:|Quenching - a - Thirst |: {East}

T H I N K I N G | S P E A K I N G | L I S T E N I N G
A U D I T O R Y H A L L U C I N A T I O N S / V I S U A L H A L L U C I N A T I O N S

I should not be here.

I wasn’t even invited. Not that it mattered at this point in the party any way; everyone was either drunk, high, or both. No one would notice one little crasher. Or at least, that’s what I told myself on my way over here. Unfortunately, as I came to realize, the reason why crashers go unnoticed is because they are faceless, strangers. They can just fly under the radar, posing as a plus one to someone. While I… I used to run with this crowd, I used to be their king. These people know me. And if they don’t recognize my face, they certainly will recognize my signature white hair.

I should not have come.

(Or at least dyed my hair back to brown)

No one stops me when I push my way through the door, or when I fight my way to the living room. The air here is thick with cigarette/pot smoke and the body odor of dozens of people smashing together. A headache pounds through my head almost immediately; the smell in conjunction with the strobbing lights and thumping bass is too much for me to handle while sober. I instinctively search for the group responsible for the smoky atmosphere, but I stop myself. No. Drugs and schizophrenia make for a really shitty combination. I came here to get out of the house, not relapse.

I put a hand to my temple, messaging my aching head. The gyrating bodies on the dance floor flicker, and blur. I blink rapidly, hoping against hope that I was not about to launch into another one of my breaks from reality. I had not had an episode in months. I had thought it was finally safe to stop taking my medicine. I stare intently at the dance floor, waiting to see if I see anything else. Nothing happens. “Ew, did I invite you?” A catty voice hisses in my ear. I jump and swivel my head to the side, coming face to face with the hostess herself, who just so happened to also be my ex-girlfriend. I finch at her, and shake my head. She sneers, and puts her hands on her hip. “Are you even allowed out in public? Aren’t you, like, contagious or something?” My confused, dazed mind suddenly focuses and forms around a single emotion: anger. “Schizophrenia is not contagious.” I practically snarl at her.

They’ll never understand you. You should have known. Why did you come here? Are you a masochist or something? You are a freak, why would anyone want to be friends with you? Their voices slither through my mind coil around my brain and spine, squeezing, constricting me. I hadn’t heard their voices for weeks, but it’s like they never left. We are never gone. We are always with you. “Kay, sorry, geez.” Kathy was saying. I force my attention on her, phasing out the oily voices whispering in my ear. “Well what are you – hi baby!” Her question changes midsentence to a shriek of seemingly pure joy when a man comes up from behind her and warps his arm around her waist in a protective manner. “Hello Flint.” I eye my ex-best friend warily. Seems like my exes have united. Awesome. “What are you doing talking to this lunatic.” Flint doesn’t address me, just fixes me with a murderous glare. “Uh, I’m not a lun-“ I begin, but he cuts me off to continue scolding Kathy. “You saw what he did to Scod. He went fucking psycho and beat the crap out of him. Let’s not mention what he did to Brightman.” I finch when he says each name. Okay, I deserve that. I’ll admit that I went overboard in my sparring matches. It’s not my fault I saw them as monsters and I thought they were going to kill me.

Okay. It was my fault.

“Why don’t you just see yourself out, hmm?” Flint shoves me in the shoulder, and I’m pushed back a few steps. I run into someone and they push me back toward Flint. My heart speeds up and I become hyper aware of everything around. My muscles tense, ready for a fight. “You aren’t too bright are you?” I snarl, my voice vibrating with my anger. “You were just accusing me of being a lunatic, and you go and provoke me? Be sure you don’t go stumbling home in the dark. Something might happen out on those dark, deserted streets.” I bark out a bitter laugh at the look of fear that flashes across his face. He really thought I was a lunatic. He wasn’t just saying that. Ignorant Bastard.

(I would be lying if I said I wasn’t hurt)

I want to punch him. I want to start a brawl right here, right now. But the broken face of Brightman swims before my eyes, and I stop myself. I can't stop myself if I start hallucinating. I could kill him. I don't want that kind of guilt hanging over me for the right of my life.

Before either of them can say one word to me, I push past them and lose myself in the crowd. My head is pounding worse than before, and the room spins and spins and spins. The faces around me blur into featureless smears with yawning mouths and flashing teeth. Cackles, yowls, yips, and snarls issue from those grotesque holes, while forked tongues spray acid green liquid at me. I stop myself from crying out, and back into a corner. I close my eyes, willing away the horrible visions. Freak. Psycho. Lunatic. I can’t tell if it’s the voices in my head, or voices from the party insulting me. I don’t open my eyes to find out.

