Once I got my head straight, I shopped the rest of the day and was so 100 percent ready for the evening. I couldn't wait. I went to fight and won. The medicine didn't manage to do anything else per se, as it was a very good painkiller.
Or I noticed nothing strange to myself; my rage was on full blast, so the pain wasn't felt, the drug was on or not; the iridium caused my rage to be on harder, and I felt like, well... I don't want to put my rage down to behave.
I was still triumphant. I got people killed so fucking much, and I made money. Adam had originally made me a marriage prenup when I'd married Damon. I wasn't that rich then. Even so, now I had a fortune. So I was sort of protected. I didn't actually know Damon's view on the job at all, but I think he was quite rich too when we bought houses together, just like that.
I left the fight again in the morning, now sure that today I'll be more vigilant and grab Sark. I won't go to the door quite like that. I'll go to a slightly different place. I'll hide behind the door. My thoughts were pretty monotonous; for some reason, I couldn't think of too many scenarios in my head to assess the right approach to Sark.
I noticed as I was walking through my suite that I didn't feel nearly as bad about the broken ribs. I could tell that the Sark's drug was probably on. My rage was so full that I'd have had to be hurt pretty damn badly to feel anything, but I didn't feel raging. Yeah, I should go back to my cabin and dress my wounds.
Now, they were a bit on my back. I gave myself time to heal, and I had a few bags of Damon's blood taken with me originally to get the wounds dressed, yes. But I took another shower and ate. I'd stocked my cabin with plenty of food to give me the energy to heal my wounds and sleep. I got my wounds, also on my back, closed with Damon's blood.
I was pretty much feeling quite epic. Nothing bothered me, and nothing hurt; I made money and got a reputation. Sark was the target, yes, but my mind was just not functioning as it should have. I didn't even notice that Mimosa was asleep still; they had been ever since Sark gave her that sedative.
After noon, I went back to Sark. Now, my thought was that he wasn't in his cabin, and I could get to the briefcase and the information, but when I didn't think of anything. I had a dagger with me, and I was ready to use it.
But Sark had been watching me, had put on the new cameras, and was ready to catch his guinea pig. Same with the taser. Now, he was already hitting me in the hallway with the taser and drugging me.
He carried me into the cabin at his leisure and stuck a cannula into my abdominal aorta, and now they were putting cobalt in there. This should slow down the healing process, so maybe I could understand leaving him alone.
He looked at me coldly as the whole big bag of cobalt was inside me. Again, it would be another day or two before the full effect would show. He didn't think my healing ability would drop to human levels, but it would, and then it would be very difficult to fight. He put another sedative in a cocktail, this time with eight different ingredients and in huge doses. If I had been in my right mind, I might have dropped chasing Sark or called Adam and Damon, but I wasn't sound-minded, not at all. Not even close.
This girl doesn't believe it. I'm a flea, I'm immortal, nothing can touch me. I'm perfectly fine. Nope, being weak and being warned wasn't my thing; when I got out, I took out my rage again; the spiral was complete.
The drugs and iridium, cobalt, and my body reacted in a special way, taking away my hunger completely, including the fact that I had to drink coffee or Coca-Cola. Well, that's all. It just affected the body's metabolism, but when my rage was roasting at full blast, nothing was felt and none of my body's warnings came through.
I kept fighting, shopping if I wanted to, just going around the ship like a panther while I waited for the evening and the fighting time. My thoughts were going round and round in smaller and smaller circles. I was still fighting at night. My mentality was that those metals do nothing to me. I'm fine.
Very well, I'm fine attitude. In the morning, back in the cabin, I ate something, washed, treated my wounds, and laughed out loud as I healed them with Damon's blood. When I woke up, I was ready again. I was almost like a robot, not anyone who should lead a resistance. A good leader would show examples of how to operate or act, and if this was my example, well, I wasn't that good of a leader.
And back to Sark. I couldn't call myself smart because I just kept going back for more metals; the next day, I was given rhodium, which lowers pain tolerance and reflexes. Well, get mad, and the pain tolerance will go back up. Every time I got another bag of Sark's stun cocktail, new compounds built up in my blood, driving me deeper and deeper into this obsession with killing Sark and fighting at night.
There was no sense of danger in my head, no sense of self-preservation, no sense that I was in trouble and needed help. It was just "Nope let's keep fighting, rage helps," The next day, Sark stuck me with 2,000 times the dose of vanadium, which would mess with my metabolism, impair my absorption of nutrients and also affect my thermoregulation. Always Satan Sark would catch me somewhere and stick me with his metals and always a different sedative.
