day 00 continued
I was pinned between the hard body and the door. The metal handle jabbing into my shoulder blades while delicate kisses decorated my throat and shoulders. A lazy moan escaped my mouth, and a small laugh escaped his. He lifted his mouth from my throat, to show of deep red dripping off his lips.
"You're awake," warm steam wasped off his lips, a coppery scent followed as he spoke. "I was afraid I might have killed you."
His lips met mine and the taste of pennies filled my mouth. It was warm and sticky, and another flavor, licorice, mingled with the metal.
"They say the first bite is what kills them... but it's actually the shock from blood loss."
I choked out a weak slur of a plea. His silvery eyes locked on mine, and he came in for more kisses. They were soft, warm, tender, loving-- I didn't want kisses.
"Stop." I coughed, my arms pushing as hard as they could. It wasn't much, I was shaking and I couldn't control them. My legs started to slip from under me. Jared put out an arm, secured it around my waist, pulling me against his form.
"I need you to listen, Sweetheart." he purred, kissing an area on my neck. A pain that exploded behind my eyes, then errupted out my finger tips in a spiralling pleasure had me weeping. I let out a cry that would have put a porn star to shame. "Hush hush. Not so loud, Sweetheart."
I panted, clouds of steam coming out my mouth. The warmth seemed to be flooding out my body with every pant and moan. I clawed at his sleeves, my vision spinning to the point I was seeing triple of him.
"I'm not your Sweety," my tongue and teeth struggled through a pudding soup of words. I tried to push him again, when he put his nose to the other side of my neck.
A soft request of, "don't move," had me haulting all my movements. There was a sound, like someone biting into a fresh, crisp apple. To my horror, it was the sound of him biting into my shoulder this time.
"Had you said yes, we wouldn't becoming so intimate in a filthy parking garage, Meela," he breathed. "It'll all be over soon, Sweetheart."
Blackness was encroaching on the edges of my vision, and I was struggling to breath. From somewhere distant, I heard church bells ringing. Why were they ringing? It's... late. Is it really that late? What hour is it knolling?
The dryness in my mouth somehow brought me back to the ringing. It wasn't ringing... it was jingling. I had a landyard double around my wrist. My house and car keys jangled in my limp hand. The keys were tucked between my knuckles, but my hand was not balled up.
With what little strength I swung my arm. The impact of flesh on flesh jostled me awake. The keys to the face made him release me. A scream that did not belong to a man echoed the garage as was dropped onto the ground. My palms were scraped, and I heard fabric shred. I scrambled to my feet and was off running.
Every step sent an agonizing, teeth chattering, shock up from the base of my soles up to the top of my head. I cradled one arm with the one I hand used to punch him. My throat was dry, my tongue was stiff and stuck to the roof of my mouth. The cries for help came out as a wet wheeze, that ended in a whimper like someone had kicked a dog.
The ground tilted and the world was swaying as I ran. No one was in the lot this late. They were already where they needed to be, the casino, the hotel, the late night clubs-- no where near me. I was turned around, nothing looked familiar, and I couldn't read any of the signs. They looked like hieroglyphics and bounced around the walls. The cars were parked far apart, so there was nowhere to hide.
"Meela!" Jared sounded upset. "How could you do this to me!"
I turned a corner sharply, sliding on a sheet of black ice and falling on my side. I hit the ground, but regained my balance running on all fours to duck behind a car.
"Meela! Come out this instant!"
I froze where I crouched, my body gaining strength from somewhere I wasn't accessing. I was hurting, I was very close to being blind, and somehow was almost standing up. I willed my legs to bend and I fell onto my hands and knees, slamming my already shredded palms onto the rubble. I stared weakly at the backs of my hands, skin cracked, scraped and the creases between my knuckles filled with blood.
"Meela!" his voice roared, but I stayed where I was, panting and crying onto my messed up hands. I fell into a sit, slapping my filthy hands over my mouth. "MEELA! COME HERE. NOW."
It felt like someone was tugging my up, their hands at the base of my neck, yanking me up by my spinal column. My hands scrambled on the ground, my nails scraping on the concrete for something to keep me anchored. My fingers wrapped around cold metal, and I was standing.
"Meela, Come to me," he said, sounding relieved. "Look at what you've done to yourself... You're a mess." Jared stepped towards me, my ears ringing with every step he made. My heart hurt, thumping away in my ribcage to the point I thought it would rattle my bones lose.
