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01.08 Donna Troy

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GROANING, AZRAEL SHOOTS UP LEANING OVER THE EDGE OF THE BED, GAGGING AS WHISPERS FILL HER EARS. Expecting to have to clean up a mess, she finds a bin already there, so she lays back down, flicking the blanket off of her as she pants, pushing the voice away. Glancing over she finds a glass of water, her throat constricts like sandpaper from the dryness, which is why she guzzles it down before rolling out of bed.

She stumbles into the wall, holding her throbbing head as she enters the bathroom. Nausea washes over her and she falls, releasing the black fluid from her body. She gasps, letting everything out, her stomach twisting painfully as she sobs. Her hair is brought back by delicate hands as everything spews out, choking as she inhales needed air. "Thank you."

"I got you." Rachel mumbles, holding her hair back tighter, rubbing her back. "Are you okay?"

Laying her chin on her arm, whispering; "Hell no."

Rachel rises, wetting a cloth and wiping her mouth of the black fluid leaking from the corner of her mouth, folding it to wipe her sweaty forehead. "You hungry? I can cook breakfast."

"Sure." She rasps, enjoying the voices that seemed to stop. "Give me a second." Rachel nods, shutting the door as she leaves. Azrael wipes her face again, brushing her teeth thoroughly, and changing from her sweaty clothes to a black off-shoulder sweater and a pair of skinny jeans with rips at the knees with her colored hair in a ponytail. The Eaton stumbles into the apartment kitchen where Rachel is stirring some eggs in a bowl, Azrael adds some seasoning and grabs an apple, biting into the crisp fruit.

The Roth begins humming, pouring the bowl into the hot skillet, stirring it with a spatula as the Eaton pours some sugar into the bowl of flour, a yawning voice making them both jump; "Rach, Ace?"

Rachel jumps, turning to face Gar as Azrael remains frozen. "You scared the shit out of me."

"There's irony here." Gar states. "You're both aware it's, like, super early, right? And you," He points at the still figure. "You should be resting. Ace? Ace?!"

She swivels around, clearly startled as she frowns. "Oh, when'd you get in here?"

"Like, a minute ago?"

She cocks a brow. "Really, you don't sound really sure about that?"

Rachel tilts her head. "Are you feeling okay? I mean, ten minutes ago you were losing bone mass, now you're acting weird."

"I'm fine." She smiles through the lie. She wasn't fine, she keeps having weird flashes of her father and a younger her in a room. He mumbles some incoherent words and a dead rose becomes vibrant again, after she tries and it works. Then a circus, a younger version of her dad and mom in front of a crowd, performing. And then the voices grow loud to the point it pains her.

STREGA | GARFIELD LOGAN |DISCONTINUEDOpowieści tętniące życiem. Odkryj je teraz