Chapter Two
Title: Organ Faliure
Once a month I have dramatic organ failure. My heart attacks. My lungs expand. My liver contracts. I live though a living death once a month. But I become used to it, I scream until my vocal cords snap but I still become used to it.
So when I feel the spasming I automatically bite my lips together and lean into the pain. It doesn’t really help but it’s what I’ve leant to do, curling up makes it easier for the wolf to come out. It hardly lessens the pain but it helps me to pretend I’m in control.
But it’s not the full moon. It’s three in the afternoon and I said I’d cook for Mitchell because he and Annie were out. Annie wanted someone to come with her to her grave, I haven’t been feeling well and she’s always got on better with Mitchell.
And then there was pain.
In one hand I have a tin of tomatoes and in the other a can opener.
I can’t breathe.
I don’t understand, what’s happening to me?
I can’t breath, I’m gasping, deep desperate breaths. But nothing’s coming in. No oxygen is entering my bloodstream.
So it’s no surprise when I fall to the floor, tomatoes and their juices splattering over the floor, ironically like blood surrounding me.
I still can’t breathe; hacking coughs are being supported by non-breaths.
The coughs are changing; it’s not coughing now it’s retching. I’m trying to be sick.
But there’s nothing coming up.
I haven’t eaten. I’ve been feeling ill all day.
Pain. A crushing pain in my chest. It’s not a heart attack?
It can’t be a heart attack. I can’t cope with another this month.
I’ve only just got over it.
I’m going to die.
Lying on the kitchen floor, with tomato juice sinking into my shirt, curling up in pain. Anything, anything to stop this feeling in my chest.
I am going to die.
Die waiting for Mitchell.
Story of my life.
Of my death.
I could almost laugh.
If I could do anything else other than cry I would.
I almost fail to hear the front door open and the bubbly laughter of Annie.
She was happy.
She had Mitchell.
Mitchell would be happy.
Mitchell needed someone.
Mitchell who was always so kind.
Mitchell who had saved my life.
Mitchell who was a vampire.
Mitchell who’d drunk my blood when he’d had too many beers.
Mitchell whose arms were around my shoulders, pulling me off the floor.
Mitchell whose hands were stroking my face.
“Annie call an ambulance,”
“What’s happened?”
“NOW!”
“You’ll be alright mate, I promise you’ll be alright. We’ll get you to hospital mate.”
He didn’t ask what had happened.
He didn’t need to.
I was clearly dying in his arms.
“You’ll be alright mate, you’ll be alright.”
I sigh and lean into his arms.
“Thank… you.”
If these are to be my last words, at least they are to Mitchell.
And the pain abates, just for a moment.
He’s here.
I close my eyes.
I hear him telling me that I’ll be alright.
That I’ll live.
That I owe him dinner.
I feel his arms.
His breath.
The brush of his lips.
And there is darkness.
Darkness.
And the men holding sticks.
Next Part
Once a month I have dramatic organ failure. My heart attacks. My lungs expand. My liver contracts. I live though a living death once a month. But I become used to it, I scream until my vocal cords snap but I still become used to it.
So when I feel the spasming I automatically bite my lips together and lean into the pain. It doesn’t really help but it’s what I’ve leant to do, curling up makes it easier for the wolf to come out. It hardly lessens the pain but it helps me to pretend I’m in control.
But it’s not the full moon. It’s three in the afternoon and I said I’d cook for Mitchell because he and Annie were out. Annie wanted someone to come with her to her grave, I haven’t been feeling well and she’s always got on better with Mitchell.
And then there was pain.
In one hand I have a tin of tomatoes and in the other a can opener.
I can’t breathe.
I don’t understand, what’s happening to me?
I can’t breath, I’m gasping, deep desperate breaths. But nothing’s coming in. No oxygen is entering my bloodstream.
So it’s no surprise when I fall to the floor, tomatoes and their juices splattering over the floor, ironically like blood surrounding me.
I still can’t breathe; hacking coughs are being supported by non-breaths.
The coughs are changing; it’s not coughing now it’s retching. I’m trying to be sick.
But there’s nothing coming up.
I haven’t eaten. I’ve been feeling ill all day.
Pain. A crushing pain in my chest. It’s not a heart attack?
It can’t be a heart attack. I can’t cope with another this month.
I’ve only just got over it.
I’m going to die.
Lying on the kitchen floor, with tomato juice sinking into my shirt, curling up in pain. Anything, anything to stop this feeling in my chest.
I am going to die.
Die waiting for Mitchell.
Story of my life.
Of my death.
I could almost laugh.
If I could do anything else other than cry I would.
I almost fail to hear the front door open and the bubbly laughter of Annie.
She was happy.
She had Mitchell.
Mitchell would be happy.
Mitchell needed someone.
Mitchell who was always so kind.
Mitchell who had saved my life.
Mitchell who was a vampire.
Mitchell who’d drunk my blood when he’d had too many beers.
Mitchell whose arms were around my shoulders, pulling me off the floor.
Mitchell whose hands were stroking my face.
“Annie call an ambulance,”
“What’s happened?”
“NOW!”
“You’ll be alright mate, I promise you’ll be alright. We’ll get you to hospital mate.”
He didn’t ask what had happened.
He didn’t need to.
I was clearly dying in his arms.
“You’ll be alright mate, you’ll be alright.”
I sigh and lean into his arms.
“Thank… you.”
If these are to be my last words, at least they are to Mitchell.
And the pain abates, just for a moment.
He’s here.
I close my eyes.
I hear him telling me that I’ll be alright.
That I’ll live.
That I owe him dinner.
I feel his arms.
His breath.
The brush of his lips.
And there is darkness.
Darkness.
And the men holding sticks.
Next Part