Scars, Book One, Entry Six, (From the Perspective of Evi)

Evi holds back the urge to slap the wall again by grabbing one wrist with her other hand. Everything inside screams for release. She craves escape.

She seriously considers walking away from this dump, leaving the rundown, broken city.

A city of shattered dreamers chasing shadows.

Life is running.

Running to escape.

Running to not feel.

And we are good at it.

Usually.

Not now.

Nope, now we stay.

Ugh.

Evi knows leaving does nothing; there is nowhere to go.

So she craves to escape this whole fucking existence of endless cycles filled with grief and confusion.

How did this girl from her past show up here and now?

This cycle was going to be amazing.

Why even try at this point?

You are such a disappointment.

You? What happened to us?

Whatever.

Why isn't Brie here…

And why did Aldo not chase us down after seeing us drag Pippi out of the bathroom…

They totally hate us.

Then Evi remembers something that twists the knot of anxiety into excited trepidation.

What if we dose?

What if we could dose enough to never feel again?

She chews softly on her lip.

We deserve something.

Could we?

The music fades, and the light dims. Evi moves her hand over her pocket. She feels a round, smooth object. Her stomach drops with resignation.

The memory flashes back: a half-full inkpot falling from Pippi's jacket when she crashed onto the couch in the chill-out room. Before she noticed or Evi realized what she was doing, Evi quickly swiped it up and shoved it in her pocket.

Fuck.

Oh no.

Oh yes.

Fuck.

In the color-soaked hallway, Evi stares, frozen like cornered prey, watching a predator pace back and forth.

A sinking inevitability.

The hunter licks their lips and savors the moment. Only they know when they strike.

And the hunter takes pleasure from it.

Oh fuck.

Toyed with like helpless prey.

I got nothing.

Evi cowers in the corner.

Her hand shakes; her mouth dries.

Nothing to fight the pain.

We are such a disappointment.

No wonder why Brie ditched us tonight.

Evi takes the ink from her pocket and studies it under a crimson glow.

One more time?

Fuck.

I can't stop.

Let's run.

We are running.

All is calm inside Evi for a moment.

Then, a rogue wave of violet crashes over her as the crowd roars under an echoing harmony between the vocals and the instruments.

Come on, now or never.

Her concentration on the inkpot wavers.

Come on.

Fucking wait.

Fuck.

A moan comes from behind the curtain.

Suddenly, in the tension between a storm of dreamers and a Pippi, Evi floats in tranquility.

Then she snaps awake, looking at her bloodless, trembling fingers suffocating the pot.

Absolutely.

Fucking.

Not.

Evi raises her hand to throw the inkpot against the wall.

Then, she stops herself and shoves it back into her pocket.

She looks back down at her hand, the sting now a dull throb.

Fuck,

We almost...,

Fuck.

We didn't.

How did we…?

We could still get away.

Why drag this out?

Evi's hand drifts down to her pocket again, tracing the outline of the pot.

No.

Stop.

How?

Why?

We can't help.

We can.

How?

Why?

Doesn't matter why.

And we start by not staining ourselves with ink again.

Ugh. It would be so easy to just not fight.

I appreciate your contribution, yo, but you are not helping Evi right now.

Ugh.

We still love you.

Ugh. Yuck.

Evi slowly touches her sleeve.

"How will I ever help Pippi?" She speaks softly, under her breath. "These voices are still in my head. They used to be so loud, and then they became quiet.

Why are they Loud again?"

We are barely hanging on, Evi-girl.

She runs her metallic purple nails over the fabric covering her stained, blurred trace that runs along her forearm.

A spot of pain.

A reminder of times passed.

We help because we have resources.

We only have resources because of Brie.

"Oh fuck," Evi says to no one, "Brie."

Shit.

Shit?

Brie.

Where is she?

Exploding, Evi’s mind spins out catastrophically.

Brie.

Fuck.

Will she help?

She'll help.

Where is she?

Doesn't matter.

It totally matters.

I mean, she is probably okay.

Why wouldn't she be okay?

She will help.

And if she doesn't?

Why only probably?

Doesn't matter.

We gotta do this, right?

Maybe not?

No, We are doing this.

Is Brie okay?

It is going to be awful.

How did this happen?

It is not going to get better.

This cycle was going to be amazing.

We gotta help.

We are helping.

Why only probably?

The cycle is ruined.

We are broken

Ugh, we are helping?

Yes.

Ugh.

As the spin spins-out, Evi forces herself to her feet, leaning against the wall.

Taking a breath and wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she let out an audible sigh:

"No way, my makeup survived this."

Like this night is totally ruined.

It could be worse.

It could be better.

Ugh.

The sound from the stage fades as Evi slips into the dark room. Her still throbbing hand shakes nervously. She is unsure how to help her blotted-out friend from a past life.

But right now, Pippi is lost. She dances in the dreary twilight of an ink-stained horizon, and Evi knows she needs to be by her friend's side.

Neither of them can go anywhere until after the ritual brings release as the Golden Hours fade.

As the curtain falls back over the doorless doorframe to the chill-out room, a serene nocturne floods Evi's senses.

In the still silence, she stares at her old friend's twisty, beautiful outline curled in a heap on the couch.

Fuck.

All the voices in Evi's mind-body echo in agreement–

Fuck.

Tears roll down her cheeks again as she looks on from the couch opposite where Pippi is crashed out.

It won't be too much longer. Evi starts to plan.

It starts with finding Brie.

Brie will totally help.

Oh, she will help.