Permanent Scars

It Would Appear That I've Been Poisoned

DATE UNKNOWN, TIME UNKOWN.

Spent the entire weekend at Adam's, apparently. No idea what condition my home could be in at this point. I'm weak, a bit listless, and on meds. But I can walk. I can function. I can go to school.

   On the upside, I'm not so squirrelly. I feel oddly sedate. Here I sit, doing my mathematics like a good girl. Nothing wrong. Perfectly normal.

   Yeah, yeah. That's the drugs talking.

   Glancing to my left, I briefly make eye contact with Adam in attempt to surface from feeling like a machine. I've been functioning too smoothly this morning and I don't like it. I also don't remember anything, and that scares me, but for some reason the fear just kind of rolls off me. Normally I'd have had a panic attack by now.

   Adam leans in close, glancing around and making it look as though he is appropriately assisting me. "You doing okay?"

   "I feel like a robot."

   His face crumples, and he fidgets with the black circle encasing his left wrist. "I'm sorry. Hey, we've got a band practice scheduled tonight at Mia's place. You coming?"

   "I'd better not."

   "Why...?" He trails off, voice high in question.

   "Because. I feel like a robot. Something's wrong."

   "It's just for a week or two. You'll get better soon."

   "I want to go home." Raising my hand, I receive permission to rise from my seat and speak to the teacher. She listens sympathetically, then tells me I may take my things and go. My other assignments will be sent to me and I can complete them when I'm feeling better.

   Feeling wholly numb, I walk back to the table and gather my things, turning away and exiting the room. Adam jumps out of his seat, almost tipping the table, making a scene of himself as he grabs his things and follows after me. The teacher stops him, he explains what he's doing, and she waves him on with an air of light irritation. Grateful, he continues his pursuit. I'm not running. Just walking normally. Toward my locker. I will grab my things and I will go home, and nothing will be wrong with me anymore.

"Amber! Wait!" He pants, catching up at last. I turn to look at him and his body morphs into a psychedelic twist of bright, peppy colors, and something—a brick?—hits me in the ribs, and I start coughing.

October 24, Friday. 11:48 p.m.

"...that was a dream...?" words ebb from my lips like wisps of fog or smoke. My voice is soft, hushed, and breathy. A cold compress is being placed on my head, and a vial of my blood sits on the coffee table nearby.

"You'll be alright, hon. Just some poisoning, that's all. Lucky we caught it when we did." Tris ignores my mindless speech and continues doing whatever it is she's doing to fix me.

Opening my eyes wider, I glance to my left and see Adam nervously fidgeting with his wristband. He does that a lot—or, rather, he's started doing it a lot more since I first asked him about it.

The static in my head is dissipating rapidly. There's an intravenous line in my hand, or something. I turn my eyes imploringly at Tris, and she laughs kindly.

"Don't look so scared. You're just fine. All we're doing is filtering your blood, getting the toxins out. You'll be back to your old self before you know it."

Golly, I sure hope so.

"Okay honey, I'm gonna need you to drink this. It's going to knock you out for a couple hours, but it's safe."

   At this, I look at her in shock. Then I glance at Adam. He nods reassuringly. Taking a deep breath, I accept the shot of pale liquid from Tris as she helps me sit up. I open my mouth, shakily lift the shot, and knock it back as quickly as possible. It isn't long before drowsiness takes its course and I'm propelled into pure, black serenity. It's very soothing for a change.