I sat against the shower wall, the water dripping slowly against my cheek as I had my head titled towards Patrick. He’d entered the room slowly, cautiously moving over towards me. My eyes locked with his human ones.
“Oh Patrick,” my cracked voice whimpered.
He tried to hold back his emotions; the state of me was horrific. My hair lay matted against my head and my skin was pale and shallow, courting blue veins running with old blood.
“It’s been 3 months,” he whispered, bringing his face so close to mine, “You need to feed.”
I shook my head. But his face moved slightly closer. I titled my head so slightly; I could feel the atoms of his lips jumping with mine. Our lips were so close, and he wanted so badly to have them touch. He pulled away.
His defeated eyes gave himself away and as I tried to touch his face he caught my hand. My own eyes turned to purple, I couldn’t help them now. My interaction with others had grown so small.
“Pete…he…,” Patrick said slowly
I rolled my head so I could face away from Patrick.
How could he care, how could Pete care if I was kept alive? I had no purpose to him. My mind could no longer hear the answer to my own question. Spencer’s voice had disappeared, but something inside me; something deep down told me he was still alive. He had to be, his baby was…
What Pete had told me, was revenge of some kind. Emotional revenge. And in my dark hollow of thoughts Patrick broke the silence.
“Please, Emma please,” his voice was desperate, “the baby….”
The sound of his voice trailed off. I slipped against the tile and I felt sleep take me faster than the guilt for my child. My child that so persistently stayed in my womb, keeping me going through this new life of immortality.
As swayed into darkness, my ears picked up on Patrick’s voice fading faster and faster. He attempted to keep me conscious but the lack of fresh blood had begun to shut my system down.
Away from my collapsed body; Patrick frantically tired to contact Pete.
“Pick up, pick up,” he mutter breathlessly, “fucking pick up!” his voice sounding less and less hopeful.
He slammed the phone down, quickly turning to me. I could hear his footsteps coming closer and yet they sounded a million miles away. He dropped beside me and I could hear his scalpel cutting the membrane of his skin. In his thoughts something was stirring; something that wasn’t meant to help just me, but him as well.
It was like his blood gasped at the stale air and I could hear it falling over my mouth.
The first few drops slowly brought my eyes open, and then I found my hands had taken Patrick’s wrist and I was drinking weakly. The more I took the less I could feel the heart beat in his veins, almost like it was fading. The blood was drying up too, I knew I had to stop but I couldn’t. His thoughts surrounded around the word 'regret'.
I was thrown against the wall, my head making a curdling crack against the tile. Half of my vision had gone black, and I could only see from my left eye.
And from what I could see, was Patrick’s pale face slowly retaining the color of peach instead of white. Pete had administered his own blood from storage into Patrick.
“Stop, Pete,” Patrick said weakly, “I don’t want it.”
“I’m not losing my best friend,” Pete hardly whispered as his voice broke under his emotion, “I’m not losing you to her.”
For the first time I saw what happened to human-vampire relations, it was so broken and distance. Vampire’s had to put up boundaries, and humans couldn’t help but break them. Patrick’s own voice cried out over my thoughts.
Defeat from what he’d been running from for so long. Patrick had never wanted what I had gotten…what any turned Vampire had gotten.
“Take it back,” Patrick cried, his voice cracking, “take it back.”
Pete stood as Patrick attempted to grab his best friend’s hands; he pulled at Pete’s clothing as he moved across the room standing above me. From my left I saw his arm reached down and disappear at my right side.
I was dragged to my feet, and in Pete’s eyes red and black courted each other.
“WHAT DID YOU DO!?” His voice roared, shaking my core.
“I bit him,” I hissed, “I tried to kill him.”
A frustrated growl grew in the depth of his throat.
“Isn’t that what you want to hear?” I spat at him, “Can’t bear the thought that Patrick would kill himself? The way you have him cooped up I’m surprised he hasn’t.”
I was thrown against Patrick in a second. He let out a groan as I rolled off of him.
“Take back your blood Patrick,” Pete snarled.
Patrick’s eyes grew wide with terror. He shook his head earning a crack from Pete’s neck as he attempted to scare us with his antics. I shot a sideways glance at Patrick.
“I didn’t try to kill myself,” Patrick said slowly as Pete rounded us into a corner, “I was trying to save you.”
Pete began to think of blood, rendering his fangs to grow from his jaw. My own threatened against my gums.
“Do it Patrick.”
I grabbed Patrick’s face in my hands and brought our foreheads close together. He was shaking.
“You weren’t trying to save me,” I said slowly, “You want me to change you…don’t you?”
There was a second filled with a thousand voices. One of the loudest was Patrick screaming, I heard so many other lost souls, ones that were all tortured by Peter.
I was brought away from the bathroom and taken to a house I recognized. A young teenage boy that resembled Spencer crouched behind a tomb stone, his tired eyes struck with terror.
People were running into the mansion with weapons and torches; dragging out distraught people of what I could only assume was Spencer’s family. He watched as his family was shot and the bodies thrown onto carts.
Government people were handing out rewards like candy to anyone who shot a Smith. His mother with torn clothing yelled towards him.
“RUN SPENCER RUN!”
I watched as an hour chase for Spencer took place. He managed to lose the government people by running through a deep river and almost being swept away. Spencer climbed on to the shore weakly and lost consciousness.
After a few hours had past, a man past by and collected the boy in his arms.
Like a record skipping I saw a 19 year old Spencer standing in front of his new guardian, he smiled and hugged the man tightly before turning and leaving.
It wasn’t long until I discovered the man was Peter, and once his face began to become clear to me I saw how he turned Spencer.
Their blood was interconnected, and I had been the gap to restore the lost relationship. Spencer had lost his memory of who he was and who had turned by, but not a longing to find his maker. They way he had spoken about Marilyn did not seem right. And now I understood why.
After that second had passed I found Patrick lunging at me and biting my neck roughly. He began to fill his mouth with the blood he’d just given me. His aura grew wild with purple, I feared for what he felt for me.
And what I felt for him…