Vale:
“Put her in the car!” ..........
The voice was muffled and almost demonic in tone…or maybe that was how I envisioned it as I heard as a cold whip against my ear….”Finally, I’ll be rid of you for good.”
I was paralyzed by the words….by the distorted memory of my death. I cannot recall much but the physicality of it all. Or the lack there of.
I couldn’t move. I could hardly feel or even mutter a word.
“I cannot wai…..ore for you, gopher.” the words playing back were distorted and spaced out just like everything else.
Harlyn…Harlyn….please…Harlyn…
The pain that suddenly struck me, forced me up. I shot out of bed and tumbled to the floor. I shuffled back so hard, I slammed myself, back first, against the wall.
It was only once I knocked the wind out of my bloody sails that I snapped out of my hysteria and started to take deep breaths to keep myself from having a severe panic attack.
When I finally calmed down, I was drenched in sweat and my hands were shaking.
Another nightmare. Shakily, I pushed my hands through my hair, gripping against the small curls, hoping that a firm grasp of something would stop my hands from vibrating out of control.
It didn’t help. I knew that it wouldn’t.
I hopped up from the ground and paced the floor. Now the nightmare was running through my brain at hyper bloody speed and in cuts that I could not make sense of.
I could never make sense of it. It was torture.
I tried to destress, focusing on the most strenuous exercises that I could think of. It wasn’t working.
I sat down in a chair and grabbed my cello, rested it between my legs and began to play. This would usually help. Playing the strings would melt away my concerns. It always usually disintegrated my concerns…it was working.
With every chord that I struck another traumatizing and distorted memory, disappeared from my thoughts. It was working.
I continued to play. My movements becoming more aggressive and passionate. A happiness flooded me as I continued to play. A peace. Nothing matter to me anymore as I played this instrument. In the back of my mind I heard the snap of a few strings. But it was working. I kept playing.
Then it happened. The last string. It snapped.
I had no replacement. Bloody hell!
It was bound to happen. It always did.
Whenever the night terrors would start, I'd play and then I'd ruin my bow. It was a regimen at this point. One that was starting to become costly. Was it worth it?
Well, anything that would help me forget about trauma of my past was worth any amount of money to get rid of it. My only wish was that it wasn't just some temporary fix.
The fix would always be temporary. I was in a never-ending cycle of mental torture, and I could not confide in anyone. Pride, and fear wouldn't allow me to. Pride, because I didn't want anyone to see that I had a weakness; fear, because what if I did put my pride to the side and relinquish my trauma?
Someone would no doubt use it against me. Someone had already killed me once, and I just could not remember who it was. How was I to trust anyone at this point?
All of these questions. These doubts and terrors plagued my mind every single day of my life.
There were only two things that pulled me out of those doubts completely; my cello...and him.
I didn't understand why, and I would never confess this to him, but...that king. That lycan king. There was a security about him that I was just too afraid to embrace, but one nonetheless that I could not deny.
Doubts. Just numerous doubts and fears. That was all that plagued my mind on nights like this. Who am I kidding? On every night?
This was the norm for me. A traumatic stress that I could not shake.
I cursed under my breath at stubbornness and fear and tossed the now useless bow to the side and gently place my prized possession back into its casing.
The thoughts began to return. What was I going to do about it? I didn’t know what to do about it.
With every attempt to shake these thoughts, I found that I was only making things worse. How?
I quickly left the room that I was staying in. It was a nice little place a few miles off from my father’s house. Sometimes, I just needed to be away, and this small little bed and breakfast was the perfect place.
I knew that my night would be difficult. I could usually tell when those terrible choppy memories would strip me from slumber. Those were the times where I decided to stay at the bed and breakfast.
I couldn’t have my father, Merari, or maybe even Harlyn walking in on that. They could get a little wild at times and though I was sure that all of them could handle it, I certainly didn’t want to deal with the aftermath of it all. The questions, the concerned expressions. And most of all, the pity in their eyes when they saw the inescapable fear in mine.
I wore a pair of bicycle shorts, and a very lose fitting racerback tanktop and a black sports bra.
I didn’t even bother to put on a pair of tennis shoes. I simply walked out of my room, down the stairs of the bed and breakfast into the street in the cool night breeze. Then I began to walk.
I needed to think. I needed to refocus my thoughts. I needed to reassert control over the lack there of.
“Get it together, Vale. Get it together,” I continuously whispered to myself as I forced the tears that threatened to escape back.
I began to pick up my walk. It turned into a brisk pace and then gradually something more.
My feet began to slam against the ground with a purpose. One that was akin to the hope that I could run away from what I was suffering through. I just wanted to get away from it. From the memories that I failed to remember and the phantom pain of that chopped and screwed memory.
I was s uffeirng and I didn’t know how to cope with it, outside of….
“Hey, what’s good, sexy?”
It was after my run slowed into a jog as I entered predominately human territory. It was a young man. He was handsome, but I could tell that he meant me no good.
I wasn’t in the mood to play games on this night. I wasn’t in the mood to make him think that he had me hooked with his terrible pick-up line. There was only one thing that I needed from him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered to him as I made a adamant steps toward him. ‘
His bright grin gradually began to turn into striking concern. I almost turned away but my bloodlust outweighed my sympathy for his fear.
I knew by then that he saw the predatory glow in my eyes.
“I-I don’t want any trouble!” He quipped just as I took my final step toward him.
I gingerly took his cheek into my hand. “Neither do I.” I snatched his head to the side and sank my teeth in.
The gush of red liquid flowing through my lips was sweet and salty. It was succulent and addicting. I nearly bled him dry. I hadn’t realized how truly famished I was until I tasted him.
At the last possible second, I released from him. It was so hard and I was fighting tooth and bloody nail not to go back in and finish him off. But my promise to Alastair Wade rung in my ears.
I had already broken it in part. I wasn’t going to do it completely.
I licked the remaining blood that was dripping from the wound and immediately it began to heal. My eyes closed and I kissed the spot of his neck where once I had punctured his skin.
He’d need a hospital and a blood transfusion for sure. I took him to one. Glamoured a nurse into taking him in and then I left.
I was satiated now, and I feeling far better than I was before. Physically, at least. Mentally, I was nearly the same, however.
I needed a distraction. Anything.
The Moon goddess must have heard me as a small bar displayed in the distance. Maybe a drink would help.
I recalled what I was wearing, and suddenly found my hesitant to enter. “Oh, what the heck?” I murmured to myself. “I’m not going to impress someone. Just a drink.”
And let’s face it, I was on my last leg. I was desperate and at this point it was either a drink or a body.
“Drink, it is.”
With a sigh, I started toward the little bar, resigned to what I may do when I get in there.
Sure, I'd get a drink. Sure, it would even quell my stress for a moment-maybe two. But eventually, I would need that sustenance again. Soon I would find another body.
Just another normal night for me.