(no subject)
Face down in the toliet, the cold sweat chilling her suffering body, her shivers now increased to spasms, she screams like shes being murdered; and in a way she is. Thats why she loves it.
Woken up by her small, sly alley cat Frances, April finds herself in a mess of her own vomit, blood, and Frances' own morning gift of a decapitated mouse.
"Ahhhh Jesus Christ, Frances! What the hell is this shit?" sitting up, the stench of the mess she made last night hits her. About to throw up again, she heads for the toliet, which is only about a foot away from where she passed out on the dirty bathroom floor the previous night.
Finally relieved of her insides long enough to get a bit cleaned up, she takes a cold shower, trying to get rid of the awful dominating smell thats soaked into her hair and clothes.
Deciding that she'll stay sober long enough to write Tim a letter back, or hell, even give him a call, April wonders what it would be like if she were clean for good.
"Hahah, oh Christ...that'd be the day. Just think about that Becky, me? Clean? Never in your fucking wildest dreams..." The echoes are the only reply to her drug induced hallucination, because, well, there's obviously no "Becky" there. Just Frances the alley cat, and April's trusty syringe.
love,
timmy