To Fight Back, To Change

Chapter 20 - A Revealing Prospect to a Very Bad End.

I'm not sure if i like this chapter all that much. I will edit it and see if i can make myself like it. i really think its more of a filler chapter.

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My skin crawled as if ants had decided to eat it from inside out.  The man seemed to be taking pleasure in this evident realisation. I still didn’t know his name. I never knew their names. I still don’t understand how I could not have recognised this person. I didn’t think that the scar had mutilated his face that bad. When I escaped it was so fast, so quick. I barely even knew what I was doing, my body was been guided by blind relief. I remember the tray though. The silver tray with an array of small knives and needles. When scar-face tried to stop me I went insane, smashed it in his face –knife side up – and then ran for my life. Literally.

They had looked for me, found me? Fear pulled my mind apart and clear thoughts began to scatter and dissolve through my brain.  Scar-face spoke again. “I think it’s time we go, don’t you?” He was going to take me back to that place. My muscles slacked under that realisation, my body was held up by nothing but scar face’s hold.  The world turned foggy. What the hell. I had only had one drink and it tasted sweet as – oh. All my bravado disappeared. And I became numb as the effect of the drug began. Scar-face dragged me through the crowd, heading for the back doors where he could exit without been seen by any of the fighting rabbles.

I was going back. Alone. Again.

“Hey!” A sharp voice cut through the overwhelming depression. My head rolled slightly to the side. Marco was standing in front of us looking pissed as hell. “Hands off.”

Poor Marco. Trying to be so brave. I watched my weedy, drunken brother who was now sober stand defiantly in front of scar-face. If Marco went up against this man he would die, for sure.

“Nice try, kid. Now get out of my way.” Scar-face spat out, menacingly leering over Marco whose face was still red from the alcohol. Scar-face moved closer to my brother in an attempt to appear more threatening than he already was.

Marco fought great. He rabbled with the other members back when I knew him, he could throw a punch faster and stronger than most of the other kids his age. I thought he’d lost that ability, drowned all his training and talent away in spirits. Apparently not.

His fist shot out faster than a missile and hit just as hard on Scarface’s nose. Blood began to squirt out of the broken nose and scar-face bellowed in pain. Both hands covered his nose, trying to stop the torrent bleeding. My skin felt raw against the warm air as his hold vanished. I was awake enough from the fog to kick my legs out, knocking him over and sending him timbering to the floor.

I stared dumbly at the struggling form but didn’t get to see him crawl up as another hand, a warm one, grabbed mine and pulled me away. “Marco?” I slurred. He was getting fuzzy but the concerned look was easy to pick off his face. When we reached the back door he practically shoved me out and I landed harshly on the cold stone ground.

 “What the hell was that? Why didn’t you fight back!” He yelled. Marco picked me up off the floor and I slumped on him.” Damn, is this why you don’t drink? One shot and you’re the new stripper in town.” I giggled at that statement. A stinging slap slammed into my cheek and I reeled back, mind suddenly clear.

The world became a little clearer and I noticed how freezing cold the wind was. This only succeeded in bring more of my senses back. I felt the bruises forming on my skin from the hand marks and the smarting sensation in my cheek. I stumbled onto a wall and leaned back for support. Marco was pacing in front of me agitated, his mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear any words. I think the drug was wearing off. Werewolf blood was hotter than others and pills didn’t last long. We probably needed to take three to everyone a normal human would have to swallow.