When I had to go looking for Sark myself, I was sure that I would kill him today. And I never really succeeded. I fought that week persistently, still in fight clubs. I had a reputation to uphold. Nothing to do with the damage, nothing to do with anything else. I was the goddamn Flea. My reputation was very important to uphold. Even though I already had a reputation and a ferocious one, I would have not been necessary to fight anymore. I already had the reputation that I needed, but no, my mind was too far gone.
The metals gave me a headache and made me feel different. Now, I just stopped showering in the morning, ate as much as I could, and passed out. I had been a couple of days without looking for Sark; I had fought, but it simply took me a while to recover that I didn't have the energy to go out, but when the metals messed up my system so effectively and completely.
It affected my mind more and more. I wasn't eating as much, my temperature was dropping, and it put me in a coma sometimes as I cooled down, but it didn't matter so much. The rage helped when I understood how to bring it up again.
While Mimi was being poisoned, Damon also got a vampire potion from Brianna; she gave him small doses at first, slowly got him in the right frame of mind to forget about Mimi, and after a week of cruising, Damon signed the divorce papers for Mimi. Brianna promised her grandfather would annul Damon and Mimi's vampire marriage. Damon would be Mimi-free.
Brianna doggedly continued to administer ever larger doses of vampire potion, keeping Damon to herself. The next day, they would find Mimi and get her to sign the paper even though it wasn't needed. Damon had confirmed it as Mimi's guardian of sorts. As Mimi's doctor.
I was miraculously really well recovered, but somehow so exhausted. I had drunk Damon's blood in the morning and used almost everything to make myself well. The rage, the drugs, and the metals had got me so out of control that I didn't even notice that the mating bond between me and Damon had disappeared—our true soulmate bond. Just gone, and I didn't notice at all.
I was lucky to get myself out of bed and into the shower. However, the spiral of vengeance took me with it, and I tried to make myself remember to eat. I went to eat and walked around, looking for my victim. But I didn't even have time to eat when fucking Sark grabbed me again, no matter how hard I tried to watch. Or thought I was. And again with the taser.
I woke up in Sark's cabin. In my stomach was a cannula that had already been drained of a now much larger bag of metal. Silver, I felt it burning all over and now causing a nasty feeling of pressure in my head and neck—a very nasty headache. I felt like I was agitated. My pulse was higher. My heart was pounding.
Sark said, "oh you're awake, this bag here is the new silver form, nitrogen silver. This will not sweat off. This works like silver. You'll probably notice. It hurts quite a bit and doesn't come off easily. This has caused encephalitis to some extent in some people, but I haven't found the cause yet. This seems to do at least the same initial symptoms to you, too, messing with your metabolism; now, I suspect you won't be able to fight tonight. Brain inflammation causes you not to know who or what you are. One subject was convinced he was a table lamp from some cartoon. The autopsies revealed some rather peculiar changes in the subject's brain, so if I can have you in three weeks, I'd be happy to examine you. Of course, if you show up, I'll always catch you. I have so many metals still to study how they affect you, but at least those four are working."
He was sitting in a chair, looking at me and talking. I do not know why everyone wants to talk to me; I was almost promised more pain in the future. He carried on his rattling.
"After a while, I change the bag. I drain these three bags so there is a sufficient dose. So, this is about ten times the dose that has killed all my research subjects. But since you're not really dying, we'll see what kind of shape you end up in. I'm going to give you another dose of sedatives and anesthetics so that you'll be very stunned and confused when you leave here—even disoriented. And these drugs will be better kept in your system now that those metals seem to work."
The nitrogen silver cleared my mind to the extent that my rage didn't cloud my head, and I realized I didn't feel the bond between me and Damon anymore. Panic struck. What the fuck had happened? I also realized how much I had lost weight. I was dirty and a shower would be nice.
I'm glad Sark didn't hum when he took another yellow bag and something orange.
Satan Sark poured three bags of that silver on me, and I felt so bad. I tried to stay in the moment, but in my head, I started to see different TV shows and their characters. On top of the powerful drugs, my mind became clouded, and the final product I was so desperately trying to hold on to reality slipped out of my grasp.
In the end, I didn't really know who I was or where I was when he pushed me into the hallway. It was hard, but once I got out of the room, I leaned against the wall and used everything I had to stay in the present moment. Now I was desperately trying to find our mating bond because I knew now I needed help and very much so.