After hours of grappling with that confounding layout, my brain reached its breaking point. None of us could reach a consensus on the best course of action, and every path forward seemed fraught with risk. It's beyond frustrating. But what's truly vexing is navigating the complexities of working with Idalia. She's proving to be the greatest challenge of all.
Neither Avalyn nor I would find ourselves in this predicament if it weren't for her. At least, that's the narrative I cling to. Cierien and Wrath, armed with their newfound knowledge, argue that WWA would have targeted Avalyn regardless. But I prefer to lay the blame squarely on Idalia's shoulders. It's easier to channel my anger towards her. If I can pin all the responsibility on the blonde, then I don't have to entertain the notion that she's anything other than despicable.
I overheard her recounting her story to Cierien, and I hated how it made me empathize with her. Undoubtedly, it's one of the reasons why Avalyn was able to maintain their working relationship; she's always been bad at separating someone's past trauma from their present behaviors. But despite that, I can't shake off my grudge. It seems that Cierien and Wrath have abandoned the idea of seeking revenge now that Avalyn is alive, and while I understand their decision, I can't help but feel furious about it.
Idalia deserves to die. She needs to. I don't think I'll ever find happiness until she's six feet under or a pile of ash.
As I navigate the dimly lit streets of New York in search of the 24 hour coffee shop, one of the few comforts I still enjoy, my mind drifts back to all the things I once cherished but now find unbearable. I used to revel in the symphony of human voices- their infectious laughter, animated conversations, and joyful shouts. Yet now, every sound that emanates from a person, especially amidst a bustling crowd, grates on my nerves. It's as if each noise is amplified to an intolerable degree, causing a visceral urge to block it out entirely. Everything feels overwhelming. The constant barrage of auditory stimuli leaves me drained as if I'm perpetually drowning in a cacophony of noise.
Despite the few things I still find pleasure in, I struggle to keep my attention on them, overshadowed by memories of what once brought me joy. It's admittedly a rather pessimistic outlook, but after enduring so much, I feel entitled to wallow in my misery if I choose to.
Even worse, I find myself gripped by an insatiable desire to sink my teeth into the necks of strangers. It doesn't matter if I'm having a simple, pleasant day; the mere scent of blood triggers a primal, feral instinct within me. I used to take pleasure in the ordinary moments of everyday life, but now they only serve to remind me of what I've lost. And for that, I squarely blame Idalia.
I often wonder if Avalyn shares the same sentiments. Yet, deep down, I suspect she's long since forgiven Idalia, perhaps more for her own peace of mind than for the sake of that wretched woman. Avalyn has likely moved forward, discovering new joys and flourishing with her newfound power. Though it's merely conjecture, this realization only serves to fuel my resentment towards her. I yearn to possess Avalyn's seemingly effortless grace-her capacity for forgiveness, her ability to find happiness amidst chaos.
I slip into the cafe, grateful to find my order ready to go. I hadn't wanted to linger among humans for too long; I just needed a momentary escape. I bring the cup to my lips, savoring the familiar bitterness of the espresso. Black coffee has never been my preference, but too much sugar tends to unsettle my stomach.
It appears that vampires possess distinct taste preferences. Idalia and I can appreciate a cup of coffee, while Wrath would promptly reject it upon ingestion and Cierien would begrudgingly tolerate it, though he'd sooner drink his own urine. Both men seem to have a penchant for sweeter fare, enjoying anything sugary enough to induce a toothache. Unfortunately, I've lost my taste for my favorite candies altogether.
As I make my way back toward the hotel, a worn-down shop catches my eye. Its exterior is weathered, the name barely legible as it peels off the facade. The open sign is out of commission, its lights completely defunct. With dusk descending, I can't help but notice the eerie flickering of the sign as it blinks sporadically. Despite the unsettling sight, I can make out the shelves lined with candy inside, prompting me to take a step forward. I figure I might as well pick up something sweet for the guys back at the hotel. It's a convenient excuse to prolong my return; I'm not quite ready to end this time away from the blonde.
After checking both ways before crossing the street and darting across to avoid any oncoming cars, I approach the shop's rough wooden door. The warmth emanating from within is inviting as I step inside. There's no one else in sight, but at this hour, the deserted streets suggest that few people venture to this side of town. Walking these streets at night is undeniably risky, with crime rates soaring, but anyone foolish enough to target me would soon find themselves in peril. That's one aspect of vampirism I appreciate-I can roam the night without fear, knowing that I am the true predator.
Despite the absence of anyone at the front of the shop, the illuminated interior assures me that it's indeed open. I press onward, venturing deeper into the cozy confines of the small store. It's cramped, like most corner shops in New York, with limited space to explore. I make my way down the aisle until I reach the candy section, pausing to survey the array of treats before me. With no one else in sight, I squat down and begin selecting a variety of options for the guys: chocolates, sour candies, gummies- covering all the bases.
As I rise, I'm nearly jolted out of my skin when the cashier suddenly materializes at the front of the shop, his dark eyes fixing on mine. He nods in acknowledgment before turning away to talk into his phone, leaving me feeling relieved but also slightly unnerved. I exhale a sigh of relief and abandon the candy aisle, making my way to the wall lined with refrigerated drinks.
