This story is based on Camisado by Panic! At The Disco. I wrote this story for my NaNoWriMo project, Silent Screaming: Venting on Paper. I hope you enjoy Pop-Punk PTSD - Part 2! Maybe I'll let you read Part 1 sometime...
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TW//DRINKING
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I woke up with a splitting headache and an aching hand. The tiny one room apartment was empty. Arron would be at class by now, Kian and Tobias at work, and Ceron at the cemetery.
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Normally, I’d be job hunting, or sitting in on lectures with Arron, but none of that would be happening today.
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I sat up, my body bare except for a pair of boxers. There was a bitter taste in my mouth, and I guessed that the reason I had been stripped was because Tobias had not, in fact, gotten me to the bathroom before I’d started puking.
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I pushed myself up and half walked, half limped over to our tiny kitchenette.
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This apartment complex—this whole sector, really—had been evacuated nine months back because of yet another plague outbreak. The guys and I moved into the abandoned place six months ago, been living here rent-free ever since.
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I slammed open the cabinets, finally finding an ace bandage in one of the drawers. I wrapped my hand as tightly as I could, and secured the bandage with an old safety pin.
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Once I was satisfied with my splint job, I stalked towards the bathroom and, more importantly, the mini fridge I'd hidden in the closet. I grabbed a couple of bottles, then made my way to the skylight. Normally, I'd just jump and haul myself up, but I had a potentially broken hand and two beers. No way that was gonna work. I dragged the coffee table over, then scrambled onto it. I pushed the beers out of the small opening first, then muscled my way up and through.
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The air up here was still and cool this time of day. Late enough the sun was up, but early enough that it wasn’t blazing hot. I placed the bottles on the edge of the building, glancing over to see a deserted street. Satisfied, I stalked back over to the center of the roof, flexing my fingers over and over.
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My power had flared up without a thought yesterday. No matter how much I pushed it down or tried to hide it, it was getting stronger and stronger. I was sure it wouldn’t be long before the Agency showed up on my doorstep.
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Might as well see what I can do.
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I closed my eyes, focused on my left hand. I felt a heat in my core, not sharp and angry like last night, but softer. Less like fireworks and more like a match. Opening my eyes, I saw my left hand engulfed in flames.
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"Nice and easy," I whispered, willing the fire to creep up my arm. Within seconds, my entire left arm was blazing. With barely any effort, I hurled a fireball at the wall of the next apartment building. A satisfying boom rocked the building, and I threw a few more, blackening the wall and sending chunks of brick and mortar raining onto my apartment building. Another gesture sent a column of fire ten feet tall slamming into the wall.
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"Gettin' stronger, aren't you?"
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I whirled around and saw Kian grin as he ducked the stream of fire.
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"Aren’t you supposed to be at work?" I asked, willing the fire to dissipate. The air was sizzling as Kian strode over to me. I sat down and cracked open a beer, earning a disappointed glare from the older boy.
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“I took the day off,” he said, giving a pointed look at my bottle, my boxers, the charred wall…
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“I don’t need a babysitter,” I protested, swigging from the bottle. Kian bent down and plucked the beer from my hand. I frowned at him as he sat in front of me. He raised his eyebrows and took a sip himself.
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“Maybe, maybe not,” he shrugged. “But someone needs to take care of you, because you’re doing a terrible job of it yourself.”
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“What are you talking about?” I grumbled, snatching my bottle back with my uninjured hand.
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“You wanna know how much you drank last night?”
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“Not really.”
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“Eight at the club and one on the way back here,” Kian listed off, “which brings us to a grand total of nine.”
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“So?”
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“That’s two more than what you’ve had the past three nights, and four more than what you've had in weeks previous.”
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I rolled my eyes. “What’s your point, Kian?”
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He let out a sigh as he watched me polish off the bottle. “You’re drinking a lot, Drey, and you and I both know it’s not healthy.”
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I scoffed. “I stopped caring about what’s healthy when they carted Lucien off to the morgue.”
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Kian flinched, and, when he spoke, his voice trembled.
