to the bathroom and back to bed, but inside. All of your smooth workings are jammed. Your cool calm has melted. Every moment, you are consumed by a deep black pit, a bright red rage, and a grayish sort of apathy towards the bitch named life. You close your eye, and by the time you’ve opened it again, you aren’t sure how much time has passed or how long the kettle has been whistling.
You steep tea, sit at your kitchen table, and put your face down against the cool wood. While you lose track of consciousness again, your tea over-steeps, and sits there.
