Life is unpleasant. Life is unfriendly. It provides you sips of joy when you’re thirsty, then brutally yanks it away. My childhood was cruel, leaving not even a bitterness in my mouth. Instead, it left a burning acid that consumes me.
I’m on the verge of losing it. Who am I kidding? I’ve already lost it. It was apparent in the shootout with leather-clad thugs in my front drive, who may or may not have been there. Or in the erotic groping session in my foyer with a man from my dreams. And the best part of the evening; my past slamming into my brain with the force of a hurricane, followed by a complete and total blackout.
Yup, I’ve lost it. I chew my bottom lip and stare out into the sunlit forest, not sure how long I’ve been standing on the porch, zoning out.
The minute my eyes snapped open this morning, I’d flipped the blankets back and sprang from bed. Not my everyday custom for waking. Most mornings, I have to drag my ass out of bed with eyes closed, shuffle straight to the kitchen, and flip on my little custodian of morning joy: java. The one sure thing to perk me right up. Well, after about two cups anyway.
But not this morning. I’d dashed outside, still in my clothes from last night, sans my boots, scouting the area for clues I wasn’t a complete lunatic. Hysteria bubbled when the sole evidence confirming a complete meltdown glittered in the morning sun: the spent shell casings still scattered on the ground. The only footprints in the dirt, mine. No blood. No bodies. No Logan.
I could chalk it up to another nightmare if it weren’t for the bullet casings. And let’s not overlook the fantastic comeback tour of memories from my horrific past. They flash through my mind like a stuttering slide projector show.