His hands touched the top of my shoulders, turning me around. His lips were stained with my blood, fangs poking out as he smiled playfully at me. His silver eyes were warm and welcoming, a jagged mark trailed beneath his right eye, dripping black ink-like liquid onto the collar of his starched shirt. His hands gripped my shoulders, I felt his fingers stabbing through my sweater and piercing my shirt and skin.
"Are you alright, Sweetheart?" I asked softly, looking so happy.
"...I'm not... your Sweetheart." I slurred, stepping backwards, trying to tug away from him. Jared frowned, moving forward to pin my against the car. My feet slipped from under me, my sneakers slick on a sheet of black ice. The grip he had on my shoulders brought him down ontop of me. I slammed on the ground, my head making a loud "pop" as I hit the concrete. There was a crunch, a gasp, and I was weezing.
"You little bitch." It sounded like he was speaking with a throat full of phlegm.
My hands gripped a piece of what used to be a lug wrench, the round end pressing painfully into my breast bone, while the flat head end was pierced clear through Jared's gut. My eyes could see it clearly, the world wasn't spinning as harshly. When he spoke, black liquid spilled out his mouth and splattered onto me and the parking lot.
I shoved him off, and ran. Adrenaline flooded my veins, and I was running. The sections came in crystal clarity as I fought to find my car. The white mercury Sable came into view. I keyed the paint trying to unlock the door. The world was an adrenaline fueled blur as I tore out the lot, and drove my ass home.
Keenan dialed his sister's number repeatedly. He was just coming back from his Chicago trip, and wanted to know what she was up to. It was the weekend, so maybe her and Dominique would like to go somewhere. Maybe go sledding on the Isles, there was a fresh layer of powder to enjoy.
"Damn Meela." he sighed, irritated with her. So he called Dominique, angry that his younger sister once again didn't have her damn phone on her.
The teenager picked up on the fifth ring. "He-llo?" she asked, popping some gum.
"I'm on my way home, what's to eat?" he asked, driving the freshly salted and plowed streets.
"Chicken soup, brown rice, lots of salad." Dominique replied. "Oh, and can you get some medicine? Mimi's sick or something."
Oh, so that was why she wasn't answering. "What's she need? Tylenol?"
"Like, get her something for vommitting... She said she wants gatoraid or pedialite?" The sound of crying in the background had Monique sighing. There was the shuffling of papers, movment, then a door slamming. "Mimi's been throwing up all day, and mom is really upset."
"What the fuck. Why?" Keenan couldn't help but roll his eyes.
Erica Amana was a bit of a hard ass, striving to be strong, and when sickness came into the picture she was hard to deal with. Got a cold? Tough it out. Got the flu? Drink some tea. Stomach ache? Eat some ginger. Head ache? You're a liar.
"She keeps asking what Meela ate, and she can't really talk because she's either throwing up or sleeping." Dominque sighed. "So just... Gatoraid, pedialite, and something to help her stop throwing up."
"Could be a food poisoning." Keenan said, driving en route to the house. He couldn't really think of either of his sisters being that sick. Meela was 22, and the last time she was that sick, was sometime in Junior High. They had shared a meal, and all three of them had gotten sick as dogs. "What'd she eat."
"That's the thing. Meela just woke up today and started throwing up. She slept all day yesterday. The entire day, didn't even get up when I went in and shook her."
"Wait. What. How long has she been sick?!" Keenan was starting to panic. Just this past Christmas they had gone through hell when he needed surgery for abdominal pain. The entire ordeal was hell in a hand basket, trying emotional and physically for everyone, especially Meela who had been his impromptu nurse for most of it. If Meela was sick for days and not going to the fucking hospital because she was scared of bills, or their mother thought it was something they could push off--
"Iunno. Two, maybe three days?" Monique didn't sound too concerned.
"Give Meela the phone." he ordered, driving with urgency. "Pack her a bag, we're going to the hospital."
Dominique's voice sounded distant, and then there was a gravelly weak voice on the line. ".....mhmmm? Keen?" Just that small phrase had her voice cracking. "hey."
"I'm on my way, we're going to the hospital. I'll call Ty and Paul and we'll get you a room within the hour." he said, his voice hard.
"Don't." she said, her voice cracking again. "I just want to sleep.... I finally stopped throwing up." There was the sound of fabric, and muffled swearing. Keenan heard breathed, and spoke her name repeatedly to get her attention. "Whaut Keenan, I'm so fucking tired."
"Why are you sick. What did you eat." he demanded, familiar roads speeding past as he went fast enough to warrant him a ticket, but careful enough not to slide if he hit ice.
