I Am Plague

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sorry its been a year since I last updated this lol im dumb

also sorry for the short chapter, next one will be up in a few days (it's already written)

thanks for reading i love u can't wait to get back into this story and torment Cain some more

i take my anger out on him

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cain's POV

My body is insignificant. No matter what happens, it doesn't matter. My own needs can not morph my wantings to opposing self-destruction.

I really haven't slept in days.

I can feel my heart racing, pounding against my rib cage. I do nothing but sit still, and yet my heart still screams. I'm losing so much time.

It doesn't help that my skin feels like it's on fire. I feel a constant burning, every fucking day, every fucking hour.

I feel worse when Ophelia is around.

Her admittance to having romantic feelings for me was a surprise even I did not see coming. What is worse is that I can't stop thinking about it. I did what needed to be done, I pissed her off to an extent that her feelings no longer exist for me, or if they do, they are rapidly decreasing to a foul hatred. It's better this way. It's better that she doesn't like me.

I can not stop thinking about it, though.

She won't talk to me. She won't even acknowledge I exist. She moves through the apartment like a ghost and I'm left questioning my own thoughts, because not only does it bother me that she ignores me, it infuriates me. This is exactly what I wanted, though. I purposefully made her angry at me, I made her never want to speak to me again. I did this knowing there would be tension. I did it because I can't have her close to me. I can't have her feeling romantically about me. 

My god, I hate it. I hate what I've done, but I don't regret what I've done.

There are even moments where I am distracted while working. I'm mixing chemicals, I'm writing formulas, I'm imagining a life where I could comfortably kiss her and perhaps even more. The more encourages my imagination. The more is a creative creature who whispers to me that I may have had the opportunity to do such things, if I never started my endeavors in chemistry and discovery, I could be a healthy man, I could be a loved man, with a woman I would certainly die for.

She is beautiful, and I do think I would fall into her glamour, her hypnotizing aura that pulls you in. I would be a victim, her victim, and gladly so, if I weren't so ruined already. I stare down at my hands, my fingernails are chipped and peeling off from lack of nutrients, my fingers are still wrapped and bandaged from when I had broken them a few months ago. I can hear my heartbeat, I don't think one should be able to do that when not physically active.

I'm too far to quit now.  I am too damaged, not in a metaphorical sense, but in a literal, factual statement. My body is damaged, and it is entirely my fault. There is no time to regret what I've done. I have ideas to pursue. I have a life to ruin, and that life is my own.

I sleep not, I forget to eat most of the time, my body barely has the capabilities to remind me that it needs nutrients because it is at the point that total self destruction is in motion. It doesn't care if it gets fed anymore, and if it were up to me, I'd die by starvation instead.

I sit in class fantasizing about the Chemical Phenomenon, when my eyes trail from the front of the room, to the girl sitting right beside me, clearly surprised to see me here at all, though she doesn't look at me when I look at her. I felt her staring at my back.