Need twists through her veins, a snake slithering into a mouse burrow. She pants, quakes, begs for a release that comes almost too late, and for a moment everything slows around her, in her.
--but doesn’t she remember that one time she did that one thing and all the things she has to do and oh God she doesn’t feel real anymore is this even her life she’s experiencing or is she just another character in another book and fuck man she can’t--
Energy pulses through her veins again. She taps her feet, twitches her fingers, bobs her head, anything to rid herself of this energy but nothing works. It takes on a frantic edge; her fingers scrape at her wrist, as if she could just bleed this feeling out. It’s only been a couple of hours, but she finds herself back on that bed, chasing another high. As she explodes, the world stops.
--and she’s falling again she knows she is but she can’t do anything it she can only chase high after high after high until she fucking crashes and all she can do is hope that she doesn’t hurt anybody this time she’s so sick of hurting people and being hurt why can’t it all just stop--
The energy has dulled a bit, but she’s left with nothing after the energy goes. Her grasping fingers reach out for something, anything (anybody, please) to just make her feel something, but nothing (nobody) reaches back for her. Heat builds; she blames it on the spring weather as she frantically throws her clothes off. Desperation starts to claw in her stomach and thoughts crowd her head, crowd her, and she hates the road she’s spiraling down so she distracts herself with the only thing that works. Another high, the world seems to go in reverse.
--and really she wishes she could go in reverse too and just stop everything that’s happened and sometimes she wishes she never dated him just so she didn’t have to be held accountable and she didn’t have a reason to get healthy so she could just fucking do it without feeling guilty she’s sick of feeling guilty and she hates how needy she is and how ignored she feels--
Night comes and she feels herself coming back to life. The edge is taken off by music, but she wants to do something more, something productive. She tries; it doesn’t work. Frustrated, she tries again. She just can’t focus, though, and she feels fucking illiterate because she can’t even understand this simple sentence. When she checks her phone, there’s no notifications. There’s nothing, there’s always nothing. She feels greedy, desperate, pathetic--she’s insatiable as her clothes shed once again and she chases her high. Four times is too much; she rips a high out of her tired, worn body anyway, though, with a frustrated scream because fuck and the world seems to speed up this time.
--so fast that she can barely stand it and she really can’t fucking stand it or stand anything God she doesn’t know if she’s just losing her mind or if she really feels disconnected right now and is she paranoid or is he ignoring her and is everyone like this or is she just a freak and she just wants it all to stop stop like it did before--
The next day, she can’t convince herself to get up; instead she drifts in and out of dreams and watches the sun filter through her blinds. It’s half-past three when her body finally convinces her to get up, and she just sits on her couch and stares blankly at the wall. Her boyfriend has dinner with her that night; she smiles with him, tucks her arm against her side, and sends him home before he can make it to her bed.
ns 15.158.61.20da2
