Drugs, Treasons and Other Demons

92. VERTIGO

I woke up to the feeling of something brushing against my cheek, like long, skinny fingers pushing the hair off my forehead.

My eyes blinked open. My neck was sore from a short, restless, sleep, with my head propped up on a backpack, shaken by full-body shivers all night long.

I was only half awake when Juan had laid one of his sweaters on my chest to keep me warm. It helped a little, but I woke up with my legs freezing cold.

And there I saw it, staring at me down its big sharp fangs. A big, ugly spider, sitting right under my chin.

I jumped up to my sore feet, shook it off, swatting and slapping at every inch of my skin as I let out a loud, screeching, disgusted scream.

The damn thing looked half-spider, half-scorpion, and maybe its grandad was an alien, too. It looked straight out of an Eldritch horror, or maybe a low-budget sci-fi movie, with its head like a rotten bulb, teeth as fat as a crab's pincers, and too many legs to count.

I shuddered as I watched the nightmarish creature scutter away, and I could still feel the prickle of its hairy legs all over my face. I rubbed at my skin until it turned bright red.

The sky was pale, but the Sun wasn't up yet. Its shade was somewhere between blue and purple–the cold, obnoxious color of lavender. Somehow, that made my skin crawl even more than the spider ever did.

But today was the day I would start healing. I'd cross the border, and after a few months, years, or decades, I'd forget about everything. Then I'd be able to look at the sunrise again without remembering all the awful things I lived.

The ashes were still smoking on the campfire. I stepped right over to the edge, hoping to warm my feet on what was left of the embers.

I glanced over at Juan's backpack, lying right next to mine. His stuff was strewn across our makeshift camp like a storm had washed over us in the night and scattered everything. Juan was nowhere to be found.

A bird cawed, and I flinched. I figured it might have been another one of those weird nightmares, so I took a deep breath and waited to see what other horrors my head might come up with.

Maybe Pablo would walk up the path, surrounded by tendrils of black fog. He'd smile at me, hold up Juan's severed head, drop it to my feet and I'd watch it roll. Then Pablo would snap a few pictures of it to show off at the breakfast table.

Maybe the sky would cave in and turn into lavender walls. I'd find myself trapped again, clawing at the white, wooden door, begging for someone to let me go, yelling as loud as I could but only a whisper would come out.

Maybe that awful-looking spider would turn around and come back, stare me down as it grew taller and taller, start shedding its legs and growing a mustache. Perhaps it would start mumbling and tell me to call it Daddy. That might have been quite funny.

Bring it on, brain, I whispered to myself. I've seen it all, and worse, and more.

I stared at the sky with a defiant look, as if I could make it step back and cower. Then, I pinched the skin on my arm, over and over. But the nightmare never ended.

Slowly, I realized I wasn't dreaming. Great, I thought, as I rolled my eyes. That meant I lived in a world where terrifying scorpion-spider hybrids exist, and worst of all, a world where Juan was gone. He'd left me alone, just like I feared.

I wished I hadn't been such a bitch to him.

A red glow underlined the clouds to the East, as the Sun started to rise. Already, I could feel the sweat beading along my hairline.