11 #2
But as soon as the adrenaline began to wear from me, the more I was aware of my aches.
My stomach hurt more than before I ate, somewhere between absolutely famished and completely nauseated by anything I could put in me.
My shins ached from the steady stride, my eyes burned from the light, my brain pushing against the inside of my skull.
I could barely keep my direction. I just knew to follow along Fifth Avenue and I would run into it eventually.
By now I was sure my ankles were split open inside the new leather boots.
I wanted to collapse to my knees, but the pavement was filthy. Somehow I was both shivering and sweating, no medium between the flashes of hot and cold. My mouth even felt chapped, though I assumed it was dehydration.
Then I saw it, the pink brick and copper, the wisteria hanging off the roof.
A chimera carved into the cornerstones.
Home.
Despite the cutting of my shoes, I moved quicker, desperate to reach the door. I was already crying, ready to let my mask down and retreat into my room.
Then, sirens in the not far distance.
They’re coming.
I panicked, knocking and ringing the door. A doorman came to answer, and when it opened, Rebecca stood there as if she was leaving.
“Rebecca!”
She looked startled, as if she wasn’t expecting to see me, especially not in a state like this. She held her hands out to my shoulders to steady me, her white gloves stained from the blood-soaked fabric.
“Where have you been?” Her voice like that of a worried chaperone. “We have been looking for you all morning.”
“I . . . I just . . .” Suddenly my vision was clouded by little specks of stars. More and more of them until it faded completely, and my body jolted.
It didn’t even occur to me that my body had fallen from her grasp or that my head had hit the steps when everything blackened. Not until a faint pain began to throb, but I was unconscious by the time it settled.
The cold washcloth brought me back to the land of the living. Beads of water collected on my forehead before dripping off my brow and tickling my ear. A deep breath filled my lungs, as if revived.
“There you are.” John’s baritone voice hummed like a warm radiator.
I shifted to move, and he scooped his hand behind my neck.
“Steady now.” He lifted me to prop another pillow under my head.
It was dark when I opened my eyes, the only light came from the street and a candle on my bedside.
“What have I done, John?” I reached for his hand.
He leaned forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his knees as he enclosed my hand in his. “Focus on getting better before you trouble yourself.”
“I’ve done something terrible,” my voice strained.
John’s face grimaced; even in the dark I could see the pity.
“Do you know?” I squeezed his hand. “Does everyone know?”
“Everyone has a bad catch at least once.” He tried to appeal to my panicked state. “The police don’t know, if that’s any consolation.”
“Not yet.”
“Just . . . try to stay indoors until we get you better,” he insisted. “No one is angry with you. There’s always going to be unsteady footing when you reach new land—”
“I ate someone, John,” I could feel my voice hurting as the words left my tongue. “Well, I didn’t even get to feed on him. It was a complete and shameful waste.”
He shushed me as he removed the wet cloth from my head.
“I am no longer a person, I am an ugly, godless beast.”
“I don’t think so, Crow.”
“How can you be so accepting of this? Any other person you may have called a monster.” I slapped his hand away from my forehead.
“Except you are no other person. I know you, and you are no beast,” he said firmly, but not overly insistent. “A beast wouldn’t think twice of the sheep and the hens it’s eaten. A beast does not know distress for the things it eats.”
“A killing is a killing, no matter if I cry after or not. Someone is needlessly dead. Someone who was unlucky enough to cross me, to help me, of all things!” I cried. I couldn’t catch my breath or think. My head was pounding, my body ached.
“Calm yourself—”
“No!” I wailed, my fangs jittering forward. It was like the reflexes were weak and tired, unable to muster the energy to fully engage if it wasn’t for food. Like I was running on limited resources. They hurt so terribly, like a scorched mouth.
A bit of saliva from my mouth dropped from my lips. The black blood stained the bleached linens.
John brought the cold wet cloth to my mouth to clean it, the entire rag staining.
I tipped back, leaning my head against the pillow. There was nothing I or anyone could do to console myself.
“Rest, and it will help your impulses,” John promised. “Just let old Johnny boy fix you up before you go scouring again. Deal?”
I pushed a stubborn breath through my nose, but I let him wipe my face and neck with the cloth.
Most days I believed I didn’t deserve the care that I got.
I was both grateful for my friends, my family, but at the same time paranoid that it could all be gone in an instant.
I spent so much time trying to protect the ones I loved that I never was able to let anyone help me.
Maybe it was time I learned, but for now, not resisting was a start.
He was right, anyway. I needed to rest. I wanted to rest.
I suppose they had the right idea when they locked me in the room before. Luckily they didn’t need to this time, for once.
Soon I would be better. This wouldn’t last forever. And I could resume living without torturing myself.