by R. J. Rogue
“What are you going to do to make sure it doesn't happen again?” he says stepping forward.
Is he challenging me?
“I guess I'll be more careful.”
“You guess?”
What is this guy's problem? Is he really getting mad? I've apologized. What more does he expect for me to do?
“Hello?” he calls snapping his finger.
“Look, it was a mistake. I’ve never done anything wrong to you. I’ve never bullied or pushed you around. I don't threaten you –“
“You don't threaten me? How sure are you about that?”
He stares with disgust. He looks down at my sneakers and gym clothes.
“Just forget it. You're harmless, Macrae.”
Well he certainly knows more than just my first name.
“Whatever, Cedric. I'm sorry I bumped into you.” I begin to walk back to gym, but he steps in front of me. I back off.
“Okay, what would it take?” I ask. "What do you want from me?"
“What do I want from you?” he asks. He takes another step forward closing the distance between us. "If I were to decide right now, I'd want you dead."
“Excuse me?”
He steps closer with his face holding a grimace.
“You. Dead.” Red bleeds around his pupils and I back off staring into his eyes. Then, nothing. His eyes are dark brown making me think I was hallucinating. He chuckles and I attempt to walk past again, but this time, he shoves me.
“Stop.”
I try once more to leave. He shoves me again with more force causing me to stumble.
“I'm telling you to…”
He does it again.
“Cedric,” I say through clenched teeth. My tongue then rips across something sharp and blood splashes in my mouth. I touch my mouth with my fingertips confused. I feel fangs in my mouth and I jump back covering my mouth with my hand. Cedric stands silent and still, staring with a grin on his face. A painful crunch hits my head and a deafening ring fills my ears. I drop to my knees and clasp my hands to my ears. The pain intensifies. What's going on with me! I begin to shake and place my forehead onto the floor trying to fight the pain. Cedric stands above me. Pain leaves my throat.
“Oh well lookie here," he says with a laugh in his voice. "Don't be afraid. With time, you'll get used to it.”
"Cedric!" I groan through the pain. "Don't just stand there help me!"
"I am," he says. "I'm being forced to."
"What are you talking about?" I say through my pain and aching teeth.
I yell in agony again.
"One step at a time, Macrae," he says with another laugh. "We're watching you. For now. How's the nightmares going? Dream of us yet?"
I clench one of my hands into a fist and punch the floor. The linoleum crumbles, but felt as soft as tissue paper. What's wrong with me? I think to myself. I place my hand on my chest to feel how fast my heart is beating, but I don't feel anything. Something's wrong. Something is completely wrong.
“Evan?” calls Mr. Wallace the gym teacher. “What are you doing out here? What's going on?”
I open my eyes and everything is quiet. The pain is gone and I can think straight. I bring a hand to my chest. My heart is running wild, but at least it is beating.
"Evan?" Mr. Wallace calls again.
I look up and a few students and teachers are watching from the doorways of classrooms. Mike comes out of the gym and stops just behind Mr. Wallace. Cedric is gone and my agony left with him. I run my tongue across my teeth. Nothing sharp. I look at the crack in the floor I left with my fist. No broken hand, bruise, nor pain.
"You alright?" Mr. Wallace asks. Mike helps me up. "What happened to your nose?"
I feel around my nose and mouth and warmth touches my fingertips.
"I-- I fell, Mr. Wallace," I say. "I'm sorry."
He nods his head looking both confused and worried.
"Well, alright," he says. "Need to see a nurse?"
"No, no," I say. "I'm fine."
"I'll look after him for a bit, sir," Mike says to Mr. Wallace.
"Alright. Hurry on."
Everyone goes back into their classrooms as Mike helps me to the bathroom to clean my bloody nose. Every bully has a motive. What is Cedric's and what did he mean by, you'll get used to it? What was that about him being forced to help me and asking about my nightmares and asking of I dreamed of us yet? He knows something. I have questions and I feel that Cedric has answers. After what just happened to me in the hallways, I'm desperate to know what he knows and what's happening to me.
