Prologue
— Grief?
Rage pointed a finger toward the black van. It was my turn to get my makeup done. He blocked me with his body so that none of the spectators, crowded by the barrier under the floodlights on the corner, could see my face.
I pulled my hood up. Though I had no desire to hide at all. I desperately wanted to reveal myself to the whole world. Especially before today's race. But I'd have to restrain my fervor for the good of the team, who were more than comfortable with secrecy. Gluttony, high as a kite just last night, had nearly handed her passport over to a goddamn pimp. We had to beat him up right after the race and run before the cops showed up. I lingered by his body for a while; my hands were covered in his blood, and my temples were pounding wildly. I wanted so badly to be lying there instead of him, in the barely perceptible embrace of death. But I stood here, in a dark alley, cold and dirty.
I wondered what it would be like to die slowly and painfully alone, and not just exist in the madness and hopelessness of this world.
– I'll take the mask today, – I muttered, smiling crookedly.
But Rage wasn't in the mood for smiles.
– You're on drugs, and I'm not going to just let it slide if you decide to throw it out the window in the middle of the race.
He was right. My nerves were stretched like strings, and my stomach was twisted into a tight knot of pain. I could barely stand – in the throes of withdrawal, my head was spinning, tossing my body from side to side. I shoved my hands into the pockets of a worn-out thrift store hoodie.
Rage nodded his head towards the van, beyond the reach of the spotlight.
– There's something about you, Grief, – Rage sighed, lowering his head. – But you should quit this crap before it's too late.
My lips slowly curled into a sneering smile.
– Thanks for the sermon, holy father. Why do you care about me when everyone around is a junkie? Lose one, find another – that's the point of it.
– You're right. – He was silent for a moment. – But the thing is, I really wouldn't want to lose you. Just not that way.
I nodded and held out my hand to Rage, handing him a handful of stolen icicles from a nearby supermarket.
– Stop stealing, – Rage smiled kindly.
– Then pay me a salary.
He clapped me on the shoulder, almost paternally, and I headed to the van. It was warm and spacious inside. Gluttony was lounging in the front seats, her legs dangling over the steering wheel. Envy jerked my face towards him without a word and got to work. As soon as everything was ready, he shoved a small bag of white powder into my hand.
– I already have some, – I muttered.
Envy's cold blue eyes pierced into me. His pupils were dilated, and the hand he placed on mine was trembling slightly.
– This stuff is way stronger.
I silently accepted what he offered, jumped down from the van. Without delay, I poured the powder onto my hand and inhaled greedily. A sharp exhale – my eyes instantly watered. But soon a burning sweetness spread through my veins, giving a feeling of unprecedented lightness, of floating between reality and a dream. A brief flash of vivid moments – and the world ceased to exist. The threatening darkness of the future was replaced only by the smoldering tip of a cigarette, which I mindlessly stomped out. Nothing mattered except this fleeting, all-consuming sensation.
Envy put his arm around my shoulders.
– Incredible shit, isn't it?
I smiled lazily.
– Did Rage tell you to spend the whole night babysitting me?
– Just to keep an eye on you, – he said, leading me towards a cluster of racers, under multiple floodlights. – We're heading out on the world tour soon.
World tour. I grunted ambiguously. We changed countries, famous for illegal racing, almost every month. The "world tour" was what we called our games of cat and mouse with the cops, who had it out for Rage, and when they started breathing down our necks, we'd leave the country immediately. We'd have to stay away from home for weeks, and besides, my father had stopped turning a blind eye to my beatings. So leaving was more welcome than ever.
Two bouncers standing by a red Ferrari gave Envy very meaningful looks. A feeling of nausea stuck in my throat.
– Looks like being your babysitter tonight isn't going to work out, plans just changed – Envy explained and ruffled my hair slightly. – You're a big boy now, how old are you?
– Sixteen.
– Damn.
