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Silent Hill: Lost Empathy: Part Four
There was no fear. There was no regret. There wasn't even a sense of thrill. Just that rabid anger that seared against my senses and rippled through my body. Dirty old glass was stuck into my arms and I fell hard against the ground, hearing cracks as I rolled to still some of the momentum. I didn't care about the pain. In an effort to hear the sound again, I took some of the glass and ripped it down my arm, listening to the sound of flesh tearing, hoping to satiate that fetish-like hunger for more. It was useless. I let out a guttural roar and slammed my hands against the apartment building. Whoever it was, it didn't matter if it was Marko, whoever it was would pay. Breathing heavily, I pulled each shard out, slowly, making sure to slit down my arm in some vain hope to derive pleasure from the pain.

It did what I wanted, but it left an ache in me. I felt masochistic euphoria that was tempered with this emptiness. I wanted something rough. I couldn't satisfy that myself.

I closed my eyes, feeling the adrenaline rush begin to decline and I fell to my knees before sinking into a crumpled heap, a cold sweat glistening against my forehead. It was several minutes before my breathing slowed and the pain of my actions began to set in. I clutched my arm much as a child would a scrapped knee. The blood was warm to the touch and I felt that sadistic nature shudder from whatever harbor it remained in.

I resisted the urge to taste my own blood.

“Hey, you alright?”

My eyes began to move upwards toward the voice but I didn't really care. I felt my eyelids dropping. If the demons came, so be it. Without that sound, I didn't feel complete anymore.

The voice swore and I heard tearing of cloth. My eyelids fluttered against my will. Whoever this was, they were going to tend to me. I didn't need sympathy.

I needed Mary.