Burn

by Addison Moore

  Shit!

  My flesh burns as I try to process what the hell just happened. I bite down hard on the hand slipping inside my mouth.

  I’m lifted and pushed. A hard shove lands me face down in Marshall’s entry and the door slams shut behind me.

  I let out a guttural groan in lieu of a scream. My head spins with panic and a strong jolt of nausea rolls through me.

  My blood sprays out like a violent splat of paint against the white marble floor.

  I’m going to die.

  I try to crawl up on all fours, but my hands slide out from under me, slipping in the never-ending torrent of red streaming from my throat.

  Can’t breathe.

  Oh shit.

  Chapter Six

  Breathing Lessons

  Stark white walls are littered with my crimson fingerprints. A trail of thick red gloss runs all over my clothes, my hair—blurring my vision. I swing violently at the vases covering the sofa table, listen to them smash as they hit the floor in order to get Marshall’s attention. The tiniest breath escapes me, igniting a sizzle of electric pain in my throat. I thrash wildly, knocking over a bench in the entry, plucking the mirror off the wall and smashing it to pieces against the grand piano. Only seconds remain before blacking out becomes a real possibility.

  The world spins, the room turns a filtered shade of grey. From the back window I can see Marshall examining Brielle’s hand and I pound erratically against the glass. His head turns sharply in my direction as he begins to sprint back over to the house. A look of intense worry crosses his face. The hard line of his jaw defines itself as he exerts himself to get to me. Suddenly it feels safe to melt into a black unconsciousness.

  “Skyla!” He shouts my name loud as a gunshot, louder than any human voice is capable of, I’m sure.

  I feel him scoop me up off the rug and jostle me across the room—many rooms.

  “Stay with me!” He commands.

  Brielle screams from somewhere in the distance.

  “Call Dr. Oliver,” he booms over to her.

  “It’s superficial. You’ll be fine,” he snaps as though he were angry.

  The back of my head clunks down abruptly on a hard surface. My eyes struggle to briefly analyze the surroundings—kitchen counter—island to be exact.

  Can’t breathe. Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I flex my hand just above my throat wildly. I sit up, and hit my head on a pot dangling from above.

  “Relax,” he barks, throwing down the copper pans that hang from the ceiling in a clanging fit of frustration.

  The white-hot sting of the incision dances all the way across my neck as I try to take a breath. I clutch up at his chest and wrench his shirt in knots to get my point across.

  “You can’t breathe.” It comes out calm. He reaches over me and snatches up something metallic, then picks up a plastic cup the size of a small bucket with a fat blue straw sticking out of it. “I’m going to cut you now.” He pins my arms down with one hand and fondles my neck just below where I was sliced. “Easy.”

  I try to fight him, but it’s like having a tractor lay over you. Lucky for the both of us he feels good to the touch. His soothing vibrations radiate through me and I end up clutching onto him rather than letting go.

  A quick stab of pain flashes through me, forcing me to open my eyes.

  He plunges the knife into my throat one more time and gives a quick smile of relief.

  “There.” He removes the blade and plucks the cobalt straw from out of the drink. A trail of brown liquid dispenses before he injects the straw into my neck. “Breathe, Skyla,” he demands. “Right now, breathe.”

  I take in a breath—a ragged, feeble, interrupted breath, but a breath nonetheless full of sweet, sweet air. I clutch at his shirt again, and my lips curve in approval.

  “Oh my, God!” Brielle screams so loud that the entire kitchen vibrates with her shrill cry.

  “This isn’t for you, leave the room,” he says with relaxed authority.

  Gage appears in the kitchen.

  “Shit!” He stumbles backwards. His face bleaches white as paper. I flail my bloodied hand out to grasp him. I want Gage to hold me, tell me everything is going to be alright as I lay here breathing through a fat, blue, straw, sticking erect from the center of my neck.

  He steadies himself against the counter before turning and retching into the skink. A river of brown vomit spurts out of him causing me to dart my eyes back towards Marshall.

