I had a blog post all planned out about written versus verbal communication, but life sort of threw several emotional curveballs at me today, so I’ll give you a snippet from Where Demons Fear to Tread since I’m doing one final hardcopy read through before sending it back to Cameron.
Dinner for one, as usual. Not that a pint of Friendly’s black raspberry ice cream could appropriately be termed dinner. It was more a psychological balm to soothe my frayed nerves. I’d pay for it later; I always did, but I couldn’t be moved to care at the moment.
I couldn’t be moved to do a whole lot of anything it seemed. I’d come home and immediately curled up in my favorite green armchair in front of the fireplace, detouring only to kick my shoes off by the back door. The chair’s dark fabric cocooned me, but the comfort it normally provided was nowhere in evidence. I fussed and fidgeted trying to find some solace in its softness.
The events of the day had thrown my mind in turmoil and I wished I had somebody to talk it over with. There were only a limited number of people I considered friends and none of them could help me sort through the jumbled mess that was my brain.
Luka would know what to tell me, but he was dealing with his own issues at the moment. I wasn’t about to heap my problems on top of his own. He’d stress out over my problems and neglect to take care of himself. Not exactly a recipe for a quick recovery.
I grabbed a magazine from the stack of mail on my table and thumbed through it hoping I could distract my mind for at least a little while. The first article I landed on was an interview with Miss Georgiana Aloisa Francesca Devalia, otherwise known to me as Mom. The media was all over her lately because of some charity or another she was sponsoring. Starving children in Omaha or something. I stopped paying attention years ago; she was always sponsoring something or donating to someone.
Oh, the glamorous life of a New Hollywood fashion model. After my dad died, I’d spent years running across the country with her from one gala to another, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, hob-knobbing with the stars, and being chased after by the paparazzi. It was enough to spin a girl’s head.
I despised the lifestyle, but that didn’t keep me from indulging in it as a way to run away from myself and my demonic nature. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll wasn’t just a cliché for me. For years I was the poster child for ill-mannered celebrity children. Then I met Jonas and he changed my life…
It wasn’t until later that I found out he wanted me clean for his own reasons and not because he loved me like he claimed, but he did me a favor nonetheless. I’d be a wholly different person if it weren’t for him.
I rubbed my eyes, banishing thoughts of him from my head, but a lingering memory of my partying days remained. Normally I didn’t mind the solitude of my life. I was a loner by nature and it suited me just fine. But tonight things were too quiet. My day had been filled with chaos and destruction and now I yearned for even a tiny undercurrent of darkness to feed on.
At the moment, I hated the quiet. I wanted action. I wanted to rend something to pieces. My blood surged in my veins and pounded forcefully in my ears. Tension coiled in my chest, making me restless and on edge. As much as I was loath to indulge my darker passions, I needed to bleed off some of this pressure before it overwhelmed me.
I had to get out of the house. It was too orderly, not a hint of chaos to be found within its walls. I didn’t even have a pet to distract me. They required a level of care I just didn’t have the patience to provide.