Chapter 8

Zine snapped awake, and rolled off his bed, face planting on the floor with a thud.

He stayed like that for a second, trying to calm down.

“Yup this floor is nasty.” He mumbled.

But he didn't want to get up just yet.

His stomach rolled.

Good thing I didn't eat dinner last night, he thought.

He breathed in slowly with his nose and immediately wished he hadn't.

The carpeted floor had a similar, musty scent compared to the rat basement.

He pushed off the floor, retching slightly.

He blindly started putting his boots on, and grabbed his glasses.

Shoving them on his face, he flipped over trying to get on his shaky legs. He left his bedroom, grabbed his keys, and locked his apartment door. He sped walked down the hallway.

Sidestepping down the building’s stairs, he increased his pace without meaning to.

He felt it coming.

He was mentally splitting into two.

The irrational, fear-driven part of him was controlling his body, making him move. While the rational part of him, was pushed into the back. He tried to take control again but his body just sped up.

He was running down a random street he didn't know. Taking turns, his stomach lurched, SQUEAK Scritch, the memory tugged. His breath became panicked, his feet just kept going faster, until he was running for his life down unknown streets.

Acid climbed up his throat, and his arms were swinging up at his sides, body slicing through the air. His heart banging against his ribs, he felt his mind raging against him.

He was terrified he was going to lose it, until he smacked straight into a brick wall. He slid down slowly, turning over and putting his back against the building.

“Tsk.” He clicked his tongue. He had smacked his knees pretty hard on the bricks. His palms had been protected by his fingerless gloves, but his fingertips were scratched.

He put his head down, and waited for the pain to disappear. In a matter of seconds, his knees and fingers were back to normal.

Well, being a freak is good for some situations, I guess, he thought.

He sighed slightly.

He couldn't believe that his childhood could still haunt him like this, and that foster mother had been pretty bad to him. But the worst had most likely been, the Thomson's.

They made him feel loved for the first time in his life...but it was just a lie. He sighed again, looked up and nearly shrieked.

A man was across the street, in the middle of the path where he had run down.

He was tall, wearing what seemed to be pristine vest and black tightly fitted dress pants, but there was something about him.

He looked like someone you shouldn't mess with.

The man blended into the darkness, his hair and eyes as black as the night surrounding him.

Zine clambered to his feet and leaned back, his palms against the brick wall, he was not ready for another fight. Cursing himself for not bringing his dart gun, he brought his eyes up to the strange man's face, and was startled at what he saw.

A deep longing was in the man's features.

Uh, generally... you do not look at your mugging victims like that, Zine thought.

Wait…is that the man from the bus stop earlier? Is he stalking me? IS HE A PERVERT? The man took a step towards him with a soft look on his face, full of love.

Zine lurched off the wall, and took a side step down the street, he put both palms up.

“I'm not interested in whatever you're selling man, I don't do drugs, and I don't want to fight right now, later!” Zine took off running down the street, and attempted to find out where the hell he was.