Vander awoke to find herself lying on her couch, curled up agains someone. For a moment, she panicked, before realizing it was Deon. Even after the realization, the panic refused to subside. She was breathing quickly, and the shakes from yesterday had returned. [i]What time is it?[/i] How long had she slept? Long enough for the Lucid to wear off.

Scrambling off the couch, she stumbled in a drunken fashion to the kitchen, her gaze falling on the crate of syringes. Her hands shook, but not as badly as yesterday. She could pick up a needle. Rolling up her sleeve, she rested it against the inside of her elbow, waiting for her hand to steady. The needle tip finally stopped bouncing, and she slid it under her skin. The plunger of the hypodermic went down, and once again, feeling spread out slowly from the site of the injection.

With a sigh of relief, Vander slid down against the wall, sitting on the floor of her kitchen. The hypodermic dropped to the floor beside her.

[i]A month. Probably...probably less."[/i]

 [i]I hate you. What kind of idiot saves up college money by selling drugs?[/i]

 

 She pulled her knees in to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. In her mind, she could clearly see the sixteen year old girl from her dreams. The young girl with dreams, and brains, and potential, she was gone. She could see, and [i]feel[/i], the disappointment. 

 

 [i]You ruin my life! I hate you!"[/i]

 

 Vander ducked her head down, resting it against her knees and trying to suppress tears. She hated herself. 

As Vander bolted from the couch and into the kitchen, Deon's eyes slid open from his own troubled sleep. Haunting images of his mother's and sister's face plagued him throughout the night...but he was used to it by now, used to their harsh words in his mind blaming him for their deaths; it happened every time he closed his eyes. He took his time in getting up, knowing that just the wrong movement would send that one rib through his skin without hesitation. He pulled the rest of his shirt off, now standing to examine his bruises. They looked a little better in some areas, and in other areas looked a bit worse, but bruises always looked worse before they got better.

"God damn crazy fucker." Deon growled and slowly made his way into the kitchen to make sure Vander was alright, though he was pretty sure he knew exactly what it was that caused her to act so frantic. Lucid. He stood against the door jam, resting his head against it as he looked down on her, a frown finding a way onto his face. "Hey...you okay?"

She didn't look up at the sound of Deon's voice. Keeping her face pressed against her knees, Vander took the brief moment to compose herself. No, she wasn't okay. The realization that she was dying had come crashing down around her in full force the second she'd woken up. The realization of just how badly she had managed to destroy her life. "I'm fine," she answered after a second. "Just...dreams get weird when the Lucid wears off."

She looked up and caught sight of Deon, shirtless, standing in her kitchen doorway. With the fresh hit of Lucid just taking effect, the bruises on his chest stood out in sharp relief. Climbing to her feet again, she frowned worriedly. "Are [i]you[/i] okay?"

Deon shrugged. "I'll be fine." He scratched the back of his neck before running his fingers through the small patch of hair he had on the top of his head. He then turned back to head to the bedroom, slowly, and found his shirt. With great difficulty, he slipped it back on and returned to the kitchen. "Well I'll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the couch and stuff. Keep the pizza." He said blankly and began to turn for the front door.

Vander blinked.

She knew that Deon intended to leave, but the abruptness still somehow came as a shock. She found herself torn in two. There was a large part of her that would have happily watched Deon walk out that door and never come back. But there was another part of her, more hesitant. For some undiscernible reason, that part didn't want to see him go. Not after he'd taken her home last night, not after he'd gotten her the crate of Lucid, ordered pizza, not after all that. [i]Do you still feel like you owe him something?[/i]

 

Vander frowned, looking uncertain, and followed him towards the door. "Can I make sure you get wherever you're going all right?" she asked. Perhaps if she returned the favour of seeing him safely home, the awful clinging feeling would go away. "Just...your ribs are all busted up."

Deon turned at the doorway and looked at her with an amused expression. "Is that concern I hear in your voice Vander? I could have sworn you didn't care too much for me as of yesterday." He teased, his amused expression never leaving. "But I'll be fine, like I said, this shit happens to me all the time. Once I get back to The Spit and take some Spl-uh, drugs, I'll be good as new." He said with an amount of promise in his voice.

After a second, Vander nodded reluctantly. The part of her that wanted to see Deon safely away had diminished slightly, reassured by the fact that he knew how to handle injuries, even injuries as bad as a rib threatening to stab through his chest. "All right...take care, then," she said, offering a last smile as goodbye. "Thanks for...for the Lucid, and making sure I got back here okay. Really, thank you."

Deon gave her a slight nod before heading to his bike and with great effort, managed to get on it without furthuring his injury. Before gunning the bike to life, he looked back up to Vander. "Hey..." He said with a slight smile. "You ever need anything, you know where I'll be okay?" He said with a touch of sincerity in his words. "But if not...just take care of yourself okay? Don't give up, and give yourself the best damned month you've ever had." 

And with that, he gunned the bike to life and sped out and away from Vander's apartment, once again heading back to The Spit. Vander watched him leave with a slight smile. The best month ever? Well, she could try. The fact that she no longer had to worry about the amount of Lucid she had would certainly help.