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42. Flee From The Truth
I wake up to whispers by my door that chased me from my bed. I'm angry, but the feeling isn't mine. It's a murderous thing that has my insides twisting, raging, demanding I draw blood from something. Someone. Anyone. I empty out the pitcher of water by my bed stand, gulping down in large amounts in hopes to cool the heat rising from my stomach. But nothing works. The pitcher falls from my grasp, crashing to the ground as I double over, gasping for air. The rage intensifies, and I shut my eyes forcing deep breaths into my lungs. I need…I don’t know what I need, and before I can think, I’m lurching for the door, grabbing an oversized robe and wrapping myself in it. It's late at night. Very late, yet, I can hear hurried footsteps outside my door. Twisting the doorknob, I pull the door ope
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