What was Lost and Found in the Fire

Ch. 6 The Long Game

Author's Note: Just a reminder, if you don't like excessive cursing and unreasonable people, this chapter isn't for you. This one has been completely changed. It once held some pretty heavily implied fantasy stuff, but it didn't meld well into this story line, so I dropped it. Still applies, but it won't ever be mentioned again. Sorry, but it just wasn't working.

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Leninora's POV

Location: Don't Fucking Care

Date: Too inebriated to estimate how long ago The Kidnappings happened

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I feel the alcohol mess with my perception of time.

What could have been 1 hour is only a minute, which is confirmed by a clock next to my face.

It also tells me a self-decided day has only been 15 minutes.

Why is everything so slow? I feel like I'm floating through molasses.

The pills shouldn't be affecting me like this. I should be dull, but not inoperable. Though, they weren't supposed to bring back my memories either and fuck all-mighty did I get those back. 

"Fuck," I groan at the flash of memories that rises to the surface like black sludge. I slam my head against the floor a few times to temper the dreaded flow of images that cross my mind.

It takes a few minutes, but finally the memory of my past drifts back to the back burner of my fucked up little mind.

I slog through my thoughts, trying to catch a drifting idea of why I might be suffering these side-effects, the memory and the addiction, but the thoughts crumble away the more I try to catch them. 

Maybe it's the........Maybe..... alcohol? I shake my head. I like alcohol, so that's not it.

Maybe........wrong amount of enzymes to protein ratio? I groan....That doesn't even make sense.....

I think I gave myself a concussion.

I stop trying to make sense of what's going on.

Dontavion's been digging into my head lately, and to preserve any chance we have of escaping, I had to find something to dull out my thoughts. If I can't think, he can't pull anything from me.

Unfortunately, I think it's backfired.

 I wasn't prepared for my addiction to pills to get so out of control, or the need for a good stiff drink to wash them down to be so integral to that addiction. Like a virus, it's consumed my thoughts and body.

I now understand the phrase 'chasing the high,' because that's all I've been doing lately. Chasing that unreal feeling of being completely fucking numb. While the pills help me remember my past, they help me keep it at the back of my mind. That's the best place for those memories, really. 

I had only intended for this to last a month or so, but I think it's been a few months now. I can't seem to stop though.

This all could have been avoided, if I'd just been a little more aware.

The final part of my plan almost completely rides on my ability to follow my instructions. I can't really call her, so I sent her a letter.

In the letter, I gave my mother all of the information she would need to convince the government to move in on Dontavion.

I included names of those they should go after before they did so; all those dirty politicians and senators that Dontavion thought he was so smart to include in his little fantasy bullshit.