BlueK Dynasty: The 1st Seven Days
Page 4
The two lovers lay shoulder to shoulder with the covers drawn over them. Looking up at the ceiling, Santino was quietly pleased with himself. He wondered if it would be too much to ask to go again, especially since they’d forgotten to use protection. Kurma had gone quiet when Santino had pointed this out to her.
“Heat of the moment,” he had said. “Don’t be mad, alright? I just got caught up in everything.” He looked for her response. There was none. “You’re quiet. Too quiet.” He began to feel awkward. He grabbed Kurma’s face and asked, “You’re not mad at me?”
In a rush Kurma pulled her face from Santino’s hand and made a run for the bathroom. “I feel sick,” she screamed.
Why was she acting weird? Santino wondered, then tried to sit up, but immediately caught a head rush. “Oh,” he said. Something was in the air—an odor, but he had never smelled anything like it before. The more he tried to breathe in, the tighter his throat became. White and blue dots popped out before his eyes, and he felt even more lightheaded. Gasping for breath he tried to call out to Kurma, but to no avail; his smooth voice was gone, and only a rasp emanated from his throat. His body tangled in the covers as he tried to signal his brain to work. That smell, it was everywhere. He couldn’t concentrate on anything else. The noise outside had disappeared, the lights had dimmed, and time seemed to stand still.
And then he felt it. The blood drained from his face—a painful feeling, as if he were upside down for too long. His heart quickened then slowed to a deadly pace, and his breathing slowed even more. The first thing he noticed was his hands: the tips of his fingers had become a dark purplish blue. The blood must have drained from there too.
All of a sudden the smell changed to something familiar, something irony and cold yet piquant and earthy. His breathing evened out, but his throat felt desiccated. Santino felt funny, weird, out of sorts. What was wrong with him? Why were his fingers blue? Now able to use his limbs again, he flung back the covers and saw a horrid image. His limbs had doubled in size, hardened and bulging with veins that protruded every which way. His feet were discolored the same as his fingertips. Without warning an ache shot inside his mouth, causing him to double over.
“Help me,” he gasped. He fell on the floor, and the transformation continued. His teeth sharpened to razor points and doubled. His skin stretched and tightened over his face, and pinned his ears back. Santino’s eyes drew deeper into their sockets and glowed a bitter black. His fingernails sharpened and became hard as metal.
The hair on his head fell out in tufts as he desperately tried to stop whatever was happening to him. His up became his down; the noise outside became too loud inside. The lights were too bright, and then they were dark. His skin felt tough in some places and smooth in others. His muscles knitted together and became hard and rigid.
Crawling on all fours, he looked at himself in the vanity in the corner. “What am I?” he asked. Pulling himself off the ground, he felt his equilibrium even out and found that his body felt steadier.
The mirror told no lies. He was no longer Santino. He touched his face and began to feel a stinging sensation in his eyes. It felt like tears, but he couldn’t tell; he could hardly see. He heard water running in the other room, but his hearing felt constricted. He remembered Kurma had run out. He looked back at his reflection—still hideous. Every time he looked at himself he felt that stinging in his eyes.
“Go find Kurma,” he instructed himself. Something had happened to him. He needed immediate emergency care. Kurma probably would freak out, but at the moment he just wanted whatever had happened to him to un-happen to him. The medical bills were the least of his worries. He pulled his lips from his gums and was mortified at the sight. His teeth gleamed ivory in the light. And there was that stinging pain again.
Santino turned and headed toward the door. He stumbled into the hallway and called out to Kurma.
“I need to get into the bathroom!” He banged on the door. “Open up. I need your help!”
“I can’t,” Kurma said. Her voice sounded like someone had stroked strings in Santino’s head.
“What?” Santino asked. Moving closer to the door, his nose picked up a scent—red, warm, meaty…skin. His stomach lunged, and his body naturally reacted. He felt out of control, hungry, mad. So many things at once. Grabbing for the doorknob, he found it was locked. Santino sniffed again. The smell was so intoxicating, and it was coming from the other side of the door. Banging harder, he said, “Let me in now!”
His voice changed octaves—deeper and powerful. There was no response from Kurma. Santino felt his skin prickle. His throat became drier, and he suddenly realized why: he didn’t want to see Kurma. He wanted to taste her. But why? His hands clawed at the door, peeling the paint, as his animal instincts took over. He was hungry and thirsty, and he couldn’t control himself any longer. He shoved the door, and the wood splintered and cracked. He heard the water go off.
She’s in there, he thought. Another shove and Santino propelled himself through the door. The first things he saw were gray, steely eyes, big from fright. ‘Whose eyes were they?’ he wondered. Kurma didn’t have gray eyes. The creature’s screams broke into his thoughts and brought him back to the present.
He realized Kurma was half crouched in the tub, naked and wet. He lunged at her and was met by another shrill scream.