The Cure To A Broken Mind

Chapter 15 ~ God Help Me

        It's been about a week since I'd last set down and talked about our food rations with the doctor. A week ago, however, there had still been food in the pantry.

        Now, though, I was waking on the couch once more knowing that there wasn't' any more canned foods in the cabinet- and a half of a corpse in the fridge. He wasn't picky with it- and he was sure as hell waiting it out. It was almost how an environmentalist will find each and every possible use for something of little to no value- he was putting each and every drop of blood to use.

        It was disgusting at this point, now that the organs had begun to decompose into mush- and the corpse had already bloated despite its containment in the fridge. Even stepping into the kitchen would leave you with a vomit-inducing scent that was difficult to drive out of your nostrils.

        It was beginning to creep into the main living quarters as well, and I was honestly shocked it hadn't done so any sooner.

        At this point, it was merely a challenge to see how long I could go without eating anything. Which, considering my depriving time in the labs, should be a while. I should at least make it through the week to come, anyway.

        If I could go that long in the lab, I could sure as hell do it here. I still had access to our water supply, after all, and so long as it didn't get contaminated or anything of the sort, I should make it just fine. All I had to do was last long enough to outlive the meat in the fridge.

        According to Damian, anyways.

        I sighed a little bit beneath my breath, sitting up a tad from my position on the couch. Slowly, I popped out my back, craning my arms out in front of myself- then, coiling to touch my elbows behind my back. Not that they could actually touch or anything- but it vaguely looked about that way.

        I yawned, then begrudgingly got up to my feet, striding back over to the window to check the time. Sure, I wasn't perfect in spotting the sun and it's position in the sky and spitting out a time down to the second- but I was confident I could at least determine the vague hour of the day.

        From where it was now, I could assume it was about ten in the morning, meaning I'd woken up a bit late. But, to my amazement, it seemed the doctor had too. Quietly, I turned back around to look the room over, thinking of how I was to occupy my first day of fasting.

        It was ominously quiet in the house, though, when was it anything but? The fire still crackled silently across the room, leaving the area a bit warm and almost smokey in scent- though not in a bad way. I much preferred the smell of the smoke over the smell of rotting flesh.

        I don't remember lighting the flame, but then again, I don't remember putting it out. Dangerous? Perhaps, but honestly, I don't think it matters.

        Even so, I don't think the doctor sleeps.

        If something caught fire, he'd stop it, surely.

        If something caught fire...

        I found myself staring toward the fireplace almost intently, though blankly, nevertheless. My face held a dull interest for the flames as the wood diminished- breaking in the pit and crumbling beneath the heat into an ashen pile.

        I cleared my throat, finally drawing my eyes away from the licking warmth of the flames, looking now toward the bedroom door across the room.

        It wasn't that I hadn't initially been allowed inside, but after declining to sleep on the bed multiple times out of discomfort, (I personally found sleeping in the same room I knew someone was recently murdered in irked me), he'd turned it into his private space.