After telling Mike what happened, he too is confused and insists that I talk to Cedric and see what he wants, but Cedric did tell me what he wants. Me. Dead. Maybe an exaggeration, maybe the reality. Would I want to know? Cedric has always made me feel uneasy and uncomfortable. His words and actions should not surprise me.
My Science and Math classes that followed blew by. Painting class is the verdict. I'm usually anxious to go, but after a rough morning, I've been far too distracted to be excited. The best part about Painting class, I am able to see her. Essence LaRoux.
Each time I see her feels like the first. The butterflies. The lump in my throat. The sweat in my palms. The skips in my heart. It never gets old and always feels new. If only there was more of myself to give. Something to offer, but I have nothing and she is the kind of girl who deserves everything.
My heart leaps into my throat. I gulp. I have been walking in autopilot and decided it would be a good idea to stand in the front of the classroom. Essence tends to have that effect on me quite often. My painting teacher, Ms. Brooks calls my name and I have a feeling she has been calling me for quite some time. I hope that those thoughts of Essence LaRoux were only thoughts and not a presented monologue.
"Evan?" Ms. Brooks calls again. "Do you mind taking a seat, please?"
Before I'm able to answer, I notice the only seat left available in the classroom is next to Essence. She smiles and my heart jumps into my throat again. She should not have done that.
"Evan?" Ms. Brooks calls again looking over the frame of her glasses.
"Um. Yes, I'm sorry."
The classroom giggles are embarrassing as I take my walk of shame to the seat next to Essence. Ms. Brooks begins class and instructs that we will continue to work on our spring project. We grab our easels from different areas of the classroom and return to our work stations. I have been working on a portrait of the woman from my dreams which is different from the woman of my dreams who sits next to me. I have yet to see Essence's work, so I peek in the corner of my eyes and wish I hadn't. Curiosity truly does kill the cat. She isn't working on her in-class project. She's looking at me. Why is she looking at me? I try to focus back onto my work and find myself scanning over the different colors of paint losing my train of thought. Okay, um. I had a great Morning Star breakfast. Confusing mommy problems. Bike riding, bike riding. Pine trees and mint smells. Stupid Cedric.
"Evan?" She says.
I never heard my name sound so clear and theatrical. It was like music--a symphony. I refrain from looking in her direction.
"Yes?" I answer and choke on the word.
She scoots closer. My heel begins to tap on the bar of my stool. Her face leans close to my cheek and I follow her eyes to my easel.
"Who is that?" she asks. She smells obsessive like a free-spirited lavender floral garden. Her aroma forces my eyes to close and follow the scent. I inhale, giving into temptation, but exhale with caution. I open my eyes and she stares into mine. I should reevaluate my sanity. What am I doing? I turn back to my easel trying to cover my new addiction that needs rehabilitation.
"It's -- just some woman," I finally answer. That long walk in her garden was exquisite.
"Just some woman," she repeats with a nod and soft smile. "Is that why she doesn't have a face?"
I refrain from bursting into laughter.
"Well, I seen her before. In my dreams actually. She doesn't have a face because it was hard to
make out, but--"
I think about the short blonde haired woman in my dreams sitting at the table next to the man in the tuxedo.
"-- now I can finish it."
"Some dream, huh?"
"Yeah," I nod flexing the corner of my lips into a wrinkle. "Nightmare actually."
"Want to tell me about it?"
"You're interested in hearing?" I ask in disbelief.
"Only if you're interested in sharing," she smiles with her perfect rows of white teeth.
I can't move. Flowers bloom and her sweet scent illuminates the classroom. She brushes some of her red hair away from one of her eyes.
"Well," I begin regaining sanity. "I was on this cliff. Standing in front of these red doors. I went inside and the place looked like some mansion. Very rich with marble floors, art covered walls, a fountain, and gold railings. Then, there was this little girl I start chasing around. We get to this room and these people are at a table staring at me."
