Sick

It only took one injection to knock Ana Cain’s brain around. It took one injection to make her see every etching and stitch of her sheets, to feel velvet streaks of bliss on the blue and sea foam blankets, to be a ease for one moment with herself, and with her life. It only took one injection to put Ana Cain into a deep, peaceful coma of exhilaration and rapture. To be content. To feel wanted, to feel needed, to feel important again in the world she was so very alone in.

She was lost. She was dreaming of flying. She was wishing it could last forever. The feeling of euphoria bloomed in the pit of her stomach. She could feel it growing, tickling her insides, wrapping itself around her. The ringing, it started in her ears. It was calm, dull, and constant but it was there. This was it, this was what she was waiting for.

Ana Cain moved onto her stomach. The cold air brushed over her back, her tiny blonde hairs stood on edge while goose bumps covered her body in an armor of defense. It felt nice, it felt familiar. Hard, warm waves of the ecstasy rolled through her insides starting at the center of her stomach and flowing out like blood being pumped to the heart.

Ana could see the needle laying on her pillow, all she could do was stare. It shouldn’t be this way. She used to be important. She could feel the chill of the wind once more against her back. A shiver went down her spine, the feeling of nausea rushed through her insides. She used to be somebody.

It only took a moment for Ana Cain to snap back into reality. It took one moment to feel the cold rejection of society, to feel vulnerable and unsafe, to feel ashamed of who she had become and how she got there. It took only one moment to put Ana Cain back into a deep state of depression, into the constant state of needing and wanting that one injection once more.

And oh, it only took one before she was there again.