The blissful warmth dulled, and my heart, sluggishly pounding against my ribs, began to beat faster. The feeling of being high was now mixed with fear and disgust. Right now, I had no idea how I'd ended up here. I could barely recognize myself, as if an abyss a million miles deep lay between the old me and the present.
A cone of yellowish light illuminated me. Envy pushed my uncontrollable body towards the car, then disappeared into the darkness. To keep from falling, I leaned my hand on the bumper, plastered with vulgar stickers, not without Lust's help. My palm touched the hard, cold steel. I smiled stupidly at everything around me, while the drugs that had entered my bloodstream fought against the voice of reason screaming that I was making a mistake.
– Envy…
But he was already gone, vanished into the night along with the guys standing by the Ferrari. I clung to the car's bumper so hard my fingers hurt.
The world around me was cranked up to maximum brightness. Neon signs blurred into long, glowing worms. The voices of the crowd merged into a single echo. I felt like a god in a dirty paradise, where adrenaline lurked around every corner.
– Get lost, you pup! I told you to move! – a bouncer's shrill voice cut through my ears like a rusty knife.
I turned around. My body moved smoothly, swaying slightly from foot to foot. A few meters away, a heavyset man in a uniform pushed a boy. The kid – in a jacket clearly too big for him – went flying onto the asphalt. His notebook flew off to the side, its pages fluttering helplessly in the wind.
For thoughts and sound reasoning in my head no room left . My hand landed on the bouncer's shoulder. I barely touched him, but the guy flinched when he met my gaze. My pupils must have been black holes, swallowing all the light from the floodlights.
– Hey, pal, – I smiled, and I could feel myself how predatory that smile was. – Are you going to get out of here, or should I still find out how fast your teeth can meet the curb?
The bouncer muttered something, turned pale, and melted into the shadow of the stands. I slowly, trying not to lose my balance, crouched down in front of the boy.
He was on his knees, hugging his shoulders with his arms, trembling. A scrape was already forming on his cheek, smeared with road dust. When he raised his head, I froze. His eyes were huge, the color of tree bark, and the fear in them was giving way to something worse. Adoration.
– You're... Grief, – he whispered, and that name sounded like a prayer on his lips. — You're the best, I like you so much. More than anyone in the world.
I chuckled, feeling the drug-induced euphoria wash warmly over the back of my neck. I even felt sorry for him. A little ghost in the epicenter of my crazy world. I pulled the ring-tab off the beer can I was holding in my other hand. The can clinked as I tossed it aside.
– So you like me, huh? – I reached out and carefully took his palm. His skin felt much warmer compared to my numb fingers.
I slipped the cheap metal ring onto his finger.
– Well, then consider us engaged, kid, – I winked at him, watching him stare mesmerized at the piece of tin. – How old are you, anyway?
– Thirteen, – he breathed, not taking his eyes off his hand.
– Good God, – I exhaled, rubbing the bridge of my nose, and laughed. — Give me your notebook.
I snatched his notebook, pressed it against my knee, and scribbled my autograph with a flourish, barely looking. My hand habitually traced the sharp letters of "Grief" and a small sketch of a wing – my personal symbol of freedom, which I never truly had.
I stood up, and the roar of the crowd washed over me again. I felt it was time for me to go drown in that black abyss of speed.
– Find me when you grow up, – I tossed over my shoulder, already forgetting him. – We'll have to make it official someday, right?
I walked off into the neon haze without looking back. Behind me, the little boy clutched the notebook and the beer can ring in his hands as if they were the keys to paradise.
— What's with your face? Already managed to cause trouble? – Rage said, materializing next to me.
– Nope, – I casually tossed back, then turned to him. – I just got engaged.
– What?! – Gluttony squealed behind us.
That night, when the high had left my lungs, I found myself desperately clutching the pillow again, stifling convulsions after a nightmare. The drugs were driving me insane, and I knew this was only the beginning.
The beginning of my end.
