Page 14 of Devil Inside

Sulfurous, somehow. Brimstone.

Is that burning hair? What’s that thing doctors always say? If you smell burnt toast, but there’s no toast around—phantosmia, they call it—well, you just might be experiencing a stroke. Chances are, you’ll be dead before the toaster in your brain can goding!

Who would’ve thought charred bread would be the harbinger of doom?

Me, I’ve been dead already.

Guess it shouldn’t come as such a surprise that I smell sulfur wherever I go now.

What if this really is hell?

What if the last few months of recovery have all been someextended dream sequence?An Occurrence at the James River Bridge?My brain has been blasting off residual signals of my life, flashing before my eyes, tricking me into believing I’m still alive, still living, when in fact, it’s all just a dream? My sins are finally catching up to me and it all comes to a head tonight, here of all places, where this infernal mosh pit turns out to be an endless cesspool of damned souls, ready to grab hold of me and drag me down?

Stranger things have happened, right?

I’m standing in the back. By the bar. There might have been a time when I would’ve been up front, pressed against the rest of the crowd, all those bodies heaving for the stage, but now I’m finding myself needing as much space as I can get. I need whatever air there is.

I shouldn’t be here.

The panic attack starts off slight. A fingertip poking my solar plexus. I’ve been feeling the pressure mounting for the last few songs, the weight of it growing by the breath.

Now it’s a brick. Keeps getting heavier.

It’s not long before that brick becomes a cinder block on my chest, its weight pressing against my lungs. Too many people. Too many faces, all blurred.

I need to get out of here.

Gotta go

go

go

I wasn’t always like this. Was I? Ever since I woke up from the coma, I’ve been stuck in stasis. I second-guess myself. Hesitate. I live in the winces. I never flinched before.

Who am I now? What happened to me?

And where the fuck are my friends? I can’t find them. Did they all ditch me? They did, didn’t they? Motherfuckers. I’m all alone here. Surrounded by so many people. I told them—I don’t think this is a good idea, guys—and now I know it for a goddamn fact. But the music is too loud to say anything to anyone, if I could just fucking find them. No conversation cancut through the Inquisition, now that they’re in full swing. No more words.

Just sound. Sweat. Aggression.

I shouldn’t have listened to Lys. She insisted I get off my ass and go out.You’re wasting away,she said. Maybe she’s right, but this feels like too soon, way too soon.

I’m not ready for this. Not ready to be outside. Amongst people. All these bodies pressing against each other, crowding around.Gotta get out of here.Everyone’s laughing.Gotta go.Everyone’s sweating.Go go go...

I can’t breathe.

Lys and Deak have been dating for the last few months, trauma-bonding over their broken-boned friend, shattered and reassembled. They’ve slipped off into the shadows somewhere where I can’t follow, most likely making out in some corner of the club. I highly doubt I’ll see them for the rest of the show.

Freel was standing just next to me two overpriced drinks ago. Now he’s long gone. Probably slipped up front. He’s been keeping an eye on me, a real regular den mother, so I understand if he needs to blow off some steam. Get his aggression out in the pit.

I’m all alone now. Drowning from the inside out.

I can’t breathe...

Can’t breathe...

Can’t...