The Degenerate (TO BE REWRITTEN...SOON)

CHAPTER 3: Cherry Bomb (pt. 2)

CHAPTER 3: Cherry Bomb Pt. 2

Soon after everyone in the van was finally awake we took a bathroom break at a rest stop. Well, everyone that is except the man who was too injured to walk (Anthony) and the girl who was too afraid she’d maul someone (me).

It was sunny outside, windy. People lay on picnic blankets, bathing in the sun and walked their dogs. A young couple sat on a bench, holding hands and texting at the same time. Every single person there looked happy. I sighed and turned away from the torturous scene.

After several moments, Anthony broke the silence. “Look, I know you probably feel bad for mauling me and all- but don't. It's not worth your energy. You couldn't help it. And besides, this isn’t the first time someone lost control on me. So, suck it up."

I held up my hands, both confused and surprised by his burst. “O…kay? Where did that come from?”

He shrugged. “We were going to have to talk about it sometime.”

We bridged off into an awkward silence again. He scratched the back of his head and I looked back out to the serenity outside, but decided that was a bad idea. "Will I be able to have self-control around people?" I asked, just to get rid of the unspoken tension.

He replied with a simple, "eventually," and shrugged.

"Will I have retractable gills?"

"What- maybe, I dunno."

"Do you have retractable gills?"

"No. I have something else."

"Can I see it?" Me and my dirty, dirty mind. Hopefully he couldn't read it.

"No."

What else could I ask? His ocean blue-green eyes looked at me in such a perplexed way it was comical.

That bastard was kind of funny in a dry sense. He still wasn't much of entertainment though; I much rather of played Fruit Ninja on my iPod.

Anthony started peeling off the gauze, looking under it and grimacing at what he found. I watched as he continued to grab a dark-colored bottle, sloshing a clear liquid on his wounds-peroxide. The liquid fizzed and popped quietly.

"Does every...degenerate drink blood? Attack people?"

"Not exactly. There're different types of us- roughly classified-" he reached up to open a compartment and took out a sewing kit. Was he about to reattach a few buttons or something?

Anthony unraveled the rest of the material, revealing a nasty bite mark on his wrist. Clenching his stubbly jaw, he pierced the intact skin surrounding with a needle, stitching up the wound with a thick black thread.

"Keep talking," he hissed through his teeth.

"Okay, well...ugh, what are these classifications?" I was fascinated with the way his skin tugged along the thread.

"Blood-suckers, obviously. They...usually have to drink blood from others to get iron and hemoglobin...and in return can go days without eating...they can..." he stopped, finally closing up the wound before starting on another near his inner elbow.

"The entire purpose of a degenerate is for a regular human to experience extended abilities, so that the majority may evolve...Some degenerates have animal fixations. Though those are the ones that die the fastest- they're also the rarest. The ones furthest 'evolved' are the ones Blades want to catch the most,” Anthony finished talking as soon as he sewed up the second mark. I looked away, in deep thought.

I was a blood-drinker. Did that qualify as cannibalism? Maybe I could drink from animals or blood bags. Again, this made sense- I was diagnosed with anemia a while back. Blood would stabilize my iron easily.