There is a memory I have. I am making sweet tea with my mom, the sun is shining bright enough through the windows to kiss our necks. The tea is boiling, incredibly hot, and my mom warns me to proceed with caution as I eagerly take the lid off, for my favorite part. I dump the sugar in and watch the tea attack the sugar, overwhelm the sugar, shove the sugar to the bottom. I enjoyed that. The sugar even disappeared after a while when we mixed it together, but I always needed her help to mix it until it was gone. Even though the sugar wasn't visible after mixing, I knew it was there by the sweet taste that lingered on. I like that about making tea. I try to approach life with the idea that I am a pitcher of tea and I am stronger than the sugar and I will use the sugar to make me better, to add flavor to myself but not allow the sugar to lump up at the bottom or become too sweet for someone to drink.

Dissolved. Gone but still there.

I reach the beautiful woman and she points. The bookshelf next to me draws me in. I search, looking down at the ground. That would be a painful fall, deadly even. I better keep focus.
I look at the spines, for something that jumps out at me. She laughs and laughs, excited laughs. My fingers stop at one book. I pull it out and open the cover.
"You found what you were looking for. For there is no joy without pain."
  I hold the book, tightly, in my arms.
  "Of course, you have to pay for what you want here." She takes me, by the hand, floating with me.
"How much will it cost?" We float down to a room away from all the books. I can see the trees through the glass walls here.
"The price of desire is pain." She sits down, criss crossing her legs on the floor. I mimick her.
"If you can endure for what you want, you deserve it." I place the book on the ground in front of me.
"Okay." I agree.
"Place your hands on the ground in front of you."
I do. I place them, palm down on the wood. She reveals a hammer. What the hell is she going to do with that?
"I'm going to give you a couple of strikes. These are the hands that will flip through the pages of this book. Are you willing to take a couple of strikes for this book?" She's a far cry from the laughing woman I remember a few minutes ago.
"Yes." I inhale deeply and look at her hammer, tensing up.
She raises her hand in the air and I clench as she slams it into the top of my hand. I scream and feel my hand throbbing from the pain. Just a few more, Elizabeth.
She continues swinging, swing after swing. My hand is black and blue, beginning to swell. She starts in on the other hand and I begin to feel light headed. I fall over, pulling the book closer to me, as she begins slamming the hammer into my ribs. I lay there and cry as I hold the book against me.
The hammer falls to the ground and the room disappears. Suddenly, I'm outside the library with Alphonse and Roweena staring down at me. I lay there, crying in pain. They pick me up and I wince at every movement.
"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts." I cry out. One of my arms is slung over Roweena's shoulder and one over Alphonse's. The trees fade into the bunker and Sam and Dean are sitting at the table. When we appear, they stand up.
"Can we get some help with her?" Sam runs over to me, helping me get into the chair.
"I have the book. I have the book." I laugh through the pain. It's a laugh of victory. I get woozy again and feel myself slipping out of the chair as my head spins. I feel Sam catch me as I pass out.