Limerence (29 page)

My lips purse, not allowing a sound to escape them, not a breath to enter them. I know once something enters my senses, the pain will destroy me.because then I’ll have to admit that Ollie is gone, and I am alone with this monster. Silence encompasses me, stillness and emptiness wrapping themselves around me like a protective blanket, and I brace myself as my muscles began to ache from the strain. Every one of them taut against themselves, waiting.

I feel Robert coming closer. He is being cautious, but knows he has nothing to fear from me. I am strong, but I will never be as strong as he is. His shadow falls over me, as he stands above, contemplating his next move—my next move, even. I can feel his rage. He isn’t finished with his fury. He still has lessons to teach.

“You will never be mine, will you Mia?” His voice is empty as he reaches down for me. In that one moment, I let everything go.

I breathe. I see. I hear. I feel. I dive for him as a sledgehammer of pain hits me, turning me inside out.

He’s gone. Oliver is gone, forever.

I grip his hard torso with my legs and arms, wrapping myself round him like a limpet on a stone, and bite down. Snapping my jaw into place, I shake my head from side to side like a savage dog. I release the beast that lives within me and I rip a huge lump of flesh from his shoulder. He screams and his vile blood fills my mouth; I feel its sticky warmth splattering my face and body and trickling down my throat. He shrieks out in pain and tries to grab me off him, but I roar with vengeance. Every ounce of my being holds on to him, biting and snapping, pulling and tearing. I am blind with the agony of losing Oliver again.

I will never see him again.

My beautiful Oliver.

He is gone
.

The anger falls from me as suddenly as it had come, when I realise that I truly will never see him again. I drop like a rock to the floor.

I cry out in sorrow. I don’t feel the kick to my stomach, or when he punches my face, making my jaw crack and my lip bleed. He picks me up with a warlike cry and throws me through the air, and I smash through the wall on the opposite side of the room. The stone crumbles around me. I don’t have time to contemplate my injuries as his hand grips my hair and drags me through the hole my body just made. My body bumps and scrapes against the rubble and dirt, and I collapse out the other side. I open my eyes back up with some resistance, my lids sticky with blood tears.

Robert’s face looks down on me, his shoulders slumped in resignation. His eyes are unfocused and his tears match mine, his chin trembling.

“I’m not used to coming second, Mia. I’m a very sore loser.”

I snort my indignation at him. Pain shoots through my side and I flinch.

He’s shaking his head at me. “You will never love me, will you, Mia?” I barely hear him say it. But I do.

Even as the pain rattles in me, I shake my head. “Never.” Blood pools in my mouth, and I spit it into his face. He doesn’t flinch, but stays poised in his position, rocking back on his heels as the blood spit trails down his face.

A quivering breath leaves his mouth as he stands. He looks both ways, clearly surmising what to do next, before reaching down and gripping me by my hair. I scream out loudly from the pain. My hair tearing from the scalp as he drags me down the hallway, streaks of blood leaving a trail of red behind us.

He yanks hard, and when my hair snaps from the roots, he grips another handful of it. His strength is returning, and I pray he is going to kill me soon. It doesn’t matter how—I don’t care. I just want to see Oliver again. Waves of grief wash over me like the tide on the beach, destroying everything in their path. I think I might lose my mind with the hopeless pain of it all.

I am crying. I hadn’t realised I was crying. Great sobs escape me, wracking my body.

Robert stops pulling and reaches down to me. He lifts me swiftly and throws me over his shoulder. He has healed already, but the blood colours his upper body. We are in the kitchen, and I loll uselessly over his shoulder, still crying. My red tears leave an imprint of grief behind us.

He flings me and I hit the inside of the huge chimney that stands against the main wall in the kitchen. The sound of my bones cracking echoes loudly in the hollow space, and I flinch from both the pain, and the sound. Soot and ash fall down from above and cover me, sticking to my wet cheeks and my clothes where his blood has soaked through to me. I sit up, looking around for him. I hear crashing and breaking, but can’t see him anywhere. I shake violently, clasping my knees towards me. My mind races with the same frantic name on a loop.

Oliver, Oliver, Oliver
.

Robert is unexpectedly in front of me, his arms loaded with wood. Bits of chairs and tables, from what I can make out. He stares in at me blankly, his eyes still ringed with red. My arms hug around myself and my sobs descend into nothing. The tears still trail silently down my cheeks. There is a moment of understanding between us as our eyes meet and we see each other’s torture, the pain that we are causing one another.

The agony of losing Oliver again is too much to live with, and I welcome death to make the pain go away. Perhaps I might just see him one more time.

Mr Breckt’s infuriation is that his constant endeavours to make me want him have failed time and time again. His own narcissism is his downfall. I will never love him. He won’t even be a close second to Oliver, and he can’t live with that one simple fact.

He wishes for death. As do I. He knows this, and he’s going to take me with him. I embrace his final gift to me.

Death.

He throws the wood into the fireplace. It crashes around my feet, but I stand unmoving. He turns away from me, going back to wherever he had been a moment ago. He is going to burn me to death; he is going to kill us both. I am not even fearful of such a horrendous death. I cannot imagine anything more painful than having to live without Oliver.

A smile flicks at the corners of my mouth, and I breathe in. I don’t care. Soon it will all be over, that is all that matters to me. I know that I should be petrified, but a sudden calmness has enveloped me. Its warmness caresses my mind. I rub the tears from my eyes in satisfaction.

