by Rae, Nikki
The words cut through me sharper than any blade.
“You have done enough fighting in the past few days,” Evan said.
Myles is startled when I gasp with a sudden sob, tears starting to form in the outer corners of my eyes. “Myles,” I say, my voice barely coming out.
My head is too heavy to keep it trained on him, which is fine. I’d rather look at the wall on the other side of me, but it doesn’t stay in that position long either. Instead, my skull lulls back and forth like I’m shaking my head.
He moves closer, both hands on the sides of my face now, which only makes the crying worse. God damn it, I wish I would just stop with the waterworks. I don’t deserve tears. I shouldn’t have Myles here with me, comforting me over what I did to him. To us.
“What is it?” His voice is gentle.
I don’t notice that my hands are on top of the blanket, over the aching wound that was made by his vampire.
“I. . .” I say. “And Evan. . .” The words are thick and I can't say anything more.
“Sophie,” Myles says, one of his hands on top of mine. “I know what you did.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. He can’t mean—
“I knew you were off,” he continues. “But I never thought…”
“Myles—”
“The mark isn’t healed yet,” he says quietly. “I know what he did.”
Tears trickle out, one by one. “I’m sorry,” I croak. “I just…”
“You just wanted to feel better,” Myles cuts me off again.”I get that,” he says. “You didn’t know.”
But I did. “I wanted to.”
Myles shakes his head. “He told me he persuaded you,” he insists. “I’m…” He seems to be holding himself back. “I’m angry with him right now,” he decides. “But if he hadn’t bitten you, we may have not found you in time.”
I swallow hard. “I wanted to,” I repeat.
He takes a breath and folds his hand against my face. “I know.” My eyesight is temporarily clear, and I can see him looking into my eyes. “But if he hadn’t put you at ease, especially when you were so vulnerable, you wouldn’t have done it.”
“Myles,” I say, but he cuts me off yet again.
“Look,” he says, the tone only slightly harder than it was before. “I’ve kept things from you as well. These are things we need to talk about, but not now.”
He wipes a stray tear away. “When you’re better,” he says, softer.
I swallow. “And. . .” My mind begins to swim with everything.
Michael. Boo. I was bitten? By Michael? Someone else? My phone . . . where is it? Jade. Why am I so tired? Why is my body so heavy?
“You need to rest now,” Myles says. “Everything is alright. Everyone is safe.” He takes the blanket that’s covering me and tucks it under my chin.
His hand is on my temple again. There’s tingling behind my eyes, at the base of my skull. This time, I don’t fight. I let myself sink into sleep.
***
When my eyes open again, I know I’ve been out for more than a day. I'm tired, and my head and muscles ache, but other than that, I feel better.
I’m in a small room, and the bed I’m lying in is raised off of the ground and framed in metal like a hospital bed. But the comforter is dark brown and cozy, like one in a bedroom. There’s a metal pole and some various machines.
A window is to my left, right near the bed, the dark blue shades drawn. The room appears slightly bigger when I follow the light tan linoleum to where it drops off, turning into white carpet and a small living room-like area. There’s a flat screen TV on the wall, a brown couch in front of it. As I follow the wall back around, there are two doors, and one is open, revealing a decent sized bathroom.
There are bandages all over my body. Gauze covering nearly every inch of my arms and chest. When I lift up my shirt, there’s large cotton pads taped down on my abdomen. I’m about to start peeling them off to see the damage underneath, but the door opens before I get the chance.
When I look up, Myles is there, a glass of water in his hand. He lets the door shut behind him as he quickens his step so he can set the cup on the table near the bed.
“Does it hurt?” he asks when he’s right next to me. “You shouldn’t touch that.”
Words won’t come out of my mouth, but I roll the shirt back down. Bracing my hands on either side of me, I try to sit up. and Myles is there, sitting next to me.
“Hey,” Myles says quietly. “Let me help.” He places both of his arms under my mine and leans me against the headboard.