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“We were all upset when Lucien passed, but you can’t just self-destruct.”
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“Why not?” I stood up, grabbing the second bottle off the ledge. I held my arms wide, gesturing to the cracked buildings, and, in the distance, the gleaming Agency Tower. “There’s nothing left to lose! I’m wanted for murder, this godforsaken city is dying around me, and Lucien is gone.” I let out a scream and threw the bottle at the scorched wall. Amber liquid trickled down the brick and I found myself wishing it was my blood.
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“Drey-”
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“I can’t take it, Kian! Next time I go to the club, I swear to god, I’m not coming back!”
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“Drey!”
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“What?!” I whipped around. Kian stepped back, a flash of fear swimming across his features. I glanced down and cursed. My left arm was sparking again, red and yellow lights popping in and out of existence, over and over again. I held up my arm. “How long before I kill someone else?” I stomped towards the skylight.
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"Drey, you're going to get yourself killed!" Kian yelled. I paused, glancing angrily over my shoulder.
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"No kidding," I huffed. Kian shook his head, coming over and placing his hand on my shoulder.
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"No, Drey, you don't get it." He sighed. "They don't let fire Heroes have alcohol on the Agency."
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"What does that have to do with me?"
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"A few Heroes went out after a successful night, got sloshed, and went back to the dorms."
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"And?" I rolled my eyes.
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"They found the dorm burned to the ground the next morning. Turns out that a high alcohol content in a fire Hero's bloodstream can cause spontaneous combustion."
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I narrowed my eyes, slightly wishing I hadn’t thrown my last beer against the wall. “What are you saying? That I might catch fire?” I slung another fireball. “In case you haven’t noticed, that’s old news.”
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Kian let out a frustrated sigh. “Drey, you were burning last night.”
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“What are you talking about?”
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“Have you seen the mattress?” Kian gestured for me to go back into the apartment. I gave him a confused glare, but slid reluctantly through the skylight gap.
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After I hit the floor, I slowly stalked over to our single, unadorned old box spring. Halfway across the room, I stopped, pinching my eyes shut.
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The mattress was torched, black burn marks creeping up the brick wall and across the cheap linoleum floor.
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I briefly wondered how I hadn’t noticed all of this earlier.
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“You would’ve burned the whole place down if it hadn’t been for Ceron.”
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Ceron. Forgot he had water powers.
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“How have we escaped the Agency?” I whispered, sliding to the floor and burying my face in my good hand. “I killed three people, Arron’s the smartest guy in the world, and Lucien…”
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My voice cracked, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
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“Lucien was the best one of us, Drey. We all miss him, but we can’t change what he did.”
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“I practically killed him, Kian! You saw what happened!” A sob caught in my throat and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying. “You saw it, Ceron saw it, Toby, Arron, Evanora, they all saw it!” Tears slipped down my cheeks. “Lucien’s dead and we all know who’s fault it is.”
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“You didn’t kill Luc.” My head jerked up, my gaze landing on Ceron jumping to the floor, Tobias and Arron right behind him. “You didn’t know that the fire was going to spread.”
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“Yeah, well, it did, and it got him killed,” I mumbled.
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Arron rolled his eyes. “Drey, pull yourself together, okay? You can’t bring Lucien back from the dead, but you can do what he would want you to be doing, which is helping people, and not going out every night and getting drunk to the tune of Dance, Dance.”
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I glared at him, unable to stop the silent film in my mind, replaying Lucien racing into that fire, over and over and over and over and-
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Bam
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A spray of freezing cold water blasted into my face and I jolted away, banging my head on the wall.
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I cut a glance at Ceron, who, for once, was actually smiling.
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“Sorry,” He shrugged, though the smirk never left his face. “Arron’s right, Drey. Time to get off your butt and act.” He looked at the other three boys. “Kian saw you talking to Eva last night. She seemed pretty worked up. We wanna know what that was about.”
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I sighed, shaking the water from my hair. “She says there’s gonna be a war, and I have to stop it.”
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