  Dr. Oliver and Logan burst into the room. Dr. Oliver with his warm apathetic smile, Logan with his eyes rounded out in horror.

  Logan comes up alongside of me and gently wipes the hair off my forehead.

  “It’s going to be OK,” he whispers directly into my ear. I close my eyes briefly and let his voice wash over me.

  “It looked superficial, and the girls insisted I call you,” Marshall explains. “Brielle mentioned Skyla hates hospitals.”

  I look over at him, standing there with his hands waving through the air as though it were true. I had never told Marshall anything about hating hospitals before, had I?

  “How’s your breathing?” Dr. Oliver twitches a flashlight over my eyes.

  I try to nod, but can’t bear the pain.

  Logan clasps his hand over mine. Do you want to go to the hospital?

  Thank God for Logan. I can hear anyone telepathically if I touch them, but he’s the only one who can hear me speak in return.

  Not if I don’t have to.

  “She says no.”

  I need Marshall to touch me.

  Logan compresses his lips. “Mr. Dudley, I think maybe it would help if you held her other hand.” He increases his grip as he says it.

  “Done.” Marshall glides over with pride and picks up my injured finger. “This too.” He holds it out for everyone to see.

  “Good Lord, Skyla. What the hell happened?” Dr. Oliver plucks bottles of ointment, gloves, and an array of tools from out of his giant black bag of tricks.

  You can’t let on that you know Marshall’s a Sector, I say to Logan in a mild panic. That will drag this day into a whole other direction for me.

  Marshall threatened to capture me if I told. Of course I told, but Marshall’s the last person who should be in on that secret.

  I won’t say a word. Logan looks to his uncle. “No use in asking her questions. You’re only going to frustrate her.” He returns his attention back to me. “I’ll get you something to write on later.”

  Marshall squeezes my hand ever so slightly.

  Fantastic, Marshall marvels. Logan thinks that I don’t know he’s a Celestra. Go ahead and converse with him all you want. I’ll play dumb.

  I squint over at him. It hurts to move even a micro millimeter. Not even Marshall’s good vibrations are enough to quell this dull burning pain.

  “I don’t have the proper filament. All I have is black and it’s going to stick out like a sore thumb against your ivory skin,” Dr. Oliver says adjusting a spool of thread.

  I look up in time to see a fat silver needle catch the light.

  Oh God. A shiver runs through me and suddenly I have the urge to bolt.

  He threads it with what looks like the thickest black chord known to man—a rope.

  “I’m going to stitch you up now,” Dr. Oliver announces.

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  Chapter Seven

  Out and About

  Good thing Halloween is coming up.

  I admire myself in the mirror while convalescing on the Oliver’s couch. A row of uneven x’s scissor across my neck in a very distinct Frankenstein-like fashion.

  Dr. Oliver left to take Brielle home—Brielle who herself couldn’t breathe due to the trauma. Speaking of breathing, Dr. Oliver removed the straw from my neck and coaxed me into taking slow deep breaths on my own. After I stopped inhaling my own blood and choking, everything was fine—everything but my voice.

  I feel like I’ve run a marathon. I squeeze Logan�
�s hand.

  “You lost a ton of blood.”

  Gage sits next to me. “I want to talk to her too.” He picks up my other hand and gives a weak smile.

  “What’s that Skyla?” Logan exaggerates his tone. “You don’t want to speak to Gage? You wish he would disappear forever?” A sarcastic smile slides up the side of his cheek.

  “Very funny,” Gage shakes his head over at him, before directing his attention back to me. Don’t listen to him he’s an idiot.

  “I can hear you, too.” Logan shoots daggers at Gage. “See?” He holds up my hand. “We’re all connected.”

  Enough. I glare at the two of them momentarily. Who the hell slit my throat?

  “Skyla wants to know what the hell you’re still doing here.” Logan restrains a wicked grin.

