8 Lives (Sequel to Shattered)

Chapter 23: Burning Desire

I hope you all enjoy.

* 

* 

* 

* 

8 Lives Chapter 23- Burning Desire 

* 

* 

* 

*

Bella's POV

Tossing and turning on my bed, sleep never game. My body as a whole felt exhausted, but for some reason my eyes only willed to stay open. Exhaling a breath that seemed unneeded, I swung my legs to the side of the bed. Planting my feet on the soft purple rug, I curled my toes around the little purple strings. Looking around my room, my eyes darted towards the little crack from my bedroom door. Grasping the knob under my fingers, I used some force to pull open the door. The hinges squeaked, but not enough for it to break. Gasping in horror at my own strength, I lightly moved the door to the side. Where did this strength come from?

Before I could come up with an appropriate answer for my rhetorical question, my throat flamed. Padding my feet on the ground, I made my way downstairs. Making my way into the kitchen, I threw open the refrigerator, a little too roughly. Skimming my eyes through the contents, I moved my fingers and grabbed some plastic container. Just about anything would do. Anything to stop the flames from riding my throat. Slamming the refrigerator closed with my heel, I threw the container onto the wooden table. It slid slightly down the table, but with my arm I moved it back towards me.

Moving my hand over the cover, I clasped it off, and stared at the food that lay before me. The pasta squished together with canned tomatoes and frozen cheese. Inhaling what was I supposed to smell the sweet aroma, did not even come close. For some reason the pasta didn't smell as appetizing as it should have. Shrugging, I thought that it was off because it needed to be warmed up. Moving it around in the small container, I picked it up.

Looking around in the kitchen, I spotted the microwave. Moving my way towards it, I stuffed it in and set on the timer for two minutes. That seemed appropriate for the small container. My throat burned, and I cupped my hands around it. Pressing my fingers around it, in an attempt to soothe it, I grunted at the failure I was faced with. My throat burned as if it were held over the fire flames. It was as if someone pulled the cord of a hot air balloon and it erupted. It felt as if someone was holding a cigarette lighter and having fun using my throat as the log of wood.

Hearing the microwave beep, I pushed the side button to open it. The smell still seemed unappealing, but I needed something to contain the flame that swarmed down my throat. Pulling a drawer open, I picked a fork up, and poked my fork into the pasta. The smoke spread around, but my nose had an opposite effect. Pinching my nose with my thumb and pointer finger, I stabbed the sticking pasta.

I moved the pasta into my open mouth. I slid it down my throat, and found myself clutching my throat over the sink as it came back up. Coughing roughly, I spat the parts of pasta that lingered in my mouth. Confusion filled me. I usually made this food when I was in Arizona, perhaps it was food poisoning. Before I could move a step near the refrigerator once again my throat was brought all of its attention towards it. It was still not soothed, it burned as if someone shoved a hot iron down my throat.

Turning the faucet on I washed the remains of the pasta from the sink, and watched as it went down the drain. Grasping the ends off where the marble met the metal from the sink, I lowered my head. My brain felt exhausted, my body wanted to crumble, yet here I was with a blazing throat. My throat is the problem. If I could soothe it I could go to sleep.