"Do you want me to cook that?"

Death was alot more peaceful than she'd been expecting, actually, death felt alot like...well, sleeping but worse, more cold, more weird as flashes of black goop and snarling voices and lab coats danced through her unconscious like a movie through her own eyes. There wasn't any peace, there wasn't a bright light at the end of the tunnel, there were no fiery pits of eternal damnation licking at her skin and burning her down to mere bone, there was just...nothing but her own conscious, which she supposed was the most terrifying afterlife of all.

So, when she finally lurched awake with a gasp that almost made her choke on her own spit that had a stray cat yowling as it ran away from what was once her corpse, it was safe to say that Erika was very confused indeed. Because she was pretty sure dead people didn't wake up, and she was pretty sure that yes, while New York was occasionally, most of the time, quite often, incredibly crappy...that didn't mean it was literally hell as her dark, disbelieving gaze that seemed to flicker in the bright light of the sun frantically glanced around the familar alleyway.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? The question maimed her, clawing at her mind as she blinked dumbly for a few moments, trying to figure she what the hell happened, if it was a really weird and realistic dream, if she really was dead, if she was in some kind of strange limbo...until she remembered that she was, quite literally, stabbed last night, and her trembling fingers were quick to prod at her abdomen, expecting to find the still gaping wound, and honestly hoping that she found nothing of the sort that would help her believe it was just some twisted nightmare.

However, what her hand did brush was neither of those things, there was a hole in her favourite shirt from where the blade had plunged into her flesh with a sickening squelch, there was a deep crimson stain from where her morality had leaked from her like a punctured grape and she could still taste copper of her tongue from where she'd ripped a chunk from his lips to spit it back at him in her rage...but her skin, her skin where there should of definitely been a wound beneath was smooth, warm to the touch, unmarred by the knife that should of been her doom.

"I'm losing my mind." Erika whispered to herself, which was only really justifying the theory as she slowly began to stand up, waiting for the shoe to drop, waiting for something to happen that would tear apart her realms of reality to actually start making sense...but nothing of the sort happened, she could hear the car beeping, driving across the roads with their tires screeching against pavement, could hear the wind howling, hear the conversations from people walking past, could see the absolutely disgusting alleyway she'd apparently slept in...all so weirdly normal.

She walked out of the alleyway slowly, feeling like some kind of animal backed into a corner as her legs shook beneath her, her hand that was missing as least three rings grappling against the wall for support as her breath left her lips in shaky little gasps that hurt her chest like a punch...but when she finally came out of it, it was to see the world still moving, going on like nothing had happened, which to them, she supposed nothing had. But that didn't mean it didn't happen, because she still had the massive hole in her favourite shirt to prove it.

"HUNGRY!"

The voice came from nowhere, nowhere and everywhere at the same time as she flinched and let out a curse that wobbled on her lips, looking around frantically with her body feeling strangely violated, as if there was something thick inside of it that made her almost sluggish...but there was nothing there, nothing with that kind of baritone voice either as she glanced down at the rather terrified looking kid being held in his glaring mothers arms as they walked behind her...however, they were the least of her worries in truth as she waved awkwardly and scurried along as fast as her legs could carry her.

This is fine, this is totally fine, she thought to herself, left eye twitching and her hands shaking as she tried to comfort herself, walking down the street and looking over her shoulder every two seconds as paranoia swarmed her and made her look insane to random passers by that avoided her gaze like she was the plague, and it wasn't like she could blame them really. Her hair was a rats nest, there was blood on her shirt, she probably, no, definitely smelled of garbage and she was apparently hearing voices in her head...in other words, Erika was pretty sure she'd finally cracked.

Her feet kept stumbling over one another, struggling with the pace she set as she practically skipped swiftly, barely able to catch her breath as she danced over the idle bits of rubbish on the ground, muttering and mumbling under her breath, unable to really help herself as she went through everything that had happened to her last night, repeating it over and over again as her mind raced, getting louder until it was drowning everything out like storming tides washing away her shipwreck of memories.

And then, her apartment finally, finally came into view like a shining diamond in the rough as she let out a relieved sob, picking up the pace and almost face planting herself into the door in her haste, awkwardly fumbling around with the door hand like a virgin in front of their first bra, her fingers far too cold and clumpy for such coordination until it eventually managed to be pushed upon, swinging that familar ear-splitting creakkkk that at that moment in time was a blessing as she fell inside and slammed it shut behind her, as if leaving that craziness to fester outside while she was safe.

Everything looked the same, so strangely normal and boring, the slightly stained wallpaper that had aged just as much as she was, the god awful mustard coloured couch that was an understatement to call a fucking eye sore, the patchy carpet, the crooked tv, all of it...so absolutely beautiful as she took a breath and breathed, feeling her chest heave and burn as it released the gasp she'd hid from the moment she'd awoken next to a fucking garbage can.