  Gage shakes his head over at him. I know you’re not thinking those things. There’s a gentleness in his eyes and it warms me. I’m gonna run up and take a quick shower. I’ll be right back. I don’t want Logan upsetting you anymore than he has. He glares over at him before heading upstairs.

  “She says, she’s glad you’re gone,” he shouts up after him.

  You’re not funny, I say.

  Logan’s features smooth out. He relaxes into a calm, measured nod. I apologize.

  So did Gage have a certain conversation with you? I have an inkling.

  Logan glances around with a heavy gaze.

  I’m sorry I ever suggested he be with you. Does that make me selfish? There’s a genuine sadness in his eyes.

  Why would that make you selfish? You did it to protect me. I lean into his shoulder. It feels good to be here, safe at the Oliver’s.

  He picks up my hand and kisses my bandaged finger. And now look at you.

  Did you give the book back to Ellis? I’m dying to know what names graced the pages of that bloated roll call of Counts.

  He nods. Walked it across the street that next morning.

  So I guess now we know who to slaughter. I give a weak playful smile.

  We’re not killing. The goal is not to kill, he counters.

  Reality check. I point up to my throat. I will kill whoever or whatever I have to, not to breathe through a straw like that again. And by the way, I think they have a lot worse planned for me. I’ll kill them by the heard if I have to—for you and for me.

  And what about for us? His features soften. Am I losing you?

  My mouth falls open at the thought. Before I can formulate anything coherent to say, he adds, Well, then, his amber eyes light up like flames. I’ll have to get you back.

  ***

  Logan’s Aunt Emma helps me wash off the blood that’s already rusted onto my body. She loans me a pink and red scarf, carefully wrapping it around my neck just before Gage drives me home.

  This can’t go well. My Mom and Tad are going to freak if they see what’s under this scarf.

  I shoot Gage a look of discontent as we head through the front door.

  “Here he is,” Tad balks as he passes us on the way upstairs. “Someone warn the refrigerator.”

  Only once has he ever seen Gage get anything from the fridge, and on that day it was a water bottle. Water. Tad’s so cheap he can’t share water.

  My mother rushes up after him.

  “Hey you two.” She speeds past us in a tizzy.

  “You mind if we study up in Skyla’s room?” Gage calls after her.

  I can’t believe how brazen he is. Of course she’s going to mind, she—

  “Nope. I trust you.” And with that, she’s out of sight.

  My father would have answered with the blast of a shotgun.

  Gage helps me upstairs and I briskly shut and lock my door in the event my mother’s sanity decides to restore itself.

  I grab a notepad and a pen and make myself comfy on the bed with Gage slouching down next to me.

  They’re going to rut. I spell out.

  “Nice.” He folds his hands. “Should we?”

  No.

  He shakes his head slightly while brushing his thumb up against my cheek. “I know.” He presses his lips together. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

  I’m glad you’re here. Which reminds me, this was once Chloe’s bedroom and the fact she oddly named Gage as the love of her life still confuses the hell out of me. You ever kiss Chloe? I scrawl across the page.

  He squints in to read it as though it were written in some foreign language.

  “Nope.” His cheeks turn pink as he answers.

  I drop the pen and take up his hand, press it against my lips. There’s definitely something developing here, a progression, something linear pulling me towards Gage. I wish I didn’t feel it. I wish I didn’t make Logan feel like he had to do something to win me back because he still has me so completely, and I wonder how it could be that my heart has found itself strangely settled in two places at once.

  Gage penetrates me with those crystalline blue eyes. He wishes he could read my thoughts as easily as Logan. But it’s my face that says it all. He leans in and presses a soft kiss against my forehead. I think he already knows my heart is lying in two very distinct pieces.

  Chapter Eight

  Read On

  I plan on spending all of Sunday in bed losing myself in Chloe’s diary. With my newfound sore throat, Mom pretty much agreed I should stay under the covers and simultaneously ignored me all morning. Instead of plying me with hot tea and soup, like old Mom would have done, she’s busy holing up in her room coupling with Tad like some baby hungry cougar.

