Lost in a Reverie 18+ Only (Book 1 of Lastor Series) ['23/'24 EDIT]

Chapter 15

I was going through an intense withdrawal episode.

It's been a week since that god awful black out I had unwittingly served myself up to. And yet, I would gladly do it again than this cold turkey shit.

Everything hurt. I was losing my mind. I've been shitting and vomiting uncontrollably. My clothes stuck to my body because of how much I was sweating. My head felt like it was going to explode. And don't get me started with the constant anxiety.

I was in hell. A massive, life-sucking hell dragging me to the core of the Earth and burying me alive.

Why I was doing to myself, I did not fucking know anymore but when Jude and I came home from Pennsylvania, I realized I had to stop. I couldn't keep doing it. Not to him. Not if it meant I had to watch him wallow in guilt. Not if it meant I had to keep calling him at unreasonable hours to pick me up at another state because I blacked out. No. Enough.

But why the hell did it have to be so hard to fucking stop?

My demons were rioting, constantly piercing me with ear-splitting screams and relentlessly driving me insane every hour of the day.

I couldn't. I can't. It was too much.

It's been so long since I lived. It's been so long since I was just Angel. I didn't know how to do it anymore. I didn't know how to live with myself.

I hated myself. I hated myself so much for being like this but I couldn't help it. They were suffocating me, tearing me apart inside out. I needed to make them go away. I needed to escape. I couldn't live. Not like this. It wasn't worth it.

Jude wasn't home. Even if he was, we didn't speak. We haven't uttered a word to each other since Pennsylvania. We barely looked at each other.

He left a note. He said he was attending a charity gala the Lastor Foundation was hosting at The Plaza. I remember. I was supposed to be there too. It was our duty to be there as our father's rightful heirs and ambassadors for the foundation. But I was too sick to go. Too fucked up.

I can't. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I would kill myself.

I picked up the phone and called Bo, Andrea, and Tristan, telling them to grab anyone that they could.

I was throwing a motherfucking party.

Three hours later, I was dressed in a skimpy little black dress and had strangers pouring into the apartment as loud party music blasted through the stereos while a flicker of colorful lights illuminated the dark space.

Tristan manned the door, making sure no one had cameras with them. Bo was set up in my bathroom, playing candy man for all these zombies.

I...

I was high. I was drunk. I was on Dynamite. Sniffing line after line while firing the ack ack gun.

I didn't know how much I've taken. How much I've drank. I didn't care. The misery wasn't there anymore. I didn't want to die. I was okay again.

I let them have their fill. I just sat on the couch that they had pushed up against the wall while holding a bottle of vodka.
Andrea arrived an hour ago with her posse of beautiful and pitiful toys who followed her around all the time, living off on the high of being with her and basing their self-worth on the amount of attention she would spare them.

It was toxic, the obvious fact that they hated Andrea but couldn't exist without her light casting over them while my best friend, the twitsted bitch that she was, got off on their narcissism and complete submission to her every whim.