THE CREATURE
Blood sputtered as I forced it down my throat.
The basement was dimly lit by morning light creeping through the high windows. The entire kitchen was bland and spotless. No one to disturb me as I rifled through the icebox of stored blood.
Every swallow a burden to my body despite needing it so dearly. The only thing that made it easier to stomach was the image of her.
Feeding had become ever harder since Alina had imposed herself on my life.
Just as I thought I’d cured myself of this disordered stomach, I couldn’t seem to feed on anyone else.
Bottled was fine, bloodwine was best, but somehow the dysfunctional feeding persisted and, eventually, worsened no matter the form I fed from.
When she left me the first time, I lost nearly four stones in a handful of months, then gained them back in muscle the following year and a half after heavy conditioning.
My body is not a temple, it is an insatiable engine that burns through everything and anything.
Even with leaner muscle, better form, sharper mental focus, I could barely feel myself after she died before my eyes.
My rage channeled at Luka for a short run.
I wanted to tear his head from his body for giving such a foolish child a painless, quick death.
Edith didn’t deserve such a mercy. I wanted to pull her veins from her body one by one like worms from a slab of old pork.
I wanted her to look at what she’d done, to face some sort of consequence for her transgression.
As time passed waiting for Alina to wake, I didn’t realize I would begin to forget the exact expressions of her face, the sound of her voice, the spirit that drew me to her. I had memories, and those degraded with every use.
Not even when Luka made an illustration of her did it help. Drawing her current state didn’t quite capture the anger, the fire, her wicked moral fiber.
So here I have been with a dire hunger, a wife revived against her will, and the crushing weight of being solely responsible for people’s longevity and survival. I don’t think any meal could prevent me from being squeezed dry.
Even now I tried to picture her. Her cold eyes and menacing words. The way she moves when she works, or when she’s plotting. How she was when no one was looking, or at least, she thought no one was. Her face so soft, yet the tension in her brows, her eyes, it’s ever present even when relaxed.
The way she looked at me when I refused to acknowledge her. It was deeply unsatisfying. I thought it may make me feel better, to show her the hurt I felt when I knew she was hiding from me. There was nothing pleasant about it. My projection made it worse.
My mind forced another image onto me.
Her eyes open, the steadiness of her body, not a drop of life left. Her last breath stolen from parted lips, her last moment a betrayal; a monster of her own making, thinking she could fix people.
Just as my anxiety was crawling up the back of my throat, so did my meal. I choked, the blood spilling to the floor.
“Fucking Christ!” I yelled, pitching the bottle straight at the wall.
Luka flinched and used the door as a shield before poking back out. “Bad time?”
“For you? The timing is always atrocious.” I wiped my chin with my sleeve, but there was too much to truly clean. I’ll just burn the clothes anyway.
“Can we be adults about this?” Luka leaned against the kitchen stove.
“About which part?” I laughed, a bit of blood still dripping from my lips. “The part where you hid her from me? Had me worried sick for nothing that she wasn’t going to wake?”
Luka kept his arms crossed, his face cold. He knew I was right to be angry; he couldn’t tell me I was wrong.
“Who do you think you are?” I approached rapidly, rolling my sleeve up my arm, blood smears all over my clothes. “What gave you the right?”
He shoved me back by my shoulders.
I hooked him in the jaw, the skin of my knuckles splitting.
When I tried again he grabbed me, shoving me, more forceful this time.
“You didn’t tell me!” I yelled. “None of you did!”
“And your behavior as of late somehow demonstrates that you are in a good mental state to be handling a very fragile transition stage?” Luka’s eyes did not leave even one movement behind, not even a blink.
“I could have!” I shouted, pointing to my chest, unable to contain myself. “No one gives me the chance! How am I supposed to do better—to be better—if I am not even given the opportunity?”
“Did you want us to risk the death of your mate on the chance that you wouldn’t have handled it well?
That her body woke but everything else rejected?
Would you have survived heartbreak so soon if you pushed her to return to the way she was?
” Luka looked at me with such apathy, I wondered whose side he was really on.
I tore open a drawer, wrapping my hand in a table napkin and using it to wipe my face.
“The stakes feel real now, don’t they,” Luka commented, his eyes following the mess on the floor and wall.
With a deep breath, I leaned against the counter, arms crossed over my chest as I stared at the scene.
