Chapter Fourteen
Title: And The Sun Going Down On Our Life As It Is
It’s a full moon but I’m still human. Not that I’m ever really human… I don’t understand it. The moon is high in the sky, shining silver and deadly and yet I am here. Normal. Normal but with the pain of a transformation. What’s happening to me?
I don’t even know where I am.
The woods?
I’m assuming it’s the woods.
It’s dark, I feel almost claustrophobic, and there are things -trees- surrounding me and then something’s touching me.
It’s hard to notice that though the pain.
In my ribs.
It’s a hand.
Or is it a branch?
Someone’s hand, definitely, touching me, hitting me.
Mitchell? Seth? Lauran? Tully? Annie?
I don’t know who, the face is in shadow and there are bared teeth.
Oh, I’m almost blasé about it, it’s a vampire then.
And then, oh god, Mitchell bites.
And I wake up screaming.
Not because Mitchell’s biting me, he’d never do that. But because my chest is on fire.
Again.
I’m clawing at the first thing that I find, reach. It’s Mitchell: his arms, his face anything.
Anything to stop the pain.
Burning elastic snapping around my lungs, my heart.
Mitchell’s always said that I’m melodramatic.
And he’s looking at me with fear in his eyes.
“Am … I… relapsing?”
Each word gets gasped out of my lips, almost agonising to talk.
The fear in his eyes increases.
I can’t hear him.
But he’s mouthing these words, I can’t tell what they are. They might be ‘can’t’ ‘love’ ‘don’t’ ‘dare’ ‘how’ ‘hospital’ ‘need’ ‘you’ but he definitely says: “What should I do?”
I try to gasp out the words that I need, but this has happened far too often, the pain is too sharp and I enter blissful and painless unconsciousness.
I’m on the floor when I wake up.
Mitchell’s hands on my chest.
His lips on mine.
CPR.
It must be, even if I can feel his fangs digging into my lips and my blood flooding my mouth.
I don’t do the dramatic gasp that most people do, so I can still feel Mitchell mumbling against my lips.
Again I’m having trouble making out the words but I catch:
No, you can’t be dead.
I won’t let you.
Please, George.
No, you mustn’t be dead.
And then I open my mouth and cough.
I’m coughing out blood and that appears to make him even more worried, mouthfuls of blood are on the floor, on Mitchell, over my mouth.
He must be repulsed by my blood as his eyes aren’t black.
Werewolf blood must taste awful.
Strangely I’m offended by that. I look plain enough as it is, if a ravenous vampire isn’t even tempted then what can I offer anyone?
He looks at me.
“Thank god.”
It’s heartfelt and I smile, even if my lips are split and the action causes pain.
He leans down to me, so close that I can hardly tell if his eyes are black or brown anymore.
My glasses have been removed. That’s why the world feels different.
Or maybe it’s because Mitchell presses his lips to my forehead.
“Don’t do that to me again George,” he mutters against my head, “Don’t you dare…”
It’s a full moon but I’m still human. Not that I’m ever really human… I don’t understand it. The moon is high in the sky, shining silver and deadly and yet I am here. Normal. Normal but with the pain of a transformation. What’s happening to me?
I don’t even know where I am.
The woods?
I’m assuming it’s the woods.
It’s dark, I feel almost claustrophobic, and there are things -trees- surrounding me and then something’s touching me.
It’s hard to notice that though the pain.
In my ribs.
It’s a hand.
Or is it a branch?
Someone’s hand, definitely, touching me, hitting me.
Mitchell? Seth? Lauran? Tully? Annie?
I don’t know who, the face is in shadow and there are bared teeth.
Oh, I’m almost blasé about it, it’s a vampire then.
And then, oh god, Mitchell bites.
And I wake up screaming.
Not because Mitchell’s biting me, he’d never do that. But because my chest is on fire.
Again.
I’m clawing at the first thing that I find, reach. It’s Mitchell: his arms, his face anything.
Anything to stop the pain.
Burning elastic snapping around my lungs, my heart.
Mitchell’s always said that I’m melodramatic.
And he’s looking at me with fear in his eyes.
“Am … I… relapsing?”
Each word gets gasped out of my lips, almost agonising to talk.
The fear in his eyes increases.
I can’t hear him.
But he’s mouthing these words, I can’t tell what they are. They might be ‘can’t’ ‘love’ ‘don’t’ ‘dare’ ‘how’ ‘hospital’ ‘need’ ‘you’ but he definitely says: “What should I do?”
I try to gasp out the words that I need, but this has happened far too often, the pain is too sharp and I enter blissful and painless unconsciousness.
I’m on the floor when I wake up.
Mitchell’s hands on my chest.
His lips on mine.
CPR.
It must be, even if I can feel his fangs digging into my lips and my blood flooding my mouth.
I don’t do the dramatic gasp that most people do, so I can still feel Mitchell mumbling against my lips.
Again I’m having trouble making out the words but I catch:
No, you can’t be dead.
I won’t let you.
Please, George.
No, you mustn’t be dead.
And then I open my mouth and cough.
I’m coughing out blood and that appears to make him even more worried, mouthfuls of blood are on the floor, on Mitchell, over my mouth.
He must be repulsed by my blood as his eyes aren’t black.
Werewolf blood must taste awful.
Strangely I’m offended by that. I look plain enough as it is, if a ravenous vampire isn’t even tempted then what can I offer anyone?
He looks at me.
“Thank god.”
It’s heartfelt and I smile, even if my lips are split and the action causes pain.
He leans down to me, so close that I can hardly tell if his eyes are black or brown anymore.
My glasses have been removed. That’s why the world feels different.
Or maybe it’s because Mitchell presses his lips to my forehead.
“Don’t do that to me again George,” he mutters against my head, “Don’t you dare…”