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Chapter 8

    Since hearing the bell in the library with Fabiano, I have been hearing it more and more. Especially when people around me are upset or angry. Because it seems to be emotionally based, I try to keep a clear head and stay away from the ones that are easily goaded in getting upset.

    Still, I feel confused about it and it is messing with my drawing, what is upsetting me the most. Drawing is -- was -- the only thing that could help me put things in perspective and now that it is taken from me, I don't know what to do.

    "Let's go, Ainsley," Those three words bring me out of my spiraling dark thoughts. The scent accompanying them made my heartbeat speed up and do a funky rhythm and my gums tingle. The need to bite him is becoming stronger every day, scaring the hell out of me. I have always been able to keep a good lid on my needs but with Hunter around, that control is slipping at a terrifying speed.

    Ignoring the held out hand, I get up on my own and start walking away, al the while very aware of all the curious eyes boring in my back. The silence stretches out between us as we move towards the main building. My body alert on the heat of Hunter beside me, sending tingles along my nerves ever time we unconsciously touch. The clearing of his throat draws my eyes towards his face against my will, or to the vein running along his throat more specifically. The burn in my gums as my fangs descend has me breathing in through my mouth. Drawing his scent down my lungs. My head starts spinning, legs wobbling, I grab onto the closed thing to steady myself. The table wasn't made to grab onto when falling. With a spectacular clatter, I and the table tumble to the floor.

    Staring at the offered hand doesn't make it go away, in fact, it makes it come closer as it reaches for my wrist. Scrambling backward, I nearly trip over the table in my haste to get away from him. "Don't touch me." I hiss through clenched teeth, knowing full well that something that I don't want to happen, will most likely happen if we touch. Leaning on the wall, I dust myself off, my eyes keep straying in Hunter's direction against my will. 

    "You do know it will only get worse over time if you don't keep your head in the game." The low baritone voice washes over me, the itching in my throat intensified. Swallowing reflexively doesn't soothe the ache if anything it makes it worse. Scowering the floor for the water bottles that I have taken up carrying since the itch started, comes up barren. There is not a full bottle to be seen among the scattered books, papers, ring binders, pencils, and my sketchbook. "Looking for this?" 

    As much as I want to hate him and my biology for making me feel this way and want to resist any and everything with his scent on it, I snatch the bottle of water out of his hand. Gulping down the liquid greedily, I struggle not to pay too much attention to the pair of eyes fixated on my swallowing throat. Once it is finished, my hand will not let go of the bottle when I hold it over the recycle bin. Compelling the muscles in my fingers to let go of the plastic is probably the hardest task I have had to date. What seems like hours pass when the bottle lands in the bin with a soft thunk.

    Quietly I take a hold of my backpack, this time making sure we do not touch. I don't want another episode like this. Sitting in the classroom, I am quite glad that Hunter is not part of any classes that I have and that he has no reason to come looking for me as we share no classes. 

    Hopefully, the rest of the day will be Hunter -free.

    Lunch rolled around and I carefully scan the rowdy hall full of people for familiar faces. Stepping forwards, out of the line with a full tray, I spot Jerry and a few guys from our house plus a good deal of unfamiliar faces. In my short track over to the table, a silence gradually descends all around me. It is nothing new to me, but the only thing that bothers me is that even Jerry falls silent when I approach the table.