15Chapter Two: You
There's always something in the way,
There's always something getting through.
But it's not me, it's you, it's you.
The room is filling up with shadows. I don't care if it's morning and sunlight beams all around me, the room is still filling up with shadows. There is a weight on my chest and if this expression were literal, if the weight on my chest could actually be weighed, then I'd be planted in my mattress, so heavy that I'd be unable to get up. I hear my sister getting ready for work. Leslie has a whole routine in the morning. After all these years I've now learnt it by heart. She gets up, yawns, stretches, goes to the bathroom. Puts on tracksuit and runs around the house, avoiding Mom making breakfast and trying to outrun Denny who thinks morning after morning, that she is playing with him (our dog is not that bright). After exactly 18 minutes, she will kick my door and yell my name exactly three times. I will ignore her for exactly three times. Then she will go back to her room and to 100 hunches and 100 push ups. Then she will yell my name once more and march to the shower. Usually after that I do crawl out of bed, eventually.
Not today.
Today I stay in bed, because there's no fucking way in fucking hell that I'm going to school. School is Cody and me hanging out. School has been Cody and me hanging out for the last eight years. So, without Cody, there's no school. I've made up my mind, I'm just gonna drop out and then, I dunno, follow him to New Haven? I just, I just don't feel like facing the hallway without him, don't feel like singing in the school choir without his taunting eyes pinned at me the whole time, I don't feel like not having him sit next to me at lunch. I don't want to have no reason to wait for recess- he was my reason for waiting, because he's a year older than me and I always got to see him at recess. And somewhere inside I know that I'm overreacting and that school will be lonely but fine, because I have all my other friends, but still, none of all my other friends is Cody. Not even my dance crew is Cody.
My hands search in the covers for my cell. I know it's somewhere in there because I fell asleep with it in my hand, staring at the pictures we took this summer until my eyes started to hurt and close on their own. I find it, "3 NEW MESSAGES". One from Sheldon, telling me that we'll get together this afternoon, one from Rebecca (I don't even check that out), one from Shar who says "Mama, if you don't show your ugly mug today I'm coming to your place and dragging your ass down here." I can imagine her saying those words. Shar texts like she talks and talks like she texts. But not even her not-so-empty threats are going anywhere. I'm gonna stay in bed and die.
Yes, that will be the perfect punishment for him, yeees…
You see, when I die in my bed due to severe blues, he will return from New Haven for my funeral, and my whole dance crew will be there and it will be dark and raining hard and Shar will cover her eyes when she'll see him approaching, and Sheldon will run up to him, shouting his name and then he will grab him by the collar of his black shirt and shake him and shout "It was for YOU! She died for YOU!" and Cody will be fighting back tears and mutter "Wh-what?" and then Shar will come close and put her hand on Sheldon's shoulder to calm him down, but he will shake Cody one more time and hiss "She loved you and you left," and then Sheldon will let go and push him and he will fall back, staring at them with the rain hitting his face and then his eyes will light up in horror and realization and his face will become this mask of pain and then he will scream "I love her too! I love her, I love her, I love her…" but I will be long gone and nothing can be fixed and Sheldon and Shar will run to him and put their arms around him and it will all be so beautifully tragic and-
"Max?"
I lift my head and stare at the door and the head that's peeking through it. I see my mom smiling at me. "Hullo bedhead, daydreaming again?" I love my mom in the morning, she has that "mom smile" when she wakes me up. It's the most mom-like thing about her, because the rest of her is just rock and roll, and curly hair, and herbal tea and painting and crazy socks. Sometimes I think she's even younger than me. Right now, I feel like I'm a hundred years old. "I'm sad." I reply and shove my head back in the pillow, face down. "Awww, Maxxie…" she says as she rushes to the bed. She sits next to me and ruffles my hair. "I miss him, Mom!" I groan into the pillow, so muffled, that I wonder whether she actually heard. "Of course you miss him sweetie, he's been gone for 23 hours already."
"23 hours and 27 minutes."
"Aha."
"DO NOT MOCK ME, MOTHER! YOU'LL BE SO SORRY WHEN I'M DEAD OF SEVERE BLUES!"
My mom starts laughing, I pout, and then you know what she does? The woman practically yanks me out of bed. I'm shocked. She is like… Supermom. Using one hand she has managed to hoist me up and I stare at her with enormous eyes. "Mom, what are you doing?" I protest as she pulls and pushes me to the door. I grab onto the doorframe. "Mom, you do not, do not drag a mourning person out of bed, you can't do this!" I hug the wall, determined not to let go at all costs. "LET ME MOURN MOM, THAT'S THE WAY THINGS GO!" I hear my sister opening the bathroom door, and I understand that this is not gonna be easy. Leslie decides to join in. "Not in my house!" Mom shouts and they attack.
They catch me by the legs, pulling my socks off as they do so. I try to fight back, but their unified front is too hard to beat. I end up being carried to the kitchen by the two of them, and they let me fall on my chair at the table. Leslie puts her foot on my knees and nears her face to mine. I put up a useless struggle for a few seconds. "Now," she says with her evil older sister grin, "are you gonna eat your breakfast, or are we gonna have to shove it down your throat?" I'm prepared to brood or die trying.
Brood or die trying.
As I stuff my face with mom's omelette, I shoot Leslie one of my killer glares. "You're too tense for a yoga instructor," I say grumpily and think that my plans of dying of severe blues have to be postponed due to hardheadedness of family.