Freak. Freak. Freak. Freak.

I need air. I blindly push myself out of the corner, and stumble through the mass of people, frantic in my need to breathe fresh clean air. “Hey! You!” The words cut through the panic in my head, and my eyes snap open almost involuntarily. Around me, a few people are shooting me weird looks, but otherwise, the world is back to normal. Relief washes through me and I turn to look at who was addressing me. It’s a girl that I don’t know, but claims to know me. She shoves a cup in my hands and declares that I look like I need a drink. The liquid in the cup gives off the powerful stench of alcohol, and want so badly to drink it. But, of course, I can't.

I’m so taken aback that I don’t say anything for a few seconds. I don’t know whether to be annoyed, or amused. I settle for a mixture of both with a dash of confused. “Uh, I don’t drink.” I say, trying to shove the cap back into her hands. “And even if I did, who do you take me for? Everyone knows you pour your own drink at a party. I wouldn’t want you date raping me.” I say with a small smile. The old me would have pushed that one further, adding something like ‘if you want in these pants, all you have to do is ask’, and other such nonsense, but I’ve since grown out of that. I don’t feel like that happy, flirtatious person anymore. In fact, I think harbor some dark hatred for him (Or I'm just jealous). “I used to go to a lot parties. You probably know me from there.” I nod at her and turn to go, thinking that would be the end of it.

T H I N K I N G | S P E A K I N G | L I S T E N I N G
A U D I T O R Y H A L L U C I N A T I O N S / V I S U A L H A L L U C I N A T I O N S

I hear the girl call out from behind me, but I don’t plan on stopping. The walls were starting to pulsate

, and that was never a good sign. But I was stopped by a hand on my arm, and I turned around to find the same girl. I look down at the girl’s hand on my skin, and watch, transfixed, as it sprouts long browns hair, and bear-like claws slowly slide out from her skin. I’m vaguely disgusted as well as intrigued. However, I don’t feel that heart-pounding fear that made me attack the other before, but hey, the night is still young. And this atmosphere is bound to exacerbate any hallucination I have.

I really need to leave.

The girl takes away her hand and I snap out of my daze. I try to focus on the words leaving her mouth, but I’m having difficulties trying not to panic. I stare blankly at her outstretched hand, waiting for it to resume its monstrous appearance. It doesn’t. It remains a normal hand, so I take it tentatively. “Gossamer.” I reply shortly, my patience running thin. If this drunk chick insisted on keeping me in her company, I was likely to either freak her out by talking to people who weren’t there, or beat the shit out of her because she turned into some creature.

She is planning something. Why else would she be so desperate to talk to you? It isn’t your charm. The voices were back again. Great. She wants to use you. Black mail you. I look at the girl suspiciously. They had a point. Why was she so insistent on hanging out with me? “Listen lady.” I try to keep my voice civil. “You’re drunk. Everybody here is either drunk or high. Why would I want to stay? Why would I want to stay here with you?” I don’t even know what I came. I guess I was feeling a bit nostalgic. I miss having friends… er. The pretense of friends, at least. I hadn’t had an episode in months; I thought I could handle something like this. But apparently I can’t. Well, at least now I know. I now realize that I need to spend the rest of my life sitting, and staring at a blank wall because I am unfit to be around other human beings. I’m too sick.

I feel guilty for unleashing my bitterness onto her. “Sarah, was it? You probably remember me because I’m the fallen king. I used to be just like you. But then something went wrong in the chemistry of my brain, and now I’m a pariah. You don’t want to hang out with me.” I don’t know why I’m even bothering. She probably isn’t getting anything I’m saying. “Just go find some other boy to sloppily seduce, you’re pretty enough. Shouldn’t be too hard.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Shitshitshit. I can’t believe I actually said that to her. There was old Gosser, showing his face at the most inopportune time. Did I mention I hate that guy? “Shit. Sorry. See? I’m a downer. I wouldn’t want to ruin the party. I was just leaving. I’m about to have a mental break down.” I was mildly kidding about the last thing, but knowing me, anything possible.

Ooc: if she throws up or something, Gosser will have no choice but to offer to take her home. He really is a gentleman. Maybe some other guy coming over to harass her?