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chapter three the female of the species
☼ ☽
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Her blood was boiling and not just because the sun was scorching the light hairs on her arms. She was mad, as usual, but still. Here was the deal with Jill Samson: she was always mad. It didn't matter if she was smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes at dawn or if she was just simply watching a movie, she was always angry. She knew she had always felt in extremes—anger being her most prominent emotion. It was like there was this electric current coursing through her veins and infecting her bloodstream as it spread its disease. And when the electricity would become too much, she'd feel it bottle up in her throat. At first, it'd feel like an itch in the back of her throat, so she'd cough once. Then twice. Then three times, but the itch persisted. It'd spread and consume her until she could barely breathe, and that was when she'd just want to scream. And that was exactly how Jill Samson felt that humid summer day—like she wanted to scream until her throat bled.
The air felt heavy in her lungs as Jill drew in a long breath of smoke, letting it burn her lungs for a moment before she released the chemicals into the atmosphere and handed the cigarette off to Beverly. She leaned against the brick wall of some building in some alleyway near the pharmacy in town. The bricks felt hot against her bare skin, but it didn't bother her—Jill was always fueled with fire, so a little heat was nothing. Plus, her mind was somewhere else.
You see, Jill had always overthought everything. She just couldn't help it; she doubted everything, sometimes even her own emotions. And today, she couldn't tear her mind from the dream she had just last night. It was odd. Although, most of her dreams were weird (Hell, she once had a dream about a spider with a baby head chasing her), but this one particular dream had resonated with her.
The dream was of Beverly (which wasn't too out of the ordinary), but this time the redhead haunted Jill. She couldn't get the picture of Beverly's sinister smile out of her head. And the way she had talked to her. She spoke as though she wasn't even Beverly. Then she just slit her throat and let the blood gush out of the wound. But even that wasn't the part that made the hairs on the back of Jill's neck stand on edge. No, the part that made Jill's heart stop was the way the dream didn't feel like a dream at all but actually a cruel reality she was forced to endure. That was what terrified Jill.
