delirium. jules day three.

The sleep helped a little bit. If it was sleep. I think I blacked out, if I'm honest. The world doesn't usually spin and dance before I fall asleep - not sober, anyway. Regardless, any rest - planned or not - I'll take. God knows I need it right now.

It was a miracle nobody found me there, left for dead out in the open. It was a miracle I didn't die and it's a miracle I'm in a stable enough mindset to patch myself up. The water was a god-send, bless Nico and the lot of them. I would've taken that over a bottle of scotch. The food filled me up, a little too quickly, but I felt like I could breathe without a thumping weight in my rib cage afterward. Who knew crying took up so much oxygen?

I decide that I hate the colour yellow. I should've stayed in the greenery. I should've kept running the second Sophie opened her mouth, left her there on the ground to bitch and moan by herself. Not that I didn't hate the company or the extra pair of hands to stitch me back up, but all that lot did was get me in a world of trouble - and now look at me. Battered and bruised, cut open like the carcass I left in the desert. 

Still, croc skin kind of suits me - and it makes for some killer impromptu bandages. That thing might have almost killed me, but it does make me look like a bad-ass. A morbid, sticky, beat-up bad-ass barely alive, but one all the same.

My body aches. I feel light, dizzy and winded. Every five minutes of walking causes me to beg for twenty minutes of rest. When I sit down all I have to do is pack and re-pack, pinch my arm and pinch it again, try my best not to twinge the wound from my half-missing thumb underneath the gloves on my hands. And I think, hard, playing what happened over and over and over again. Picturing my family. Picturing Noah - oh, my heart hurts so terribly when her face grazes my thoughts. Picturing me. Picturing Jamie screaming, blue in the face, white-hot knuckles, red-eyed from no sleep. Picturing my weapon skewering that creature right as it was about to claim me. Picturing my household gasping, crying, cheering.

Picturing them silent. 
Picturing them dead.

Delirious. I'm getting dehydrated. One canteen down and I'm already desperate for the taste of more water, cheeks drying up with every pant or sigh. It'll keep me going for a day or two, but after taking everything out of my bag and laying down in front of me I know they sent me those tablets for a reason. The chunks of pineapple will keep, but even they don't have enough juice to sustain me. I'll wait for rain. Steal some from someone. Anything, anything, anything. I'll do anything to stay alive.

If I can kill a monster like that, I can do anything.

Maybe that's just the delirium talking.
Or the adrenaline, smirks Jamie.
Or the adrenaline.
Going a bit crazy, huh Jules?

My turn to smirk - perhaps I am.