Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

63 - Colby

          My fingers clenched and unclenched around the fabric in my hand. It was a stupid and terrible idea, what I was doing. But I couldn't stop myself. I needed to smell her; to feel like I wasn't alone in this big bed of mine. She had been right: it was obnoxious of me to have this massive bed all to myself. I needed her to fill in the rest of the space. I bet she could, if she laid with her arms out even though she was so small.

We would never work; I repeated those words over and over in my mind, but I never managed to convince myself of it. Because I wanted her, and it was clouding my every decision. I'd almost trashed the kitchen again when I had to feed on yet another blood bag. I didn't want to feed on it if I didn't get to come back upstairs and hug myself to her back. It just wasn't worth the stale, disgusting red liquid.

Halfway through today's self-loathing session, I heard Sam downstairs speaking unnecessarily loudly. "Colby."

I didn't respond at all, staring at the small fabric of a shirt she had left here.

"Colby," Sam repeated, this time at the top of the stairs. Still with no answer, he started for my door.

I darted back at him and caught the handle before he could do anything. He heard the gentle thump my body made when I hit it, and he sighed on the other side. I wouldn't be able to block both doors, but he didn't try the other one.

"I really need you to do me a favour, brother," Sam said as he knocked once against the wood — he was making himself feel better about almost forcing himself in my room by knocking.

I didn't say anything still.

"Katrina needs me to pick her up but I can't. I only trust you to do it."

"No," I muttered instantly, lifting the shirt in my hand to my chest. I squeezed it for a second then threw it onto my bed, where another shirt sat. I couldn't face giving them back to her yet, or getting rid of them. Not until they didn't smell of her anymore, at least. Then they'd be useless to me.

"Colby, I haven't asked anything of you. Just this."

"No," I replied, louder.

"You're soft," Sam snapped suddenly, his tone completely changing. He was almost snarling with his words. "Sitting in your room moping about some girl."

I was going to kill him, if he said that again.

"Why don't you get out and-"

His mind games worked like a treat as I flung the door open and grabbed him by the neck. I pushed him against the wall lighter than I would anyone else, glaring into his eyes.

He smiled at me. "Good. Katrina's at my favourite restaurant." He pulled out of my loose hand, twisting beneath my arm to be free of me altogether. "Don't be too long, I don't want her to be alone."

Then he darted out of the house. I stared after him, a little stunned. That fucker. I thought about leaving Katrina wherever she was, forgetting that she existed and letting Sam be pissed at me. But then I thought about someone else instead of her being left alone as the sky got dark outside, and I couldn't help but run back into my room for my keys.

Something inside me still told me this was a mistake. I didn't know what it was, but it was fighting with the phrase 'I would want him to do it for me', because it was the truth. And I would trust him with her. Like he trusted me with Katrina.

So, nearly ten minutes later, I was parked outside of Sam and Katrina's favourite date restaurant staring at the news on Twitter. She had texted me the second I got there to say that she wasn't far. How she was travelling, I didn't know. I knew that Katrina had been on the girls' night that included her, and that she never came home afterwards. I hadn't cared enough to question it. Or left my room to be told about it.