He left. He's not here. Where is he? I don't know. Can't know. Wasn't meant to know. Or maybe I was. Was it a riddle? Was it a clue? Was it something? Twirling in my fingers. Twirling. Twirling. One feather. One single feather. Long white. It's pretty, it captivates me. That's an easy task. Captivating me. I'm like a cat. Easily caught up in the movement of things.

Empty walls. Empty rooms. Empty apartment. Empty soul. Empty heart. Empty me. I saw heaven. I saw it for a little while. It was perfect. It was beautiful, and I wanted it back. But Vawn kept me here. Saved me here. Vawn Vawn Vawn

There's an oddness. I'm feeling it. Odd. Like a tingle. In my back where I have nothing. There is no flesh where I feel it. It is phantom pain. It isn't mine. It's nothing at first. An itch, a twitch. Then it's white hot. It's fire spreading into my body. It's sheer pain. It's like nothing I've ever known. Like I've been stabbed. Like I've had a piece of me taken away. And other phantom things. Liquid running sinuous tracks sliding across flesh. I drop the feather. I drop to my knees. I cry out. I scream. No. No. It's Vawn's pain. Vawn. Not mine. Why must I feel it? It's not fair. It's his. He should keep it. Keep his own pain. My scream pierces the night.

I don't understand. I don't know what is going on. Why the pain? Why now? Who's got Vawn. Why are they hurting him. I'm beginning to get a clear head as the first wave of pain ebbs. Then the second comes like a dagger to the kidneys. I had been starting to get up, when it hit. The other side. "W..wings." And I scream again. I wail. I sob. I claw at the carpet beside me, begging God for it to stop. It's my fault, I addicted him, I knew the link. I knew. But..why? Why? Tears streak my cheeks, my fingertips are raw from clawing at the carpet, one nail's broken, stripped back, bleeding on the floor already. I see the red. The blood. It has to end. This existence. It should have been over.

"Vawn. Mercy is to push me from that ledge where you held me..."

I mutter, get up, stumble. The pain is ebbing, yet somehow I need more. I need something real. Physical. Something that brings more red. It's too white in here. Far too white. The kitchen. It has a few things, pots, pans, plates, glasses, and silverware. Knives. I grab for a glass. I grab for a slender knife.

"I wanna go home."

One slice. Along my arm. No where vital. Not yet. Not yet. Make it slow. Deep enough to bleed a bit. Red runs down alabaster skin in a line. I sit on the carpet, in the living room. I face the wall, close. Close enough. I reach with my right hand, the glass tumbles to the carpet harmlessly. I dig fingers into the cut, hiss in at the delicious pain. It's nothing compared to what I just felt. Nothing. It's lovely. It's shallow pain. Fingers wet with red, and I start. I write. On the wall. In my blood. It's hard to stretch, it wears thin too swiftly. Words. They make sense to me. I want to go home, mommy. Are you there? Where am I? I can't see you. Scrawled in blood. This wound won't do. I move down the wall, I take the glass with me, I slice anew into my flesh, over my right thigh, and like an artist dipping in paint, I renew the brush of my finger, and I continue to write.

"NO! No no no! Not right. Not right!" Each no is punctuated by the slim blade of my knife being hefted down into my thigh. Each no spills more blood. Each one new. A mistake. Mistakes were bad. I have to start over. I grab the glass and I smash it against the wall. As I do, shards dig into my flesh, my hand bleeds more easily than my leg. I push myself up, using that hand, it leaves bloody hand prints on the walls. I move to a new wall. I begin again. More words. A sonnet. A poem. One I know. Some things just filter into my head and I have no control of them.

Those lips that Love's own hand did make
Breath'd forth the sound that said I hate
To me that languish'd for her sake:
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come.
Chiding that tongue, that ever sweet
Was used in giving gentle doom:
And taught it thus anew to greet:
'I hate' she alter'd with an end
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who like a fiend
From heaven to hell is flown away.
'I hate' from hate away she threw,And
sav'd my life, saying 'not you'

Then I feel it. The pleasure, the ecstasy that is Vawn’s and not mine. It's strange. Oddly placed. I turn from my wall, my masterpiece, and I move over to the balcony door. I beat my fist into it. Nothing. Nothing. Again I do it. Then again. I see the sky. It's calling to me, pulling me home. Somehow I've forgotten how to open the door. I can't get out. I'm caged again. Caged. My whimpers turn to screams of rage and anger. I pound once and again at the door, throw my slim body against it, until...then...it cracks. I stop when I hear it. Then I see it. It is weakness in the material. Weakness. I kick at it, throw myself at it again and again, until it breaks. And I feel the pain mixed with blood mixed with wind. My wrists and arms are glass riddled, as is my leg. I stumble back. I land on the floor. I know I am broken and yet I feel more whole than ever. I glance to my right. I see that feather. I pick it up. Twirling. Whirling. Dry words slip past cracked lips. "Those lips that Love's own hand did make....And sav'd my life, saying 'not you'."

It's a blur of sound and motion. The door's being broken in. People. Lights. Sounds. "Can you hear me miss? What's your name? What happened? Where are you?"

I mutter. It's all so bright and cold. Not what I want. And I realize I'm being strapped to a stretcher. My wrists. My ankles. My eyes fly open. My body goes taught. I scream. I scream so. "Don't take me back there! Don't take me back! Vawn!! Vawn help me!!"

They say I have to be sedated. They say it's for my own good. I jerk my arms. I'm weak. It's hard to fight off so many. My mind is reeling. I can't addict any of them. Not a one. I can't focus. I can't see. I feel the prick of a needle. The burn of liquid sliding through my veins. "No...no." My hoarse screams die. They die into quiet mutterings. I'm taken away again. I try to claw my way free of the blackness pulling me in, but I am just too weak.

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