"I just said so, didn't I?"
I glance skeptically over my shoulder at the man behind the counter as he growls into his phone. Despite his whispered tone, his words carry across the store, amplified by my newfound super hearing-a trait I've grown to despise. With my arms laden with bottles, I hope he has a large bag at hand; the last thing I want is to carry multiple back to the hotel.
My gaze drifts over the paraphernalia encased within the glass display up front. Briefly, I contemplate purchasing a small glass bowl for Cierien's smoking habits. However, my attention is swiftly diverted.
"5'6", Asian, dark hair, and light eyes? Real pretty, she sure is."
The mundane description uttered by the man on the phone freezes me in place as I shut the fridge door, a sinking feeling settling in my stomach. It's not particularly detailed, but it fits me to a tee, and I know better than to assume he's not referring to me.
I hastily retrieve my phone from my pocket, wincing as some of the candy slips from my grasp. My attention snaps to the man at the front of the store, who is now staring back at me. He pulls the phone away from his ear and addresses me. "Uh, excuse me, do you need some help, Miss?" His gaze flickers to the fallen candy, a hint of concern in his eyes.
Just then, a large man enters the store, his hoodie pulled up, and the cashier abruptly hangs up the phone. I observe them exchange a subtle nod before the newcomer begins to nonchalantly approach my location. A knot forms in my stomach as I realize that something isn't right.
"Miss?" he repeats.
I force an awkward chuckle, attempting to maintain my composure despite the waves of anxiety crashing over me. If I still had a beating heart, it would surely be threatening to leap out of my throat by now. In any other circumstance, I might not feel this level of fear, but this situation reeks of WWA. What are the odds that this is just a random encounter or two men with innocent intentions? No, it's becoming increasingly clear that this is anything but a coincidence.
So much for being the true predator.
"I'm alright," I breathe out, my eyes fixed on the man as he pauses on the other side of the wall, reaching for a drink. "I think I just grabbed too much," I add, my voice barely above a whisper, hoping to convey a sense of normalcy.
As the fridge door shuts, the click of a gun registers in my mind. Sweat dampens my skin as I meet the barrel of the firearm. It's not just any gun; it's the same type as last time, the one that fired darts. Instinctively, I know that whatever is in those darts isn't good news. With trembling hands, I drop everything I'm holding, scrambling to dive down the aisle for cover. A dart whizzes past me, barely missing my shoulder as it grazes my skin.
Coughing from the impact of hitting the hard floor, I waste no time in scrambling back to my feet and racing down the aisle. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the hooded man nowhere in sight, but instead, I spot him heading toward the door. He's closer than I am, but I'm hoping my desperation will fuel me to outrun him.
With every ounce of strength I possess, I propel myself towards the door, my adrenaline surging. But just as I reach the end of the aisle and make the turn, I collide with the cashier. My eyes widen in shock as a searing pain shoots through my lower abdomen, spreading rapidly until it consumes me. I glance down, horrified to see the handle of a knife protruding from my belly, its sharp tip buried deep within me. Instinctively, I push the cashier away, finally catching a glimpse of the glinting silver as the knife falls to the ground alongside him.
Amidst the excruciating pain, I fight to maintain focus, reminding myself that a stab wound won't be the end of me. After all, I don't perish under normal circumstances. Yet, fear still grips me, refusing to loosen its hold. My brain struggles to process the fact that I'm okay, that I'm not on the brink of death.
I sprint forward, the hooded man within arm's reach to my left as I burst through the door and into the cold, dark streets of New York. I feel his fingers graze the fabric of my shirt, but he's unable to get a firm grip before I race down the sidewalk, heading towards the hotel, just a mere ten minutes away.
Am I going to make it?
Despite knowing I could reach the hotel in just two minutes if I ran the entire way, my feet and brain refuse to cooperate. All I can focus on is the agonizing pain radiating through my body. Another click of the gun snaps me back to reality, and in that moment, I realize I can't afford to give my brain any more time to process. It's time to act. As a little needle meets the skin of my neck, piercing deep, I take off running with every ounce of strength I have left.
The world around me blurs and I can't discern whether it's due to whatever substance entered my bloodstream from the dart or simply the sheer speed at which I'm moving. When I catch sight of the familiar old bricks of our hotel, I make a beeline for the door. But in my haste, I collide with it head-on, knocking the wind from my lungs upon impact. Ignoring any potential onlookers, I sprint down the hallway in the direction of our room. My vampiric senses have dulled, leaving my mind consumed by the static of my own panic. I barely register the numbers on the door, praying fervently that they're the right ones as I push it open.
I catch the sight of blonde hair before everything goes dark.
As my entire body warms with a surge of vulnerability, despite the lingering resentment I harbor towards Avalyn, I find myself yearning for her presence at this moment. I long for her to be here now, catching me as I stumble. Though I feel hands enveloping me and hear a voice that must belong to Cierien, it's not her. But oh, how desperately I wish it were- my best friend.
//
thank you for reading ily <3