When Demons Are Redeemed: The Dominant's Muse

Eight - Crutches

EIGHT

Crutches

When Catherine regains consciousness hours after the attack, she feels no pain and correctly concludes that she is swimming in morphine. She slowly turns her face to the right and sees that the narcotic continues to be pushed into her body, at intervals, through an i.v. Pretty nice feeling . . .

Don't get used to it. And careful what you say, what you reveal, under its influence, inner healer warns her.

What I say? Like what? Like, “hey, there really is a hell, but it’s not like you think it is, and  I . . . I used to . . . ”

Enough.

What? People don’t pay attention to the gibberish that falls from the lips of doped-up patients.

As long as doped-up patients don’t pay attention to what comes to their mind either, inner healer warns.

Show me a chapter. Come on. Open up the vault. I . . . killed . . .

You’re so high right now.

I can handle it, Catherine insists.

Not a chance.

I’ve been in hell, haven’t I? So I can handle it, because I survived being there, so surely just thinking back upon that time won’t . . .

Catherine, maybe some day, some time from now, but not now.

And then into another hell I fell. Why can’t I stay away?

It’s who you are, healer replies.

I should’ve let him kill me.

No. That wouldn’t have solved a thing. Whatever “him” you’re referring to.

I would be dead. Everything would therefore be solved, by default. Over. Right? Over? So, no gibberish.

You don’t want to die. It’s not in your nature, inner healer reminds her.

Death solves everything.

No it doesn’t, Catherine. And this is most unlike you.

Because I once inspired conception  . . .  She stops. You said that if I had died, then all my street acquaintances wouldn’t have. I call that something solved by death.

I was just . . . pointing out a possibility.

Stupid survival instincts. What nonsense and absurdity they continue to shower upon me, no matter what. They even dared to push me to defend myself as best I could when I was attacked! Why make me so want to live, when I have so little to live for?!         

Does assigning blame and ridicule upon those instincts make you desire their opposite? Truly, Catherine: you don’t want to die.

Okay. Fine. I’ll just . . . This feels nice. And, I just don’t care.

And Malika?

Not fair. Why bring her up?

Just sleep it off. Wait for the morphine to be merely a guest, and not the master within you like it is now. You’ll be more yourself then.

I remember what happened to me, she continues, after a moment’s rest.

I can no longer add anything to the vault. It’s packed to its limits.