Pain manifests in a million ways - Late night Monday night
It wasn't that he didn't know better. Warren knew the risk he was taking, the way he was backsliding suddenly but he couldn't think of a better way to do it. He could feel it starting again. The cold seeping in, the darkness. Yeah, to think of it that way was fucking emo as hell but there was no other way for him to describe how it felt when he started to die inside. And he knew only one way, one way that didn't fade and die, to keep everything inside of him alive. Right now it tasted like ash in his mouth and his blood felt like sludge but soon, soon he'd been able to feel the heat again and it would complete him once more.
He'd seen the cabin when he'd gone out to check on the woods for Pollyanna. It had likely not known a two legged inhabitant since he had been on all four. And if it had, it was likely druggies and teens. Still, Warren stepped through the fallen archway that had once held a door, making a quick tour to ensure that there was no one was sleeping off the winter in the ancient shack. Happy with his assurance, he slipped back outside for his bag.
Standing there in the woods, he dug out his lighter before pulling the canister of lighter fluid from his bag. Dousing the door way, he flicked the cheap lighter at the door, smiling as he washed it go up in flames. It was contentment to feel the heat on his face, to watch the brightness spread until the whole front of the structure had been eaten up by the flames. He felt alive. As alive as the flames were as they fed and grew.
Stepping closer, he closed his eyes and let the heat wash over him. It would take only a step, maybe two, enough to step into the flames and let them consume him, make him whole.
Bright eyes shot open, terror showing in them. It was like the nightmares, the ones from the drugs when he'd been tied down and captive. Panic captured him and Warren heaved the can at the cabin, grabbing his bag and running. The sound reached him a second before the blast struck his back, hot and heavy, making him stumble. Something struck his back, more solid than the blast and Warren shrieked from the pain as it burned through his shirt. He could feel the scorch on his back, the pain of skin that was consumed just as he had wanted. Just as he had dreamt.
Racing still, he only stopped when he found a pay phone. Wrapping his hand in the hem of his tee, he made a call.
"Yeah, there's a fire off of north route thirty. I... I heard the explosion."
Hanging up, he took off before the cops could track down the call and find him. Not stopping until he was home, safe in his room and behind a locked door. Dropping onto the bed, Warren lay there flat on his stomach until his heart slowed to a normal beat. Only then did he crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. Stripping off his shirt, he peered over his shoulder at his back. The mark was angry, red and pretty damn deep.
"Well, fuck,' he snarled, biting his lip and taking a shower any way. The water hurt bad enough that he couldn't stand it and finally gave up without washing his hair. Dropping back onto the bed, he tried to sleep but it was there. The fire. He could feel it inside even as he heard the sirens go by.
He'd seen the cabin when he'd gone out to check on the woods for Pollyanna. It had likely not known a two legged inhabitant since he had been on all four. And if it had, it was likely druggies and teens. Still, Warren stepped through the fallen archway that had once held a door, making a quick tour to ensure that there was no one was sleeping off the winter in the ancient shack. Happy with his assurance, he slipped back outside for his bag.
Standing there in the woods, he dug out his lighter before pulling the canister of lighter fluid from his bag. Dousing the door way, he flicked the cheap lighter at the door, smiling as he washed it go up in flames. It was contentment to feel the heat on his face, to watch the brightness spread until the whole front of the structure had been eaten up by the flames. He felt alive. As alive as the flames were as they fed and grew.
Stepping closer, he closed his eyes and let the heat wash over him. It would take only a step, maybe two, enough to step into the flames and let them consume him, make him whole.
Bright eyes shot open, terror showing in them. It was like the nightmares, the ones from the drugs when he'd been tied down and captive. Panic captured him and Warren heaved the can at the cabin, grabbing his bag and running. The sound reached him a second before the blast struck his back, hot and heavy, making him stumble. Something struck his back, more solid than the blast and Warren shrieked from the pain as it burned through his shirt. He could feel the scorch on his back, the pain of skin that was consumed just as he had wanted. Just as he had dreamt.
Racing still, he only stopped when he found a pay phone. Wrapping his hand in the hem of his tee, he made a call.
"Yeah, there's a fire off of north route thirty. I... I heard the explosion."
Hanging up, he took off before the cops could track down the call and find him. Not stopping until he was home, safe in his room and behind a locked door. Dropping onto the bed, Warren lay there flat on his stomach until his heart slowed to a normal beat. Only then did he crawl out of bed and into the bathroom. Stripping off his shirt, he peered over his shoulder at his back. The mark was angry, red and pretty damn deep.
"Well, fuck,' he snarled, biting his lip and taking a shower any way. The water hurt bad enough that he couldn't stand it and finally gave up without washing his hair. Dropping back onto the bed, he tried to sleep but it was there. The fire. He could feel it inside even as he heard the sirens go by.