"Do you know these people?" she asks.
I shake my head.
"No," I say. "But the mansion, the people. They look familiar like -- I know I've seen them before. At least that's what it feels like."
"What happens next?" She adjusts herself in her chair listening.
"I find myself sitting at the table with them and they're celebrating -- something. The girl starts to freak about me leaving her and the next thing I know I'm pulled across the floor and sucked into darkness. I don't understand it, but it felt so real."
"That is quite some dream," she says. "So, she was one of them?"
I look at my painting.
"Yes."
"She looks pale. Almost like she's dead."
"That's how they all looked and had fangs. Hundreds of fangs with two of them much larger than the rest like some --"
"Vampire?" she finishes.
"Yeah. Vampire."
Such a thought of people being vampires is nonsense. They don't exist, but if that's who these people are, then why do I feel I've seen them before?
"So you know vampires?" she chuckles. I smile.
"Maybe or at least they know me."
I should be afraid of that.
"Want to look at my project?" She asks. "Not as good as yours nor anything from a dream, but I'm sure you can still relate."
"Sure."
I scoot closer as she makes room. I look at her painting and see strokes of green, blue, and gray.
"It's Utica," she says. "See? The Mohawk River, downtown, bike trails in the Valley, the school, houses, everything. It's all here."
"I thought I was the only one who loves it here," I say.
"Nope. I love it here too. Utica is beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you."
My heart flat lines and the world stands still. Why did I say that? I facepalm myself and my throat feels like I swallowed a jawbreaker. She stares at me speechless. Her eyes trail away and she gasps.
"Essence, I--I'm sorry, what I meant was-- I really like your painting."
"Um, thanks," she says with a weak smile. She turns back to her painting and prepares some of her brushes. Nice job, Evan. Nailed it. I can't leave everything hovering above us like this. I have to learn to control myself around her, but now, she probably wishes there was another seat in the classroom I can sit.
“So um, Essence--"
She turns back to me and I almost regret continuing a conversation.
"What do you like to do?"
"I play violin. Religiously," she chuckles.
"Really?” I say excited. “I play piano."
“Seriously?” she smiles.
“Yes. But I’ve always wanted to learn how to play another instrument. Violin would be amazing.”
"I'm sure I can teach you a thing or two. Maybe you show me piano?"
"I'm pretty sure I'll be terrible at learning violin though."
“I doubt that,” she says. “With playing piano you must be coordinated already to play an instrument. I bet you’re good with your hands.”
I blush and sink a bit in the stool.
"Well, I should probably finish this," she says. "A few more touches and I'll be done. Can you pass me some of that red?" She asks.
I look at the paint case that rests on our work station. I open the case and pull the red paint cup from its holder. I turn back to Essence to give her the paint cup and it fumbles in my hands.
"Careful!" Essence says, but it was too late. The paint spills on my hands and onto the floor.
"I'm sorry, I--" I begin to say, but then my ears begin to ring.
"Evan?" I hear her say distorted, but I cannot respond.
I look at her, and she calls again, however no sound leaves her mouth. I look at my hands and the paint looks like blood. My heart begins to race, my stomach cries with an unexplainable hunger, and my mouth salivates. What is happening?
A smell meets my nose. A metallic or copper-like smell. What I would imagine blood to smell like yet oddly appeasing. I begin to lick my fingers and my hunger intensifies.
"Evan? What are you doing?" Essence says.
I stop and look around the room. Everyone stares.
I smell paint and taste it in my mouth. Bile builds in my throat.
"Evan?" Essence says once more.
"I have to go."
I rise from my stool and hurry out of the classroom. I don't know what should I worry about more. The fact that I ate paint or the fact that if it really was blood, I liked it.
Chapter Four: Changing
I hurry down the hallway to the bathroom. My walk soon turns into a light jog, and the air becomes as suffocating as black smoke. The hunger returns. That unfamiliar hunger. Not for fruit. Not for vegetables. Not even for meat.
