8: Crimson

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Chapter Eight- Crimson

major depressive episode

(as in Bipolar Disorder)

1. A condition defined as a period of at least two weeks, during which there is either depressed mood or the loss of interest or pleasure in nearly all activities... The patient experiences at least four additional symptoms, including: changes in appetite or weight, sleep, and psychomotor activity; decreased energy; feelings of worthlessness or guilt; difficulty thinking, concentrating or making decisions; or recurrent thoughts of death, or suicidal idealization, plans or attempts.

2. Usually occurs when one stops taking their bipolar meds (against the wishes of their doctors/psychologists).

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Tyson loved hunting. So we were his prey.

I'd already known this; that was for sure. But just visualizing him, hunting us... The very of idea of it sent tremors down my body.

"Well..." I whispered, stepping off the ping-pong table. "Nice to meet you both."

I looked up at Uzair, at his tattoos and silver earrings. His lips were pressed together, and he had a jutting jaw. He wandered over to the wall, and flipped the light switch. The ceiling lights shut off, shadowing us in thin light. Meanwhile, Hayden just stood stock-still, like he was angry.

"Please get out of here," I said. "I kind of just got kidnapped, so I need some time to process all of this."

Their brows creased, and they walked out of the room, clicking the lock behind them. I gasped, a disbelieving noise at the back of my throat. But when I pulled on the door, I found that it was indeed locked.

"Wow!" I yelled. "Are you fucking serious?"

"Nobody trusts you," one of the boys yelled. "So just shut up while we talk about you!"

I dropped to my knees, crimson hair tilting over my face. With my ear against the door, I could make out soft noises.

"She's bitchy," Aubrey moaned. "Tyson should send her off to Paul."

"You're friggin' heartless!" Uzair thundered. "Fuck, Paul's a monster. I don't wish that on anyone."

Uzair muttered something incomprehensible, and they all walked away and lowered their voices, so I couldn't make them out anymore. I got up from where I was perched; gingerly pulling Uzair's shirt off of my arm. It was white and silken, and grossest of all- dotted with my blood. I bit my lip and spat on it, trying to wipe it off. But all I accomplished was smearing it. And it started to smell like saliva, in addition to the thick scent of iron.

"Wow," I laughed softly. "I've only been kidnapped for a few hours, and it's already gone to shit."

I turned around and studied my cavernous prison. The floor tiles were old and worn. A piece of the wall was sunken in, revealing threadworm bricks. The tables were old and speckled. A huge chandelier hung from the ceiling, projecting golden light through the entire room.

It was funny how it worked. Tyson seemed so rich, but his game room was decaying. Next to the ping-pong table was a few chessboard tables, as well as one for Foosball. Then there was a set of tiny staircases, leading to a bowling lane. Heavy bowling balls sit right next to it, on a silver rack.

A muffled shriek resounded outside. I ran onto the balcony, and a horrific scene chills my body.

Dark-clad vampires crowded around an area on the grass, just below the window. Their body movements were lightning-smooth, and zombie-esque.

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