Cipher Code {complete}

Chapter Twelve: The Gravity Of His Mind •EDITED•

Philip didn't know how to feel.

No, that was wrong. He knew he felt like drinking but he didn't know what to do about it.

Drowning all the memories in a good pot of liquor sounds good, he thought, despite never having tasted a drop of alcohol legally and knowing the punishment for going against the law.

His mind purred at the thought and he couldn't help but touch his tongue to his dry lips, inevitably wetting the fabric that stretched over his face as he did. I need to get drunk.

I need to forget.

Unfortunately, alcohol was prohibited on missions and as a messenger he didn't even have the right to the luxury.

"I'd do much better with it though." Philip blinked back the stars dotting his vision as he lifted his hands to cup his masked face, a sudden wave of dizziness pulling him under that thin film most people called consciousness. A brief moment of blankness passed and everything was still, then the lack of gravity in his mind won over his state of inertia.

He tripped over his own feet.

The messenger almost fell face flat on the dirt path as the world spun crazily around him. He was giddy, dizzy and in pain but the sudden loss of direction was something he had long been accustomed to.

"I need to. . ." Philip paused and forced his gaze through his fingers, his eyes set in a hard stare as he willfully set his hands back down to his sides.

What the hell am I doing?

His resolve to stand up straight didn't last long though. Despite his efforts he still ended up with a face full of dirt, nausea washing over him with a horrid vengeance as he crashed to the earth.

Stupid me.

Philip couldn't believe that he had gotten worked up to this point.

The Code damn you, Issac. He once again cursed the name of his onetime friend.

Resisting the urge to cough out the bile that slowly pooled at the base of his throat, Philip stared into the fog and forced himself to breathe-or tried to, at least. This wasn't the first time he had an attack like this. The blend of pain and nauseation was something he found all too familiar.

He was probably the only one in the North that still had motion sickness-and the only one in the world who managed to experience it while walking.

The many prescriptions he took to rid himself of the dreaded condition never once worked, even when he popped them in like candy and overdosed without a care. It was a condition he had had since forever, and till not long ago the only cure he discovered was alcohol-and he rarely ever got a chance to take that. For now he had to make due with the pills Dawn had concocted for him and even then he had almost run out of them.

"Braek," Philip's fingers twitched slightly as he gradually fought off the vertigo, his chest heaving as he tried not to throw up. Hr clenched his fists, searching himself for the strength to move.