Bloodlust

Bloodlust Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Our Journey Has Just Begun

The doorbell rang, awakening me from my light sleep; its shrill sound breaking the silence. The sound of heels clacking against the hardwood rang throughout the house.

          Red hair in spiraled curls, bouncing on her shoulders as she walked. Harley stood in the doorway, watching me stand. She wore something less elaborate than I’m used to, most likely because this was a quick meeting. Something that wouldn’t be going public, I hoped. Black skinny jeans that wove the legs into leather boots the color of beige; a thin long-sleeved brown top with “Led Zeppelin” written across the chest; and no makeup.

          Once standing on my feet, Harley strode through the door, flinging her arms around me, although I wasn’t crying. Her reassuring hands patted my back, softly but firmly. We stood there for what felt like hours, and eventually pulled apart.

          She squeezed my hand and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lex.”

          Suddenly, I had a sense of dizziness that took control of my mind. “AAAGGHH”, I shrieked.

          “What is it, Lex?” Harley asked, looking frightened.

          “My head is…aaggghh”.

          I saw Harley take a step back towards the door. She was prepared to make a run for it. I couldn’t blame her. I was messed up.

          After awhile, the pain subsided and I was able to speak in a regular (well, strangled but almost normal) tone.

          “It felt like someone was stabbing my brain with knives,” I explained to Harley. “It just wouldn’t stop. I was screaming inside-and apparently outside-for it to stop. And then, it was gone. It was almost as if it were never there. But I’m positive it was.

          “I’m sorry, Lex”, she said again. “I wanted to leave but I couldn’t. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to help but stand there and try to escape.”

          I simply nodded, holding back the sobs. I wanted to be held, to be loved, even after what I did. But I knew I couldn’t afford to be happy again, nor could I be forgiven. I had accepted that the moment I saw my parents dead at my feet. And I still believed that as I boarded the plane.

          The plane took off, flying into the air with the clouds coming closer to its wings. Ben sat fast asleep in a booster seat beside me; his head slanted on the open window. I cracked the can of Pepsi that the flight attendant offered; its cool, liquid taste rolling onto my tongue and down my throat. The cooling sweetness only lasted for about a second; my hands clutched at my throat as I held back the gagging sensation.

          Somehow, I found myself in the bathroom, staring at my horrific reflection in the mirror. I nearly screamed in terror, but bit my lip to hold it back. Blood oozed down my shirt as I scurried to clean the mess. There was a bright red pool of it around me that was beginning to seep into my Converse.

          I must be going mad. My eyes were wild with fear, an overly hormonal feeling controlling my entire body. It was as if I was being possessed. A hard rapping came on the outside of the door.

          “Miss,” came the flight attendant’s voice. “Are you alright in there?”

          “Yes,” I croaked. “I’m just fine.” But I knew one hundred percent that I was not.

          I stumbled into my seat and slammed my head against the headrest. The dizzying haze that I’d grown to expect over the past few days enveloped me inside its inviting grasp. My head sauntered, as my body temporarily shut down.