I have to blink a few times to make the room stop spinning, then I turn and swing my legs over the bed, a dull ache in my knees and ankles as I do. My black sweatpants ride up a little, showing me more bandages. The movement causes a brief wave of nausea to wash over me, but it disappears.
I notice a needle taped to my forearm. I follow the clear tube-like material up to where it attaches to a bag that’s hung on a metal pole. The clear bag is empty, but there are traces of red liquid clinging to the plastic.
“Hospital?” My voice sounds like it doesn’t belong to me as it scrapes its way through my vocal cords.
Myles stands so he can look at me. “No. Not exactly.”
“Can you take this out?” I thrust my arm in his general direction to indicate the IV.
Kneeling down, Myles begins to peel the tape away. “We’re at Evan’s house,” he says quietly.
When he’s done taking out the needle and smoothing a Band-Aid over the spot where it was, Myles sits in a chair in front of the window, looking at me intently.
“It’s a part of Evan’s house. He once used it as a place to bring injured people.”
I give him a look that asks, why would he need to do that?
“People that Michael was hurting,” he says quietly, then suddenly asks, “how are you feeling?”
I blink three times. Swallow. Clear my throat. “I was never safe, was I?”
The look that crosses Myles’ face is the only answer I need.
He lied to me about two things: Michael being alive, and Michael wanting me dead.
I don’t know what to do with this, so I just keep talking.
“Then I feel great.” The sarcasm gets caught between a crack in my voice.
“Sophie,” Myles whispers.
“Can you please just tell me what happened?” I ask. I want to add on, without lying to me, but I don’t think I can without breaking down.
“You don’t remember?” he asks.
I remember moving instruments and equipment with Boo. Boo frozen behind the drums. Michael. Footsteps. Pain. Blackness. Then there’s nothing connecting those events to waking up here. I’m completely aware of the time lost—like I was half asleep—but I can’t recall what happened between then and now.
But there’s something else too, if I think hard enough. Sounds. The sounds of animals fighting over me, trying to grab on. But I don’t exactly remember anyone biting me.
“It’s in pieces,” I answer. “Is Boo okay?”
Myles nods. “He won’t remember.”
Just like last time.
“How can you be sure Michael won’t go after him or anyone else?” I don’t want to ask what my brain is screaming: Did he kill Stevie? Because I think I know and I can’t deal with that right now. The fact or the lie.
He runs a hand through his hair. “We have people keeping an eye on everyone.”
I gulp despite how dry my mouth is. “How long was I asleep?”
“Four days,” he says quietly.
“So why the hell did this happen?” There’s no other way I can word it to encompass everything I want to know.
“Michael does this sometimes.” He breathes in for longer than he has to. “He turns people, doesn’t feed them, and sets them loose on a human.”
I struggle to hold my head up. “Why didn’t he just kill me?”
Myles stands and cautiously takes my hand, staring at the scraped u
p fingers “We don’t know. When Evan got there, Boo and you were the only ones in the room,” he says. “Boo was unconscious and you were losing blood. . .”
“How did Evan get in without being invited?”
Myles shrugs. “You might have invited him in.”
And I don’t remember.
“I can’t.” It just leaves my mouth. Then I take my hand out of his and cover my eyes with it. “This is so screwed up.”
I hear him slowly shift his weight from leg to leg. “We’re trying to figure everything out,” he whispers.
I take a deep breath, let it out. Blink twice. I uncover my eyes and stand on my shaking legs.
Myles follows me, more anxious than he was a second ago when I was in bed. “What are you doing?” He tries to grab onto my arm, but I move out of his reach.
“I’ve been asleep for four days,” I say. “I have to pee.”
I take a few seconds to steady myself. Other than dull aching in my knees, I can hobble around just fine. I spot my black duffle bag on the floor near the nightstand.
“Are those mine?” I ask.
Myles nods.
