Raw Fiction Friday. Stories About Love: At the Corner of Mars and Neptune Ch. 1

It’s been some time since I’ve posted original stories (that have nothing to do with the book), so I thought I’d put this one here. It’s nine chapters long and I’ll be posting them every Friday. Raw means no professional editing. Enjoy!

1

Knock knock.
Fuck. My head hurts.
It’s the police. Open the door.
I’m too stoned to even know where I am.
My hands and legs weigh a ton and my head’s about to explode. I roll to my side, the hotness comes up my throat and I hurl.
Open. The. Door.
“Brian.” He can’t hear me. “Brian!” Don’t do that, don’t shout.
There’s a police officer at the door and the rotten smell is coming out through my nose.
Last chance before we throw it down.
Throw? Yeah, throw up. I try to push myself up but my hands skid on it.
“Brian?”
There’s something more on the floor. Making it slippery, denying me of purchase. Something liquid and a bit sticky.
It smells. It smells like…
Blood.
Go away blur I need to see. My fucking god I can’t rub my eyes with my hands full of shit… Shake my head, make it go away and see.
Brian. Lying on the floor. A knife stuck in his chest and now my hands are covered in puke, my puke, and blood, his blood. And the police are knocking on the door and I have nowhere else to go but out. Out, through a window, through a door. Whatever. Wherever I fit through ‘cause I’m small enough. But where? I don’t know this house. This is Brian’s house. A mansion in the middle of nowhere only a man like him could buy, and have, on his own.
We were supposed to be on our own.
We’re coming in.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I can’t remember a damn thing but I know where’s the door. The backdoor. Through the back. Through the dinning room with the chandelier made of Swarovski crystals. Through the kitchen. Through the parallel lines of granite countertops and expensive stainless steel appliances that are never even turned on.
Push the door open. Don’t have the key and it’s locked and I can’t see straight. A window must be unlocked. The one above the sink, that looks over the side of the house.
Boots. Stepping on the marble floors. Voices. Shouting over each other.
Push the fucking frame of the fucking window, pull the fucking lock, open the fucking window. Quick. Come on. Fuck.
The voices are coming. Getting closer by the second and I wriggle the lock because I’m too fucking nervous and I can’t see. When it let’s go I fall. Face first. The grass like nails on my skin but I can’t let it stop me. Run. Run like the rotten soul you are, as if being followed by the devil.
Run.
It’s dark. It’s still night. I have no idea of the time. My head throbs. Firecrackers going off inside my skull with every step.
Freeze!
Shit. Shit. Fuck.
Don’t hit a tree. Don’t step on its root. Above all, don’t fall. It’s a forest, the easiest place to get lost. Run. Don’t stop running. Let the forest swallow you like it does with all lost souls.
Mist. Thank god.
Cover me. Make me invisible. My head pounds too much. It’s too much to go on. Can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t feel my feet. I’m going numb.
My knees weaken and I hit the ground. No, I didn’t step on any root. I managed to dodge the trees. I hit myself. Stepped on my own foot, since I can’t feel it, I can’t see where I’m going. I just fell. And my head hurts. A lot. It’s coming again. I heave. Try and make an inventory of all the stuff I drank, I ate, I sniffed, I injected into my veins in the last twenty-four hours.
Brian.
Fucking dead.
Fucking stabbed.
I can’t go on. I can’t get up. I’m too heavy. The world’s too heavy and it wants me to go to sleep. It wants me to go ZZZzzz.
Footsteps. Running towards me.
Let me go ZZZzzzZZZZzZZzZZ.
Left. Right. Left. Right. Left.
My arm is being pulled up. I’m vomiting in my sleep. I’m rolled to my side.
There you go. I don’t need you dying on me.

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