TORTURED SOUL | abby littman

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁.

    
     
    
    
    

chapter forty eight

{ extremely unedited }

    
    
    
   
    

{ tw; alcohol/drug abuse, derealisation/depersonalisation }

FEBRUARY.

TO SAY THE LAST FEW DAYS WERE A BLUR WOULD BE AN UNDERSTATEMENT. January was already fading from memory for Rowan, only quick flashes of moments, mostly bad, that stayed in mind but February was over her head. The last thing she had a vivid memory of was Abby making her seem like she was like Hugo, with no control over her actions. That wasn't true. Rowan had control over herself, knew what she was doing, and could stop at any time. She just chose not to. Why would she when it was the only constant in her life now? She'd be an idiot for giving that up now when her life has gone to shit, reduced to living in her car since she had no one she could rely on anymore. Alcohol is what kept her alive, it wasn't killing her like everyone was making it seem.

And sure, maybe she didn't need the extra shit she took like cocaine, ecstasy, ket, or even LSD but if they were being offered to her, who was she to say no? It all helped to cope with the betrayal that ran deep through her veins, taking enough of anything she could find to avoid any sober realisations and guilt.

"So why do you do it?"

Rowan looked away from the glass ceiling, a lull in the back of her mind as she turned to the guy who'd taken her under his wing the past week or so, letting her tag along to any party he found, any place to score any sort of drug. Rowan had a lot to thank him for―he opened up a world for her she hadn't even thought of but had grown to love just an hour in, and he let her stay there as long as she liked, not asking for anything in return.

Not yet, at least.

"Do what?"

"All this shit," Oscar said, gesturing around the room filled with drunk, stoned, or high strangers. They weren't at a party, per se, but an abandoned greenhouse they'd found where the teen homeless come to not freeze to death at night. "I know why I do it. What's your reason? What you running from?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"Not really. But that just makes you an asshole. You an asshole, Ro?"

"Probably," Rowan shrugged, looking back at the stars through the clear ceiling. She loved the stars for one reason and one reason only; stories written by mankind were etched into the burning flames, bringing meaning to what is galaxies away just to make a meaningless existence a little more bearable. It was comforting to know someone was as lonely as she was so they created myths to keep them company, living in the cosmos forever. It goes to prove loneliness is a universal thing for people in every century, in all corners of the world, one of the few things that connects all human beings. Looking up at the stars helps Rowan feel a little less alone. "What's your reason?"

"Simple, I'm already dying. No point in prolonging this shit." Rowan's head fell to rest on her shoulder, looking up at Oscar. It was no secret he was sick, the twenty two year old weighing the same as a fifteen year old, skin stretched over his bones and pale to the point it was almost transparent. Heart failure, that's what he told Rowan when they first met. He needed a heart transplant but those were rare, not to mention expensive. He didn't want to put his family in debt especially when there was more chance of the surgery failing than succeeding. He should be in a hospital so they can keep him alive a little longer but Oscar hated the idea of living life through machines so he left against medical advice, running from home so they didn't have to see him in pain, relying on what he could find on the streets to beat the pain for a little longer until the day his heart finally gave out on him. "Now you. What's your reason?"