Bending down, I grab a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Some other things of mine are in the bag: a notebook, some underwear, mostly pajamas and a few pairs of jeans.
“Are you showering too?” he asks. “You still might be too weak for that.”
I don’t answer him; instead I ask, “Where’s my phone?”
“Sophie,” he says from behind me. “Maybe you should slow down.”
I spin around to where Myles is giving me a startled look. “I’m going to need my phone if I’m going to make up some bullshit about where I went.”
Myles places his hands on both of my shoulders and I want to push him away, but I’m afraid it’ll throw me off balance.
“Maybe you should sit down,” he says.
“No. I want my phone,” I say like he can’t understand me. “I want to call Jade to tell him I’m okay.” I realize that Jade was the one that answered the phone. “He’s got to be worried.”
Myles blinks a few times. “I can’t give it to you. Not until I know that you’re safe.”
My heart pounds very hard only once, then dies down to a dull panic as a lump forms in my throat. “I can just tell him that I’m okay,” I repeat. “I called him before. He’s probably worried.” I swallow hard.
“He knows you’re alright,” Myles whispers. “He called me to ask if everything was okay.”
I cross my arms and my wrists hurt. “What did you tell him?”
He backs away from me an inch, letting go. “That you were upset about Stevie and were calling to tell him you needed some time alone.”
Before I can give him a response, he says, “I know you’re confused and angry, but it was the only way to keep everyone safe.”
“So,” I feel myself sinking to the floor, but thankfully, Myles doesn’t touch me. “I’m just supposed to stay here until what, Michael forgets that he wants to kill me?”
Myles takes a step forward, but the look I shoot him makes him retreat. “Just until we know why he let you live,” he says quietly.
Silence hangs between us for the longest minute.
“Well,” I whisper, getting to my feet again. I clear my throat so my voice will work. “I guess I’ll just take a shower then.” I grab the whole duffle bag this time, pushing past him. He doesn’t try to stop me as I lock myself in the bathroom.
I stare down at the white and blue tiled floor as I try to breathe evenly. It’s a large room with a shower in the corner. Across from it is a sink and mirror.
Taking a deep breath, I sit on the closed toilet seat next to the tub, suddenly realizing how hot I am. I strip off my sweat pants and long sleeved shirt, taking the opportunity to inspect my body as I let the water run on cold in the bath.
When I peel off the gauze on my arms, there isn’t any evidence of what I’ve been through besides a few blue threads poking out here and there, a few scabs, and a few bruises. The same can be said for my neck, chest, torso, and legs. My back has a few marks on it, but they’re all on the surface and not deep enough to ruin my wings. This is one of the only things I have to comfort me.
I throw out the pound of bandages in the basket near the sink, avoiding the mirror on purpose. I hop into the cold stream of the shower, pulling the curtain around myself like I can shut everything out with it.
Within three minutes of standing, the muscles in my arms and legs ache like I ran a marathon without warming up. But it’s nothing compared to how much my head is beginning to pound. The light bouncing off of the white tiles on the wall next to me makes my head spin, and there’s a cramp forming in my right calf. I have to brace my palm against the wall as freezing water hits me in the face and runs down my neck.
I knew this before, but I forced myself to not have time to deal with it. Myles lied to me. About Michael, about God knows what else. I’ve made mistakes too, but nothing like this. Did he do it to protect me? And if so, from what? How much good could it have done to lie about Michael wanting me dead—waiting for the right time to kill me—if he was going to do it anyway?
I think about curling up in a ball on the floor and crying for a while, but there’s no point in that. My life will still be the same whether I cry or not.
I cut the water and dry off, accidentally glancing at my reflection in the mirror. My lips are chapped and as pale as the rest of my face. There are dark circles around the green of my eyes. My neck and collarbone are purple and black, and it hurts when I touch it. I really don’t want to think about how the marks got there, or anywhere else, so I settle on changing into a new pair of pajamas.
