On Display (mxm)

8: Broken Pattern

I wasn't sleeping, wasn't eating, was hardly doing anything aside from staying curled up on my mattress in the corner and waiting.

I was afraid to be caught with any of my art supplies, knowing he would ask where I got it and who bought it and why money was being wasted on it. I was afraid to read any of my books or study for the same reasons. And god forbid he find out anything was stolen...

My life became sitting in wait, pushing my body to its limits to avoid entering the hall to go to the restroom or the kitchen.

Zadie visited sometimes, but I pressed and encouraged her to stay close to Nadia or Mom and not be alone or with me. I didn't want her to see what Dad did, what he was capable of. I didn't want her to hear it either if I could help it. Staying silent pissed him off, made it worse for me, but I'd rather deal with that than know Zadie was given nightmares or knew even more about what was going on.

I knew she knew, to some degree. She wasn't stupid. She noticed I wore more clothing, moved slower, had bags under my eyes and flinched if I moved certain ways. She knew Mom and Nadia were running interference and keeping her away from Dad.

She already avoided him like the plague, but our insistence and continuous involvement only reinforced the potential danger.

It was late, now. Nearing the middle of the night, I think. I was sitting in the darkness of my room fiddling with the slip of paper from wolf-boy.

Cade.

I ran my thumb across the address, recognizing the street name but not the true location of the house. I'd been thumbing the paper over and over until the ink was smeared and the paper thin enough to nearly see through. I didn't need to see it anymore. I had memorized it, intending to toss it but never quite having the nerve to do so.

The party is tonight, I think. And even if it wasn't, I was still willing to risk an escape attempt if it meant getting even a single breath of fresh air. I was going stir crazy, my whole-body aching from sitting in the same position and from the countless beatings I'd received anytime I left the room.

I had no way to confirm the date, the time, what I should wear or bring, anything about it. Even if I wanted to reach out and confirm, I had no way to do so. Without a phone, the number listed was as useful to me as a random string of binary.

I guess I'll fly blind, then.

Slowly, against my aching body's wishes, I stood.

My abdomen screamed at me, the numerous cuts and punctures and bruising across my skin and muscles and ribcage protesting even the simplest movement. Every breath was shallow to avoid expanding my tender ribs. My upper arms ached and I knew there was a perfect handprint bruised on each with five perfect punctures from his nails. My legs were bruised to shit, as were my lower arms, from blocking his kicks aimed for my head and stomach. The trap muscles above my collar bones and the backs of my forearms where I'd tried to fend him off were littered with bite wounds, fang punctures and even divots from dull molars deep enough to force my blood to flow freely. Gauze wrapped around me like I was more mummy than vampire.

I wasn't healthy enough to heal properly. I didn't have enough energy or blood in my system for my regeneration to kick in like it was supposed to. I was so hungry but Mom and Dad made sure to keep me fed enough to stay on the sane side of feral.

I was diminished to the healing speed of a goddamned human. How embarrassing.

I took my shirt and hoodie off, changing quickly into a plain forest green T-shirt and a dark grey hoodie with black roses tangling up the arms. I swapped my sweats out for a too-large pair of black cargo pants, cinching them around my hips with a studded belt I'd nabbed. My hoodie was long enough to cover my belt line, baggy to the point of hanging down nearly to my mid-thigh. I threw a leather jacket Mom blessed me with overtop everything and called it good, stuffing my wallet and keys into an inside pocket so the jingling was muffled before zipping it up.

Most of my clothing reeked of stress-sweat and blood and fear, as did my skin, but these were the cleanest items I owned at the moment. I needed a shower, desperately, but I wouldn't dare risk that level of noise at this time of night. Instead, I slathered on deodorant despite my body protesting even the partial raising of my arms and sprayed far too much cheap cologne over myself.

Good enough. Hopefully anything that had a sensitive nose would be too busy sneezing to truly piece apart my full scent.

I grabbed a pair of thick wool socks and gloves to keep away the worst of the incoming winter chill but didn't place either on. Bare hands and feet, while louder, held far more traction.

Poking my head carefully from the doorway, I stared out into the vast darkness of the hall. My ears nearly began to ring from the concentration I placed into listening for any sign of him. I couldn't sense anything. I hadn't heard or seen any sign of him for hours.

Here's to hoping that he was passed out drunk somewhere, preferably his bedroom.

Despite the soreness in my body that demanded I move slowly or not at all, instinct had me running through the halls with every ounce of practiced silence and speed I'd acquired over the years. I barely stopped to snatch my black boots from the entryway before slipping out the door.

My feet froze against the cold concrete of the driveway but I didn't dare slow or stop. Rogue rocks stabbed into my soft soles and caused me to stumble and jerk forward awkwardly. When I finally reached the relative safety and darkness of the public road, I slowed to a stop.

Panting from exertion and relief, I collapsed onto the curb. I was sweating even from the brief distance I traveled, showcasing even more how out of shape and malnourished I was.

I pulled a foot up, resting it on my knee to pick rocks and debris out of my skin and brush away the worst of the dirt. My skin was ice cold, far colder than what was normal for my species. I quickly put on one of the wool socks and then my boot before giving my other foot the same treatment. They were leaden and heavy, the added weight of the boots not helping in the slightest.

As I stood up again, I pulled on my gloves and began walking. I knew the street the house was located on, but I'd never been far enough down it to see the houses in this number range.

The moon was thin and dull, barely a sliver to light up the darkness in the long gaps of the streetlamps. My night vision helped some, eyes glowing faintly red and cutting through whatever darkness remained, but I knew my sight was handicapped from the lack of blood in my system.

It was quiet tonight. The only sound was my faint breathing and the scuff of my heavy boots on the pavement. The crickets and frogs I could normally hear were deadly quiet. It put me on edge, the hairs on the back of my neck rose as my skin prickled with awareness.

Shivering from the chill in the air, I pulled my hood up over my head and stuffed my hands in my pockets, hunkering down into the warmth of my jackets. I could see my breath in the night air and knew the end of my nose was turning bright red, but that was the least of my concerns.

With a heavy sigh of relief that I'd even managed to make it this far, I set a determined pace towards town.