"I don't fucking know." she snapped, her voice a pained whine. "I'm going to fucking sleep Keenan. I'm so tired. If you want to bring your doctor friends to the house with some drugs, go ahead, I'm not leaving my damn bed and you can't make me."
"Mimi," he ground out, using a voice of authority. "I'm coming to get you and--"
"You're not fucking listening to me and it's so fucking annoying." she snarled. "Goodbye."
The line went dead, and he cursed loudly.
I don't remember what happened during the days after the attack. I remember coming home and throwing all my clothes in the wash and dumping a lot of soap on my uniform before heading to the bathroom. Mom and Monique were asleep, and when I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like I was going insane. I was bruised all over, and my neck looked like it had been wrung with a bike.
I'll spare you the gory details, but I looked like shit.
I flushed with hydrogen peroxide and warm water, then saline made from epson salt and warm water. You do not wipe shredded skin, you flush it and pour warm water over it to get debris and germs out. I couldn't go to the damn cops or the hospital-- what the fuck do I say?
"I was bitten by a vampire," the words come out in disbelief, because I was still trying to swallow what had happened. I vaguely remember drinking some water, bandaging my hands, knee, and neck, then going to bed with an ice pack on my head and a hot water bottle tucked between my thighs.
I was in a feverish haze in the days that followed. I got up for something once, it was either juice or milk, then was back in bed. Nothing felt right, and everything hurt. I swallowed handfuls of Tylenol and Ibuprofen to get rid of the pain and fevers.
Just when I was finally getting the right dose for the pain, and was ready to sleep-- the vomitting started. I spent hours in the bathroom, expelling and dry heaving. Between those awful trips, I was sitting on the floor somewhere, forcing myself to eat rice and bananas. Potassium for the painful cramps of an empty stomach, and carbs to at least fill the spaces. Nothing stayed down. I drank water to keep hydrated. I cried for part of it-- I could die.
I could seriously die.
I was not getting any nutrition. I was not keeping fluids. I was putting stress on blood vessels and organs with every heave.
Just when I was getting some rest, my stomach quieting from it's violent tendencies-- Monique gave me her phone. I spoke with our brother, so very tired and so very angry. Mom had been nothing but a pest during this entire thing, and now Keenan was asking the same damn questions as her. This time thought, instead of going for natural rememdies that just had been throwing up faster-- he said he would take me to the hospital.
We did not have money for that.
But you just said you could die.
I don't need it. I want to sleep.
Keenan almost died--
I hung up on my brother, shoving the phone off my bed as I curled up in my blankets. Monique cursed at me for dropping her phone, but I didn't care, I wanted to sleep.
My digital clock read 4, and the lack of light outside told me it was in the early morning. My stomach growled, telling me to eat. I didn't trust the fucker, and chose to go to the bathroom instead. I used the toilet, sitting in the dark with my head resting on my knees while my arms were folding against my stomach. My usual pudge was flat and my arms fit perfectly between my thighs and stomach.
"I didn't die." I murmured, eyes closed. My mouth tasted like I had eaten something dead. I reached in the dark for the listerine. I brushed my teeth, and gargled, not moving from my seat.
Didn't bust a blood vessel. Didn't go blind. Didn't die in my sleep. My head felt a little clammy and I frowned as I remembered my bandages.
I pulled up my shorts, the fabric hanging off my hips with slack it never had before. They almost fell off when I stood up. I reached up, unscrewing two of the three light bulbs in the bathroom before flipping the switch. I looked like absolute shit.
My eyes were sunken in, and my cheeks were almost concave. My hair was disgusting tangles and knocks, one area I swore had vommit in it. The gauze and tape on my neck was dingy and dirty on the edges. I hoped to go nothing was infected.
I tugged at the tape, expecting some resistance because there should have been some healing that stuck the material to my skin. If you didn't change dressing periodically, you get infectiongs, and flesh that heals into gauze. What I found made me cry.
It was healed. Completely. What was there was a slightly discolored line, an old scar that looked like it was from a cut. Maybe three or four inches long, barely the thickness of a number 2 pencil lead. I checked the other wound on my opposing shoulder and found the same results. A discolored scar that looked years old.
I moved my hand, shaking as I stared at myself in the mirror. I huffed, and balled up the front of my shirt. I tore it off. I slid off my pajamas and underwear and stared in horror. All my scrapes and abrassions were barely bruises, and my bruises were no longer there. I prodded my hip that I swore was scraped open when I slip on ice and skidded across the concrete.
I caught sight of my hands, and stared. I had.... Claws.