Deceitfully Yours

58.

"I will always be with you, my little one... no matter where you go, how far you run, you'll always have a part of me in you, the part that longs for this, the part that craves the smell of blood, the part that loves the taste of tears, I am your mother after all...and the Apple doesn't fall far from the tree..."

I jolted awake with a sharp gasp, my heart pounding.

Panting, I blinked rapidly, my brain scrambling to register where I was. Not in my room. I was lying on the floor of my painting studio, surrounded by a bunch of half-done paintings and ripped-apart canvases.

How did I get here?

My eyes zeroed in on the empty bottle of rum lying pitifully beside me.

Did I drink all that?

I pushed myself up into a sitting position with my elbows but fell right back to the ground as a sharp pain shot throughout my brain, informing me that I did in fact drink all that.

Shit.

Getting drunk was never a sensation I enjoyed and the feeling of not being in total control of my mind and body had always been a state I detested. But last night, the concept of sliding into temporary amnesia with a bottle of vodka sounded so delightful that I didn't mind losing a bit of my sanity.

My eyes found the Venetian blinds. It wasn't morning yet.

I took a deep breath and gripped the edge of my long wooden table, using it to lift myself slowly from the ground.

My head throbbed and my vision tunneled, going dark around the edges.

I squeezed my eyes tight, waiting a few seconds.

It cleared.

I walked out, holding onto the wall as I began to lead myself to my bedroom.