The Story of Blood and Roses

One thing I had learned from Anthony's betrayal was to keep no stone unturned. I had learned to erase my track like the bad little Girl Scout that I was and throw everyone off my track, and that is exactly what I did. The car could have only taken me so far. I knew that I had not been fast enough to escape without notice and that anyone could have followed me. It was an exhilarating thought as I found car races rather instigating, they reminded me of nightmares that I had ages ago.

According to plan, I headed towards a huge shopping complex a couple of miles from the bar. I chose to park underground and left the keys inside the car, itself. If anyone felt the need to steal it, they could go ahead and knock themselves out. They would probably die within a few days because any person seen in the same car as I escaped in would not be safe to travel in. So, any thief was welcome to steal it. I would be glad that there would be less wastage of our precious oxygen.

I took the elevator to the highest floor of the complex and then went around the place buying whatever I could remember Daisy complaining about. I was not much of a homely person, so I had no clue what we were short on until Daisy grumbled to herself—as she often did, and inadvertently told me of all her grievances and the lack of food in our refrigerator. I chose some vegetables, which I knew we could make something out of and all the snacks I could manage.

Daisy wasn't the homely type either, as one could imagine.

Armed with groceries worth a few days, I found myself walking out of the main gate without even giving another person a thought. Phase one of destroying my track was complete.

The next step was to appear like a civilian who enjoyed strolling at odd places.

I took the longer route home. I found the darkest alleys and slithered across them. I saw people in various compromising situations, some confused by my presence, others unaffected by it; I didn't care much for them either.

It started from the tips of my finger. It was a slight alteration in body temperature, a tingle that laced itself with an uncomfortable heat, but then the flinching began. It took me a few minutes to realize that it was not the odd case of cutting off of blood flow from the fingers, but a cramp in the making.

I told myself that I had no reason to panic unless I was sure that I would have another attack. I found myself trying to remember if I had shoved the little pill the doctor had asked me to use in case of emergencies. It was the only thing, apart from my equipment, that I bought on a mission. The pill, though, was a recent development.

Within a few minutes, my wrists and upper arm were seizing up, as well. I took in large gulps of air, trying not to panic. There was no use panicking. The shortage of oxygen would only worsen the cramp.

It seemed like I would have to take a detour. Having not felt the need to bring any means of communication, I had to take an unwanted detour; I didn't have enough time to reach home. I needed to take the medicine as soon as possible, and I needed a bottle of water for it.

Dumping my plans to familiarize myself with the nooks of the city, I headed for the main road, where I prayed I would find a store that would have bottled water.

Spotting a departmental store, I broke into a jog. By then, the upper left portion of my body was frozen and my chest was on fire. Jogging didn't make the situation any better. My throat constricted with the need to fill my lungs with air, but even as my mouth dropped open and sucked on the atmosphere with vigor, nothing seemed to quench the need. It was the pains that left me breathless, the gut-wrenching feeling made me want to double over or curl up in a ball and just die.

I felt eyes on me, but I ignored them. If I didn't take the medication soon, there would be no me left to spy on. Whoever it was that tried to follow me would be sorely disappointed if that happened. I did take a quick peek around, though. No, it was not out of panic, but the product of a long honed habit.

Satisfied that no one seemed interested with my whereabouts, I strolled into the store, massaging my chest absently. The man behind the counter shot me a disapproving glance. I realized that I still had the contents of the other store I had stopped by.

I politely asked him to point towards the direction of the bottle and he did so without much question.

I had difficulty walking. Much like my hand, my legs, too, started seizing up. I unscrewed the bottle in haste, paying the man no mind and started hunting for the little pill I knew that I had kept in someone's pockets.

The cashier protested of course, but I was not in a mental state to even speak to the people.

At last, I found the undeniably breakable little oval pill that kept me alive in the stickiest situations. I triumphantly pulled it out and placed it on the tip of my tongue. I took in a gulp of water to wash the medicine down. Then I proceeded on to pour the water into my face, until my stomach felt fuller than ever before. Wiping the few droplets of water from the corner of my lips, I looked over my arm.

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