TFS: Burnt Earth
CONNOR 4: SLOW AND STEADY

Connor – 35 years ago

Everything hurts. I have fuck all control of my body, the craving lashing out in retribution for not being sated. This withdrawal is poorly timed, or maybe it’s perfectly timed penance for what I’ve done.

Molly. I try to focus on her but find my concentration stilted. Seeing her there, terrified and trembling on the floor…knowing I put her there…she doesn’t want to be here. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. Earned that. Earned this. My pain is the price of being alive.

My cells are alive. I feel each one of those cunts. A million tiny pulses stretching inside me. Balloons filled to the brim until they burst, exploding out in hysterical urgency. Those shards start the real work, slicing through my veins like razors. Not paper cuts in presentation. Oh no. They’re jagged blades sawing through everything I ever was or could ever hope to be, relentless in their destruction.

Molly. I should’ve left her alone. I couldn’t leave her alone. I’m no longer alone. My eyes are wet. Are these tears of joy or sorrow? No, pain. Definitely tears of pain.

The convulsions start. Every muscle spasm coats my bones in osmium. Not coating, no. Constricting. The crushing weight is set to crumble my bones to dust. Merciless. Set only on bleeding out any remaining energy that might be hiding there. Good to the last drop. I’m orange pulp, fodder for my craving, and it. is. starving. Hungry for my suffering.

Molly. I’ll fix things with us. I’ll make up for what I’ve taken from her by giving her everything I have to give. First things first. Surviving this withdrawal.

My bedding is soaked through. I’ve ruined another mattress. Sweat and vomit are the least of what I’m expelling, my pulverized bones draining out through my pores. My electrolytes are shot to shit (yeah, the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me). I’m thoroughly dehydrated, yet the idea of feeding any liquid through my dry, cracked lips rolls my gut and starts another round of expulsion. Dry heaves. I’ve nothing left to release, but my body missed that memo so it keeps on trying. My stomach cramps, the knots gathering momentum and pushing through my intestines by force, stretching them beyond reasonable limits. I’m in labour, birthing my own humanity. Unrelenting contractions, racking my body as much as my soul. A labour of love.

Molly. My sister. My everything. The only thing I have left in this world holding me to it. She’s my gravity. My heart.

My heart is hammering inside my chest. I hear every beat in my ears, each pulse a promise of more pain. Too close to my brain. Need to keep the power tools away from my brain. Precious cargo up there that can’t be jostled too much, lest I find myself kicked off my rickety thought train and wind up hitching a ride on the berserk bus.

Molly. I have to come out of this. For her. I’m all she has now.

My hands slam down on the mattress. The action is involuntary, though it may very well be my subconscious trying to evacuate this shit show theatre. Not a fan of this production. Zero fucking stars. Do not recommend.

“You tapping out?” Phelan barks. “You ready for a refill?”

He’s offering me energy. I want it. Not want. Need. I need the energy. No, what I need is Molly. I have her. She’s here now. Close. Soon, she’ll be with me. Then I’ll be okay. I know I’ll be okay. I have to be. It isn’t just me I’m surviving for now. I have someone depending on me. What would happen to her if something happened to me? They wouldn’t keep her around. Not this soon. They’d recycle her.

I open my mouth to reply, to beg for more time, but it isn’t words shooting through my lips. It’s an eardrum rattling roar morphing into the standard wails I’m never quite able to quell, regardless how hard I try to tamp that shit down.

Phelan grunts. “He’s done. Dose him up, then get his rank ass to the showers.”

I feel a needle prick my arm. I’m equal parts relieved and disgusted by my weakness. How long did I hold out this time? Did I age a day? An hour? Anything at all? If I could make it over the hump, I’d be human again. I could go back to living a perfectly imperfect human life. Would they let me bring Molly back with me? Have I gained anything by her presence besides strengthening the tethers they have so tight around my balls it honestly doesn’t matter if they ever fully drop or not?

I’m only half-conscious when they drag me to the showers, dropping me like some useless pile of garbage. That’s what I am right now. Utterly and completely useless. I can’t even lift my arms or move my legs to be out from under the cold spray raining down on me, while what’s left of my dignity slithers down the shower drain like the traitorous snake it is.

They leave me to my own devices, knowing the injection will work its magic in the next five minutes, and I’ll be very best. Very. Fucking. Best. If I’m not sorted in five minutes? That berserk bus is motoring alongside my rickety thought train, with plenty of seating available.

As my brain finally starts working right, my reality comes crashing down on me like a tonne of bricks. Regrets? I have about a million. Things have to change. And fast. Like, immediately. This very fucking second. What needs to change? Me, obviously, and I’m not talking about my teenage boy body either. I mean my shitty attitude.

Fuck, this is bad. I can’t afford a single fuck up from here on out. I have to be the best Scout the Sinsear Sentry has ever seen. No more rebellious behavior. I can’t put one foot out of step or it won’t just be me risking the consequences. It’ll be Molly, suffering from my stupidity. From here on in, they’ll get nothing but sunshine and roses from me. And her? She’ll get every damn rainbow I can muster. All. The. Rainbows. Because I’m not fighting for me anymore. I’m fighting for her, and if ever there was something worth living for, she’s it. A precious stone meant to be protected at all costs. She’s priceless to me.

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