Page 6 of Jump or Fall
What was that buzzing?
She ran a hand through her hair, but the sound only grew louder, swelling into a deafening roar.
Her vision blurred and her knees buckled.
She needed to sit—just make it to the couch.
A chill touched her cheeks.
Before she could take another step, a gray haze swallowed the room into darkness.
Chapter 3
Mara
Not much light was coming through the window. How long was she out? It didn’t matter. The throbbing in her head was agonizing.
She forced herself upright, which triggered the dim evening lights. The change in position sent a wave of nausea through her.
Breathe.
She tried—then bolted to the bathroom, stumbling over her feet in the process.
Once the retching subsided, she rinsed her mouth, avoiding the mirror entirely. The ads would probably have a fucking field day if the screen caught a glimpse of her.
She grabbed the mending kit from a drawer and the bottle from the counter before making her way back to the living room.
She tossed the kit and bottle on the table with a dull thud. The bottle rattled as it rolled across the smooth surface.
Today should have been the day.
From the fridge, she retrieved a MealShake. Actual food crossed her mind, but just the thought made her stomach uneasy again.
She took a tentative sip of the shake.
Fuck it, she needed something stronger.
After two large gulps, she poured herself a glass of whiskey. The first swallow burned all the way down, making her cough, but the warmth that followed made that tension in her shoulders loosen ever so slightly.
She made her way back to the living room. Her bag sat near the couch, with the small bottle of white pills resting at the top. Skiff. The sedative’s effects made it feel as if you were drifting out at sea—not that many people in this city would even know what that felt like. Dawson always slipped them into her bag after a stripe. In the early days, she wouldn’t have hesitated to pop a few. Now, they left her too muddled to do her job.
She emptied the small bottle into the larger one on the table. Then, she dug through her bag for her tablet.
Why not take them all now?
Refocusing.
No new messages. Good.
She entered the specs and measurements for Jasper the Dickhead’s suit. It was a standard enforcer build. Nothing special.
As she went through the motions, she took another drink. The whiskey scorched her throat, but she welcomed the heat as it spread through her chest, up to her face, and even to her fingertips. She rubbed them together, imagining how it would feel to have the implants—the ability to slash someone with just a thought, controlled by a chip in her head. No wonder even the lowest-ranking Silver could go on a power trip if there was a remote chance he could have them someday.
Something wet touched her arm.
Oh, the bandage covering the new stripe had soaked through. Great. At least the shirt was dark so there wouldn’t be a stain. If she had bothered to eat today, maybe she wouldn’t have fainted and could’ve taken care of it earlier.
She shrugged off her button-down, revealing dried flakes of blood scattered across her scarred hips. How many shirts held invisible stains from how often she bled on them?
