My Father Sold Me to a bunch of Crazy Alphas

Filth.

I’m rotting in it.

Filth in my hair.

Filth in my skin.

I need to shed it. All of it.

I have a ringing in my ears. It makes the room spin and I can barely stand on my legs.

If I fall, I’ll drown face down in the shower water. It’s brown. It smells like compost.

Better said it’s fermenting.

Like a mushy pile of fruits. But it won’t turn to alcohol, no matter how much it intoxicates me.

It’s full of maggots.

I can feel it under my skin. Swarming, crawling, eating my flesh. The more I scrub, the deeper they get.

I hear voices in echoes.