I throw on a plain black bra and underwear, then my jeans, along with a grey Misfits tank top that used to be a shirt, but I cut the arms off and the neck out when I was in middle school. Jesus. Did Myles bring all of my clothes from my apartment? How long does he think I’ll be here? Maybe I don’t want to know.
Before I can dwell on that any longer, I find a toothbrush, still in its packaging, sitting on the sink, so I squirt some toothpaste onto it and brush my teeth. When I lean over to spit, the cramp in my calf moves to my shin, turning into a full on spasm, and my right leg gives out.
Unraveling
Chapter 15
“The saddest thing is all of this could have been avoided.”—Gotye
I wake up in the same bed I was in before with my shin on fire, but I can’t move. My brain is foggy, and one look at my arm tells me why. The IV’s back; the liquid pouring into me is now clear. I try to pick up my head, but that only makes my entire body shake. Phyllis is in the room with me, sitting in the chair near the bed.
“Now don’t try moving, sweetie,” she says. She’s wearing a sundress and flip flops.
I want to ask what’s going on, but I can’t get words out of my mouth.
“If you just lie still, the medicine will start working.”
My cheeks are wet. I’m crying again.
I hear Myles, somewhere in living room area. I can’t lift my head enough to see him.
“I know. Yes.” He must be on phone. “Hurry.”
I’m beginning to drift off again when a shooting pain jolts from my calf to my kneecap. I can’t help whimpering and crying like an infant; it’s that bad.
Phyllis is on her feet, moving toward the IV stand and fiddling with something near it.
Myles moves too fast for me to see, coming to stand at Phyllis’ side.
He sits down carefully, touching my face. I welcome the small comfort.
“It’s okay,” he says.
I try to sit up again to see my leg. The blanket feels like a ten pound weight. “What’s going on?” I struggle to say as he tries to get me to be still by pushing my shoulders down into the mattress.
“I gave her more morphine,” Phyllis says, “but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“It’s okay,” he repeats, his eyes fixed on me. “It should soon.”
<
br /> Well that explains nothing, and I feel like punching him as I tell him so, but a new, more intense pain rolls through my shin to my ankle. This time, I start screaming.
Myles leaves my side for a second and the blanket moves. The moment it slips off, my leg feels less tight and heavy. Then he rips my jeans to above my knee, the sound cutting through everything. The cramping finally subsides. I try to look down to see if there’s some kind of mark or something, but I can’t lift my head enough.
“Is that a little better?” Myles’ voice is soft.
I nod. He kneels down so our heads are on the same level and he strokes my hair. I turn to look at him. “Please tell me what’s going on.” My voice comes out in a breathless blur.
“We’re not sure,” he says, grabbing hold of my hand. I’m starting to feel tired and the pain is turning into more of a dull throb. “Evan’s going to help.”
I gulp, waiting for him to continue, staring at him as my eyelids are getting heavier.
“We have to take the stitches out to see what’s going on. It’s going to be okay.” Myles brushes damp hair from my forehead.
“What?”
“It’s alright,” Phyllis joins in.
I drift off for minutes or hours, thankful that I don’t have to be awake for a while. That is, until the pain comes rushing back into my leg.
I wake up crying, whimpering, as the searing, hot bolt jabs into me.
Myles is holding my arms down once again, standing to the side of me. “It’s okay,” he repeats.
Phyllis is gone, replaced by Evan.
“How long?” I hear him say. He takes the seat near the bed and unceremoniously removes what I can see is a now blood soaked pad of gauze from my shin.
“About an hour, but it’s not constant,” Myles answers. His hands have a firm grip on me. It isn’t painful, just frustrating. “But she’s been out for at least four days,” he continues when I can’t move anymore. “If it’s in there, it’s been in there since you found her.”
Wait. Hold on a second.
“What?” I ask breathlessly. “What the hell are you talking about?” My voice becomes fractionally stronger as the pain dulls.