  July 5th,

  This is going to be tougher than I thought. It’s like Gage repels from me the minute I stand beside him. It’s really starting to irritate me, so I let Ellis slobber all over me in order to fill him with regret.

  I took Ellis on a light drive after. Ellis is like a good little pet, always around when I need him. Too bad I’m not into Ellis. That would make life so much easier in a way, but then, it would suck the fun out of everything too.

  I don’t know. I haven’t really ever had my feelings reciprocated. It’s usually me using somebody or somebody using me. I guess you could say I’m unlucky in love. It sort of seems to be this scary theme in my life.

  Speaking of scary, I told Lexy I can’t deal with Michelle anymore. You would have thought I pushed her in a pool of piranhas the way she freaked out. It’s not like losing Logan is going to restructure the landscape of her world. She was never in his league to begin with. So, I told her he was just being nice by hanging out with her. I told her he probably felt sorry for her and couldn’t figure out how to ditch her so he just went with it. That’s when she slapped me. Yes. Let the record show, Lexy Bakova sealed her own fate by whacking me with an open hand in the Oliver’s living room right in front of Gage.

  Of course I didn’t retaliate. I have something far more interesting in mind.

  After the dust settled, Michelle started to arm wrestle with Logan in the backyard, which by the way evolved to include their entire half clothed bodies. Leave it to Michelle to do something like that right in front of Lex.

  I took Lexy and left. I told her I felt really bad and would do anything to restore our “friendship”. So of course she suggested I help her get Logan back.

  You should have seen her, all red with snot dripping down her face, complete with heartbroken tears! I wish I had taken a picture. I’d love to throw darts through her snot riddled face any day, or better yet plaster it all over the walls at West. Anyway, she landed right where I wanted her. I made her promise she’d teach me how to bind Fems without lifting a finger. And she pinky swore she’d do it.

  I can’t believe Lexy knows about Fems—about binding Fems, which I didn’t even know was possible. That must mean Lexy is one of them—us, whatever. What if she’s Celestra like Chloe and I, like Logan? Maybe that’s what attracted her to Logan?

  July 6th,

  Brushed my teeth.

  July 7th,

  Found Ellis and some girl from East in a
closet at his party tonight. It actually bothered me to see him with someone else. Isn’t that weird? I totally thought I didn’t care about him. Funny how life surprises you that way. I told him, if he didn’t hook up with her, I’d have a treat for him later. He totally thought it was light driving, which I think is quickly becoming one of his many addictions. Anyway, I gave him instructions on how to come through the room in my attic and let himself into my bedroom. I padlocked the door like a Fem was on the other side and let him have his way with me for hours.

  I still can’t believe I did it. It feels strange knowing I’ll never get something like that back, but then again it’s over and I don’t have to think about it. Plus, it was with Ellis Stoner Harrison, which I don’t think really counts. Get it? He’s a Count? He’s really just a twerp.

  July 8th,

  Totally regret letting Ellis violate my body that way. At the beach today, he panted by my side all day long. When I showed up at Devil’s Peak to hang out, he brought me flowers! It made me want to jump off the cliff.

  Obviously sleeping with Ellis has sent the wrong message. Plus, it depressed the hell out of me because no matter how hard I pretended—he didn’t magically morph into Gage. Now I’m probably going to have some Count slash Celestra lovechild because I was too freaking stupid to use protection!!! I swear, I never thought I’d be as stupid as Carly baby-mama-Foster.

  So I spent the rest of the night blubbering in a corner to Emily. Honestly, she’s like my only one true friend.

  July 28th,

  OK, so I’ve let Ellis in a bunch more times. After I got my period and stopped jumping up and down like an idiot who just won some sort of ovulation lottery, I decided that being with Ellis could happen again so long as he brought the proper gear.

  Em hacked off all her long black hair today! She totally looks like a guy now, but it’s sort of my fault because I encouraged her to do it. That’s what friends are for, right?