Page 121 of Seizing Control: Part One

But I could have.

Couldn’t I?

My brother’s assertion echoes around my head as I rack up another line of crystal meth. The sleazy guy who works the cover a block down from the dinghy motel where I’ve been hiding from the club promised me that it was clean. Said it was cut with baking powder. Guaranteed to keep me up for days.

I’m past the point of caring if it’s clean or not.

The only thing I care about is staying awake.

The one time I fell asleep, I woke up screaming.

My wife.

Venom.

Blood pouring from his throat.

His life force covering Cherub’s naked body.

My hands around her neck as I drowned my duchess in her first love’s blood.

The twenty-dollar note I’ve rolled up is a bit sticky on the inside from overuse, so half of the crystalline powder doesn’t make it up my nose. Head spinning, sinus’ stinging, I shake out the red sheath, and scrape the residue on to the scratched bedside table. When I fish out another note, I quickly roll it up and inhale the rest of the crystal meth.

The Shamrocks frown upon hard drugs.

Our loophole when partying is to sample Hunter’s personally made pharmaceuticals.

That’s not an option now.

My little brother hates me.

I flop back onto the lumpy mattress as the spinning in my head morphs into a carousel.

Lightning. Fear. Adrenaline.

Bright lights flash in my eyes. My heart pounds. The clamminess coating my palms spread across my entire body. I am cold but hot. High and low. Awake yet unconscious. The pitted ceiling above me dances with shadows. Black blobs that grow, then recede. I scratch at my chin when my skin prickles with awareness.

The blogs loom larger.

One blob.

Two blob.

Three blob.

Four…

A crazy chuckle escapes my mouth as I start singing ‘Hot Potato’ by The Wiggles to myself, except it’s not about potatoes. It’s blobs. Big blobs. Small blobs. Red blobs. Blue blobs. I’m not even sure how I know the song, but it’s honestly the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.

My amusement is short-lived.

Something lands on my gut.

“Ooofft.”

I clutch my stomach as I jack-knife upright.

The room tilts from side to side, then my vision tunnels into a black pinpoint.

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