Blood everywhere, multiple bottles on the floor aside from the one in pieces by the door.
I scratched the back of my head. For some reason, the pit of my stomach dropped as I realized I was caught in such a state.
“We got word this morning that the other city establishments will support us,” Luka offered, some semblance of good news. There was no hint of sarcasm, no jokes, his stance was even relaxed. Luka’s hands were shoved in his pockets, legs shoulder-length apart. His head tipped my way.
I lifted a shoulder. “Fine.”
“Fine?” The scar running through the corner of his lip pulled tighter when he smiled. “That’s all?”
My shoulders raised to my ears before dropping again.
“I can accept that you are angry with me and your sister . . . but you don’t think you’re being cruel to Alina?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“The cold shoulder?”
“I just needed time to think.”
“You know very well by now that appearances matter—especially if we are to show a united front, both with our city and our own Nest.”
“I don’t know why,” I raised my voice, “there’s something inside me ready to snap. I don’t want it to be at her, or you—or anyone, for that matter.”
“So what do you think it is, then?”
“Luka, you’re good at making hard decisions and remaining indifferent,” I began, but the hardening of his expression made it known he wasn’t liking the insinuation. “I need a favor.”
“You sound like you’re gathering a will,” he teased.
“I need you to promise me,” I said slowly. “If I cannot stop myself, at any point, if I hurt her—I need you to kill me.”
“Pardon?”
“I don’t think anyone could do it except you.” I pressed my palms to my temples for relief. “It already makes me nauseous to think about.”
“You don’t think this is a bit melodramatic?” He approached slowly, like I was some wild caged animal. “Where is this coming from?”
“I’m barely containing my urges. My body is barely able to eat because of her. I can’t predict my mood, my rage. It’s like it all comes spilling out. Like the night I beat you for hiding her. I barely remember what led up to it, I only saw red.”
A deep chuckle.
My eyes snapped in his direction. The most unconcerned smile was plastered on Luka’s face, enough where he had to cover his mouth.
“I take my demand back, you’re fired,” I sneered.
“Silas, you’re how old now?” He smirked.
“Two hundred twenty.” I crossed my arms tighter. “What’s so amusing?”
Luka took a deep breath, then an awkward glance away as if someone else would save him from the conversation.
“Did your father never explain this to you?” he mumbled.
“Explain what?” I glared.
“Ruts? Heats?” Luka winced. “Oh dear God he didn’t, did he.”
“I know what it is, you moron.” I didn’t think it was possible for this to be any more strenuous than it was.
“Well, you’re at that age.” Luka gestured generally and shrugged. “First one is always the worst.”
Now I wish I could have held on to my meal long enough to expel it directly at him at this moment.
“I think you’re just adjusting, no need to kill you yet.” It sounded like a joke. “It will pass. For the both of you. You and Alina will be just fine, like two little doves.”
“What if I snap? I could forget she’s turned and kill her. What if I can’t even remember her in a fit of this . . . this rage?”
“I am not your personal doctor,” Luka started, “but you appear to be suffering from some sort of neurasthenia.”
“No.”
“Just because you deny it, doesn’t make it disappear.”
“I am fine.”
“Intrusive thinking, sensitive to rejection, paranoid, and disordered eating when you’re at your worst.”
“I don’t—”
“This is not new. You’ve done this for years. I can answer any questions pestering you, but perhaps being around her will have a positive effect on you. As long as it doesn’t distract from your responsibilities.” Luka sounded a bit too paternal for my liking.
Responsibilities. I thought delegation would have taken some of those off my shoulders.
“I’m already distracted,” I countered.
“Then keep a journal. Get those feelings out, then we can get back to work, yeah?” He reached to pat my shoulder.
“Go away”—I pressed my palms into my eye sockets—“before I start picking which of your own limbs to beat you with.”
Luka held his hands up in surrender, a clear grin on his face as he stepped away.
As frustrated as I was, there was some truth to it. My issues stemmed from her. She invaded my mind to the point of possessing me, like my every thought and function was only dedicated to her. Without her, I am nothing, a mess.
But she was here now. There was no reason to suffer. I could not promise my best focus or the clearest head, but perhaps seeing her would be enough to settle my mind and body.
Just a small reassurance that she was alive and well may cure my ever-corrosive guilt.