Bloodlust

3 | Problems

Sometimes I wish I could turn it off.

The noise.

The static.

The ambient melody of perpetual weakness.

That's what it is...weakness. I wish I could drown it. Smoother it. Choke it until it dies. And I try. So fucking hard. But I can't. No substance has ever vanished the noise permanently.

It's always temporary.

Always.

A few hours here. Maybe a day if I'm lucky. But just as the sun rises in the East and brings with it warmth, the noise always returns, bringing with it nothing but demons.

Faded memories of the past. Blurry uncertainty of the present. Opaque darkness of the future.

It's all here.

Inside of me.

Stewing. Lurking. Hiding in the far corners of my mind.

These corners are new. I wasn't born with them. No one is.

They were created from chaos. Forged from fear. Sired by sin.

But these corners are a rite of passage for someone like me. They're mandatory for this life. This world. This destiny. These corners are my burden to bear. My cross to carry.

My noise to drown.

And I drown them.

Every day.

Until they're resuscitated and brought back to life by reality.

By a fuck ton of water.

And a handful of Advil.

"Careful, princess," Frankie instructs, one arm looped around my torso as he keeps me upright. Not that I need it. I'm present again. Of sound body and mind. Unfortunately. "We're almost there, a few more steps."

"Frankie, I'm fine," I say, trying to detach myself from his fatherly grip. He doesn't let go. Overbearing as always. "I said I'm fine Frankie, Jesus!" I wiggle out of his arms, straightening out my dress as we stop in front of the elevators of my condo building. I glance over at the doorman whom I pay handsomely to keep his yap shut. "You're making a scene."

"Me?" Frankie blinks, crossing his burly arms. "I wasn't the one smashing shot glasses at a nightclub, was I?"

"It's my club, I can do whatever I want." I roll my eyes, calling the elevator. "Plus, it was a game, that's all."

"Yeah?" he scowls, shaking his head. "And what was this game called? Going viral on TicTac? Having your face plastered all over the internet?"

"TicTac?" I ask, stifling a grin. "God, you're fucking old." I tilt my head. "Would you prefer walnut or mahogany for your casket?"

"Camilla," he sighs, closing his eyes. "I told your father that I'd keep you in check, okay? That I'd make sure The Council doesn't overturn their decision, but you're making it real hard to do right now. Do you hear what I'm sayin'?"

"The Council can suck my fucking dick," I state, aggressively pushing the call button. Where the fuck is it? "I'm not scared of a bunch of boomers with bald spots and viagra Pez dispensers."

"The vote was too close, Cami," he says as the elevator doors finally ping open. "You need The Council. You need to keep them happy."

"They're wiping their wrinkly asses with the face of our Founding Fathers, okay?" I sneer, stepping into the elevator. I scan my fob, hitting the penthouse button. "I think they're happy."