Page 1 of The Ecstasy of Sin
PROLOGUE
Wren
17 Years Old
Painbloomsthroughmyhead, dragging me reluctantly from a night of fitful sleep. The agony is an unbearable burn, spreading across one side of my skull with a relentless throbbing that threatens to steal my sanity.
As if that isn’t enough, there is a gnawing ache deep in my stomach that feels like the cruel twisting of a dozen knives. This sharp, vicious pain reminds me that I haven’t eaten anything in quite awhile.
I’ve lost track of the time. I can’t remember how long ago I took a cocktail of over-the-counter pain medication, which I downed greedily right before collapsing into bed. I hoped the combination of extra strength acetaminophen and ibuprofen would be enough to get me through this migraine attack.
Unfortunately for me, taking these two medications only helps to take the excruciating edge off of the headache part of the attack—they have no impact on the other debilitating symptoms I experience.
It’s been so long since I had proper medication to treat my migraines, that I’m starting to forget what it feels like to have a few days in a row without any pain.
I’m disoriented as I lay here in the inky darkness of my bedroom. I don’t know how much time has gone by, but it feels like I’ve been trapped in the fog of sickness for days.
The medication I took has worn off, which means the pain has reached levels I can no longer cope with. Not without digging my fingers into my eyes and removing my broken brain myself.
My eyes open to the pitch black darkness of my room, void of any light thanks to the heavy black-out curtains covering my window. It’s open about an inch, as it always is, which means that when the wind blows through, it moves the curtain just enough for a sliver of light to spill into my bedroom.
I turn my head towards my night stand, just as the dark curtain billows, and see the faint outline of my phone on the surface next to an empty glass of water.
Dragging myself upright, I hiss as the throbbing behind my eyes intensifies, followed by a wave of nausea that has me salivating while I swallow against the urge to dry heave.
I reach out with a shaky hand and feel for the device, nearly knocking the empty glass over when I find it. Closing one eye, I turn on the screen and squint. Even though I keep the screen brightness all the way down, it still feels like someone is stabbing me in the eye with an ice pick when I read the time.
It’s 1:12 in the morning. This means it has been at least twenty-four hours since this migraine began, unless I've beenunconscious for days. Considering the intensity of the pain I’m experiencing now… this is probably a rebound headache.
A brand new wave of suffering.
My stomach growls, and I wince. The discomfort of my hunger adding to the sharp sting of an ulcer I was recently diagnosed with.
A week ago, I went to the emergency department of the nearest hospital after vomiting blood all over my bathroom floor. After running a few tests, the doctor told me I had an open sore in my stomach lining. He prescribed medication, but my dad forgot to fill it.
Which is why my stomach feels like it’s cannibalizing itself tonight.
I can’t remember the last time I ate three full meals in a day, let alone one or two. In fact, I can’t recall the last time Dad cooked us dinner at all. Not since my mom died.
It’s been three years since she passed away. Dad started drinking in secret when she got diagnosed with cancer, and it got so much worse immediately after she died.
Dad is almost always too drunk to do anything but sit on the couch. He can’t cook, clean the house, or even work most days. He is barely scraping by to make our bill payments, and most of the time they are past overdue.
It’s only when they finally cut our electricity off that he leaves the house, does a few odd jobs for people around the city, and pays the bills. As soon as he can, he’s back in front of the television with a bottle of cheap whiskey clutched in his fist.
A few weeks ago, I borrowed the lawn mower from the garage without Dad’s knowledge and went from door to door offering to do yard work. I managed to scrape enough cash together to buy some food, and keep it hidden in my room, just to make sure I didn’t starve to death.
I wish I could do something now. Anything to make a few dollars and buy some food. If I was lucky, there would be a slice of pizza left over in the usually barren fridge for me. He ordered pizza often, and sometimes he was even conscious enough to save me a slice.
I don’t think he means to neglect me, or the house. Grief can be a sentence worse than death for some people, and it destroyed everything in his life in the wake of my mother dying from an inoperable brain tumor.
I was fortunate enough to get a few sessions of therapy with the counselor at school, but he was left to rot in the aftermath of losing his wife. His best friend. His everything.
There’s no pretending that she wasn’t the most important thing to him, even more than I ever was to him. He would have been happy just to have her for the rest of his life. I think he would have even been okay if he lost me instead of her.
Mom wanted a child, but he just wanted her. Dad was notorious for giving her whatever she wanted. I just wish he wanted me, too.
I wince as I crawl off my bed, the pain flooding in and pounding across the inside of my skull like someone is beating me with a baseball bat. I brace against the wall, steadying myself as my knees threaten to buckle.