A crunching sound pains my head and agony leaves my mouth. I grab onto my head and fall against a locker door. It crumbles like a piece of balled up paper. I drop to my knees and try to fight this painful throbbing, but it only intensifies. I crawl on the floor, one hand on my head and the other feeling for the bathroom door. When salvation meets my hand, I fall into the bathroom trying to catch my breath. All that remains is a migraine.
A student hurries past to leave as I struggle to pull myself up using the white marble sink. I take off my glasses, place them on the sink, and turn on the faucet to drown my hands with soap and water. I watch as the red paint sloths off of my hands and swims down the drain. When the paint is gone, so is the migraine. I splash water onto my face, dry it with a paper towel, and look into the mirror. I stumble back as a horror reaps within me. My eyes are black coated, then a dim red bleeds around my pupils like the people in my dream.
"What's wrong with me?" I ask. I step closer to the mirror staring into my eyes. They glow and my eyesight appears to be perfect without my glasses. I then hear a heartbeat and listen. It begins to slow. Then stops. I place my hand onto my chest. Nothing, and my skin is as cold as ice. I feel around desperately for my heartbeat. Still, nothing.
"This isn't happening to me," I say. However, I don’t even know what is happening. I close my eyes, place my hands on my head, and pace.
"I'm dreaming. This is all just a dream. My mother will wake me up soon and all of this will be nothing, but another dream."
I stop pacing and take a deep breath before looking in the mirror. Brown eyes and blurry vision. I exhale and relax over the sink. I pray I am okay now. I grab my glasses, put them back on, and head back to class. When I walk into the classroom, everyone is gone. I had not noticed how much time I must have spent in the bathroom, but I'm sure Ms. Brooks is going to let me know.
"Evan?" She says rising from her desk.
"Ms. Brooks, I apologize. It was an emergency and won't happen again," I promise.
She studies me for a moment before nodding.
"Everything alright? Never seen you like this before, Evan," she says.
I nod.
"I hope so."
"Well, I accept your apology. You should hurry. Next class already st
arted a few minutes ago. I'll make you a pass," she assures.
I grab my books, meet her at the door, and she hands me a late pass.
"Thank you."
She smiles softly.
"You're lucky you're my best student," she smiles. "Now go. Hurry along and feel better."
"I will," I say.
~
I was in autopilot the rest of the school day. I could not focus in any of my other classes and cannot piece together what's wrong with me. What happened earlier with Cedric had been similar, but slightly different from what happened to me in Painting class. What I hate most is the impression I left on Essence. Did I scare her away? Will she ever speak to me again? I mean, would I if I was in her shoes? I shake my head. I have to apologize. I have to make it clear to her that I obviously wasn't myself. I don't want her to think I'm weird especially after eating paint in front of her.
The final bell rings and I am at my locker before most. I know if there is chance to apologize it'd be now. I'll wait until I see her go to her locker, approach her hoping I won't choke on my words again, and ask to start over. My apology cannot wait until tomorrow. It must be today.
"Evan!" Mike yells from the wave of people that start to fill the hallway. He has the biggest grin on his face. What is he up to now?
"What are you smiling about?" I ask him.
"Hmmm, let's see, I have Bianca's number and we have a date on Friday," he says.
"How'd you manage to do that?" I ask.
"I honestly winged it," he laughs. "I just talked about the party, asked about herself, school, etcetera, etcetera, and then I just -- asked."
"Nice," I clock around the hallway. No sign of her yet.
"And what about you? You make a move on Essence?" He asks.
"Yeah, I did, but it didn't go as well as you and Bianca. Kind of had a moment in class."
"What you mean?"
"Well, everything was going great. We were talking about our projects then when all that paint got on me, I blacked out and did some -- weird things. Think I scared her away."
Mike shakes his head.
"I'm sorry, Ev. Did you apologize? What'd she say?"
"That's why I'm waiting for her now. She put herself into a shell and then I ended up getting out of my chair and went to the bathroom. When I got back, class was already over.”