I'm humming under my breath as I walk down the corridor, my eyes kept at my shoes- I like my shoes so much. They're green and red with a fire-spitting skull on one side and a weird lady on the other. Cody said that she's a Hindu goddess, but I didn't look much into it. To me, she's just the weird lady on my converse. Hi weird lady! I've always loved writing stuff on my converse but what I hate right now about these particular shoes is that on the white part, at the tip of each shoe there's a word scribbled. On the left there's the word "Me" in red, my handwriting. On the right the word is "You", in capital, green letters. That's Cody. He has a matching pair. Only on his, he has written the "Me" part, and I the "You". You get the meaning of the words, no explaining needed. I stare and stare at the "you". The word comes and goes from my sight as I walk, and I find myself strangely annoyed with it. I'm mad. I'm mad at the word, I'm mad at the shoe. I hate my shoe, the way that it points out that there's a "you" in my world, and that the "you" is in New Haven. "Yes, and where are YOU now?" I scream at him in my thoughts "Where will YOU be? Why haven't YOU called? And why does school suck without YOU? Why are YOU always in the fucking way every fucking second?"
And then I get to class.
England 1467
I see my sister once a month. Michael I meet less frequently. It is dangerous for them to leave the village together for long, we know that would raise suspicions, and it is easier for her to sneak out of the house. They tell me that ever since my escape Jacob has become obsessed with catching me, training my brother for the same cause. He thinks that I'm after his children, and that I think Heather is dead, so the one I'll come after will be Michael. My brother told me once, with a sad smile that seemed so terrible, that it is a tiresome thing, trying to keep a straight face when Jacob shows him plans and trains him and trains him and trains him. He told me it is hard pretending he hates and fears me as much as the rest do, he told me that it's hard repressing himself from jumping up and defending me every time they have a council and the whole village is up on their feet screaming my name and wishing they could catch and stake me. I always search his eyes with the same question on my lips. "Don't you hate me?" I ask him all too often and most of the time he hits me. I always take that blow, I nearly welcome it. See, it's like a confirmation. As long as he's not afraid I'll snap and hit back, he's not afraid of me. I almost smile when I rub the part of me that's aching, it's a reminder that my brother and sister are still there. Still not afraid on me.
Today I meet Heather. Four months have passed and I'm used to living in the mountains, feeding off wild animals when the crave kicks in. I always was a good hunter, I have learnt from the best. I creep into the clearing, unseen and unheard. I see her in a black dress, her brown hair curiously tidy, her eyes cloudy and dark. "Heather?" I ask in a low voice, because I know something is wrong. She gives me one of her smiles as she runs to me and takes my hands in hers. "What is the matter?" Heather shakes her head, and says that all is well, I'm the one she came for, she should hear my news. I squeeze her hands, but she keeps her head bowed and I look at her neck. The bitemarks have slightly faded, but I can still see the damage I've caused. "Sister," I whisper and bend to my knees in front of her "speak to me." I can now see her eyes and the tears in them, I plead her to talk with my own eyes and then suddenly she's shaking and crying and mumbling words I cannot understand and then I realize I've spent too long away from humans because I now grasp that the only thing she needs is me to comfort her, but I don't understand what is wrong or how to help her. I have forgotten how.
Heather falls to her knees and hugs me, and I'm overwhelmed by the physical contact. I'm surprised by how much she's holding on to me, by the violence of her sobs. I am still human, I can still feel and love, but I see that I am distant. I have started to get detached. That thought scares me so much, more than the fires and the stakes that chased me out of my village four months ago, so my hands instinctively wrap around her, holding her tight, not so much to rid her of her crying but mostly to put me at ease, to remind me what it feels like to hold someone, and be held. In time, she stops crying, pulls away from the hug a little and smiles. I smile too. There are tears still on her face and she wipes them with the sleeve of her dress. "Richard died, Cassian."
It feels like someone poured melted iron into my stomach. I open my mouth, then close it, I cover my eyes with my hands, I try hard, hard to breathe. Richard was my friend. My good friend, the one that was going to marry my sister. The one my sister loved more than the world, more than herself. "Why?" I ask in a trembling voice, and I don't even feel how wrong this question is. She hugs me again, but doesn't answer. I can feel her tears as they fall down her face and reach my shoulder. She is silent, and if I know anything, I know she has something to say. I can tell she's not ready for it yet. There are so many questions burning inside of me, but I have to be patient. Heather is too vulnerable.
In the end, she takes in a big breath. It means that she has gathered her strength and is ready to talk. "Cassian…" she starts, whispering in my ear, and then she brings her face a few inches away from mine, so I can see how devastated her eyes look, broken by mourning and loss. Richard…dead. Richard died. Richard is no more. Richard is gone.It is so hard to believe, to take in. She inhales again, and I wonder what is it that seems so difficult to tell, more difficult than the news of the death of her beloved.
"Ask me how he died Cassian."
Even though I find the request strange, I ask her. I realize that she has said my name too many times today. That doesn't feel like a good sign. She looks to the left, nervously. "He… He was…" another breath, "he was drained." She brings her hand to the side of her neck, gently touching the traces of the puncture wounds my fangs have left on her pale skin. For a few moments I do not understand what she means by that gesture. But after those moments of ignorance have passed, my eyes widen. I take in a sharp breath, open my mouth to say something, to scream in horror, but there is no voice in me. Heather instantly holds my face with both her hands, almost violently. Her grey eyes dig deep into mine, trying to find something, or praying not to find anything.
"Please tell me… Please tell me you didn't do it Cassian, please, tell me you didn't do it."
A/N: Hello, this is Blood on Ice. Thanks for reading. Please leave a review if you liked this chapter-or didn't! Tune in for the next chapter, where we finally might make acquaintance with out vampire, I mean, Maxxie does (you guys have met him already)... That's all for now, thanks again!