Honestly, she was wondering if it would be weird if she just lay on the floor for a few minutes and just cried until her throat was raw and bloody, and while the answer was definitely yes, she was still debating to do it anyway because she had never felt so relieved in her life to be home, home where there was a shower that would wash the grime and dirt she felt all over her body like a layer of disease just waiting to affect her weak ass immune system...but just as she was about to lie down on the rough carpet beneath her and weep until her heart was content, a familar bald head suddenly burst through the kitchen with a dangerous scowl on their face.

"Where the hell have you been kid? You have any idea how worried I was? I've been calling you non stop, you're lucky I didn't phone the police-"

Fuck, she'd even missed the sight of her uncle's big ass forehead that was currently wrinkled in displeasure, staring at her like she was a figment of his imagination that he was apparently very angry at, his bronze arms crossed over his barrel like chest and his brows heavy with indignation. And she wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to explain how fucking weird her day had been, wanted to tell him to fuck off and mind his own business before storming into her room and blasting her depressing music at top volume while ignoring his pounding knocks on her door...but all she could focus on was her rumbling stomach that was aching with cramps.

"I'm sorry Phil, really I am, but uh, do we have anything to eat? I'm fucking starving and I'm pretty sure on the verge of a metal breakdown." And only one of those things could be fixed quickly as she stumbled past him right on into the kitchen where the bright light almost blinded her for half a second until she adjusted, her mouth salivating far quicker than she could swallow as she started to sniff around, fingers grabbing idle wrappers on the kitchen table and licking the remnants of chocolate still on the packaging with a groan.

"Hey! I'm not finished, Erika. Look, I'm trying here, really I am, but you got to give me something."

Her uncle had followed her, obviously, but in truth his voice had faded to nothing more than background noise for her as she hunted around, practically leaping over to the counter and starting to rummage through the cupboard, turning her nose up at the month old biscuits and crisps, snarling in frustration and feeling like her body wasn't her own as it jerked around like a puppet on a string, throwing packets and packets of stuff over her shoulder that she somehow knew wouldn't sate her hunger, only just managing to miss the poor bastard standing behind her.

"What is wrong with you? Are you- are you taking drugs?" Phil snapped, ducking from another box of cheerios that had almost slapped him in the face, looking more and more confused, and quite frankly, horrified of what he was watching his niece become as she growled like some sort of feral animal, her curly hair wild and untamed, sticking out in all directions, and her eyes so dark he could hardly see the once vibrant green that had laced over the iris like vines in bloom...so it was safe to assume that he, himself was about to start freaking out, because he was pretty sure that she had blood on her shirt too.

But Erika just shushed him, waving her hand above her head as if waving off his concerns, frantically looking around with her whole body trembling and shivering like a junkie looking for a fix, before she finally caught sight of the fridge out of the corner of her gaze and charged for it, almost ripping the door off of its hinges with a strength she definitely didn't have with a string of drool dripping down from her quivering lips that were desperate for a taste, a certain craving she wasn't sure she could identify as she groaned and mumbled and cursed like she was drunk before smelling something good. "Shit, is that a steak?"

"Yeah, yeah I got it for last night, thought I could round us up some grilled sandwiches or something- guess I'll have to make them tonight-"

And yet, whatever he was about to say, to promise to the girl even though he'd been up all night worried about where the hell she was...he was cut off by the rather disturbing sight of her ripping the package open with bloodied fingers and biting into the raw meat with a moan that made him extremely uncomfortable as he watched her bite and suck and slurp the steak into her mouth with thick lines of crimson dancing over her chin like a river of morality, all the while he was frozen in shock because what the fuck was he meant to do here? "You, uh..you want me to cook that for you, kiddo?"

"This is dead, its fucking dead! Did you know that? Disgusting!" Erika spat at him like it was his fault, dropping it back on the ground with a raging whimper, dragging her red hands down her face and leaving steaks in her wake, turning back towards the fridge as if she was about to start her search anew...but finding herself interrupted by the way her stomach seemed to contort and shift, rolling with nausea and pain and frustration, before bile rushed into her mouth and she swiftly threw herself over to the bin to start throwing up inside of it, groaning miserably as her back arched and her spine tigled inside her prison of flesh like something was moving.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Uncle Phil whispered in horror, wondering just what the hell she'd took to have her acting like some kind of feral beast in his kitchen off all places, but the only answer he got was her slumping against the floor, mumbling into the tiles with her shirt soaked with sweat and hair matted and damp...and he wanted to help her, honestly, he did, he wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her and say that he'd been worried sick for what looked to be a crack head, he wanted to do all of that and more...but his pager was going off, and unfortunately, the hospital wouldn't wait for him.

"Okay, that's it, I'm going to work and after that, I'm taking you to the hospital because there is definitely something not right here."

She let out another miserable groan at his words, not even lifting her head up as she waved him away, not even bothering with some kind of sarcastic commentary that she usually would, far too focused on the way her stomach feeling all kinds of strange and weird, like it was literally eating itself while going around and around in a washing machine to hear him leave after telling her to call him if anything else happened, curling up into the fetal position and hoping, no, praying that whatever the fuck was plaguing her had left her mortal coil to deal with the shitstorm of a week she was having.

"STILL HUNGRY."

But when had Erika Brock ever been that lucky?