He returns with another armful of firewood, launching them in at my feet again. We look at each other. He is waiting to see some sort of remorse in my actions, to see me beg and plead for my life. To promise to be his faithfully for all eternity.

I raise my chin in defiance. “Never. I will never be yours. Ever.”

My eyes narrow at him. I know he feels my hatred for him. I watch him pour a liquid around our feet—it smells like lighter fluid or something similar. I smile as he steps inside the fireplace and abruptly lights a match, dropping it at our feet. With a great gust, the wood ignites and flames erupt around our feet.

A banging booms from somewhere within the house and I try to place a memory with the sound, but nothing comes. It is getting closer, but so are the flames. They lick up the side of the walls, scorching our feet and ankles. A quell a sob in my throat. I will not cry.

His arms close in tight around me, holding me firmly to him.
So this is it. This is the end. If he can’t have me in life, he would take me in his death.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not sure whether my soul is damned or not, but surely wherever I go after this life, Oliver will be there waiting. Surely that piece of justice will be done. And at least Robert will be dead.

I smile at the thought. Yes, his death is all that matters right now. The flames begin to burn up my legs, and I want to scream out. The heat is wrapping itself around us. Melting us together. I feel his shoulders heaving as he sobs against me. I hope it is because of fear. I can only pray. The pain is worth it if he receives my retribution.

The banging is louder now, and I can hear yelling, and shouting. But the flames are high, and so hot, and I can’t contain my chokes from the grey smoke as it enters my lung.

I can feel my skin melting away from me, the smell of my hair burning. He grips me tighter, searching for comfort.

“My Mia.” His lips kiss the top of my head as the flames caress the side of my face. I shudder and try to pull away from his touch. “Mine,” he whispers hoarsely.

I look at his face. Red tears stream down it. Flames silhouette him as the fire burns away his hair. I realise that his death—our death—is close. I smile, my lips splitting even more painfully when I do. Shame clings to his features.

“Never,” I snarl.

His face crumples in self-pity. The flames engulf us both in a burst of heat, and a scream erupts from me. My skin blisters and bubbles, the lesions bursting upon contact with more heat. I recoil and pull away from him, his arms too burnt now to hold on to me, and he cries out. The fire crackles and pops around us. Oranges and reds come alive as the flames leap higher, until they are far above me, reaching up into the chimney-breast. Our soulless bodies are engulfed by the golden glow of the fire. The inferno is all the more impressive because of our inflamed dead bodies.

Hands gruffly grip the tops of my arms, and I screech at their contact. They pull me from the flames, and powder and blankets are thrown over me. Limbs snap, screams erupt, but it’s too late. The pain is inconsequential. Everything blurs, my hearing from my left ear has gone. What’s left of my skin sticks to everything it touches, diseased and melting.

A scream echoes savagely in the background. I think it’s me. I close my eyes to it all, and pray to die.

*

There are plastic sheets underneath me. I feel my skin sticking to them when I move, the skin slowly peeling away from my body. I pause in my movements, my body humming with pain. I sting and burn everywhere.

I’m burnt from head to toe, I presume, since the pain is radiating from every part of me. I look through hazy, unfocused eyes, and know my body is trying to heal itself. Knitting itself back together as if nothing has happened.

I want to scream—to cry and shout out—but my voice won’t come to me when I try. Just a strangled noise gargles in my throat. The world blurs around me as my eyes close and then open back up sluggishly. My eyelids are gluey and transparent when I move them.

A distorted face hovers above mine. “It’s time. She’s nearly awake.”

A hand paws at my face. It turns my head painfully from side to side, examining me. I can smell again, although only faintly. Something smells strange. Like burnt meat from a barbeque. I realise with horror that it’s me. The smell is burnt hair and flesh. My senses tingle when a door opens and closes, and a breeze wafts over me, sending fresh agony across my healing wounds. Footsteps retreat, and the hand lets go of my face.

“So close, sweetheart. So damn close.” The voice rings in my ears unbearably loud and I close my eyes to the pain, opening them once I realise it makes no difference. I turn my attention to begging them to focus properly. I push myself up with useless arms, and then collapse back down flat. There is no strength in my body; it feels like it has been sucked dry of all its strength. My bones feel like dry twigs, weak and brittle.

I have a vague memory of being pulled from the fire, but I was alight by then. I had felt the flesh on my face crackling as the flames licked higher, my hair ablaze around me, the skin on my back peeling and sliding away. I couldn’t survive that, could I? Because if I could—then so could Robert, I realise with anger. My throat cracks as I try to use my voice again.

A door opens and closes and footsteps come closer to me.

“Everything ready?” A voice speaks softly above me.

A shuffle, but no reply.

What now?
What more can they do to me? Take from me? Beat from me?

My fangs unsheathe unexpectedly as the smell of blood fills my senses. A faint whimpering from someone, a crack, and then silence.

“Mmmm, yummy.” The voice is still too loud, still too tinny in my head. But then none of that matters as warmth spreads over my body and blood fills my mouth. My teeth snap unwillingly as they try to find purchase onto something—the flesh of a neck, a wrist. Anything at all. I gulp greedily on the never-ending liquid, my body repairing itself with each swallow. My ears stop ringing, my sight is clearing, and my smell is sharpening. I feel what little is left of my skin, which hasn’t already repaired itself, knitting back together. A tingling passes over me as my flesh is healed and revitalised.

And still I swallow, gulping in as much of this life-blood as possible, my teeth still finding no presence. My arms reach out to hold something, but find nothing. The liquid seems to be raining down on me from the heavens. I bath myself in the blood as it cascades out of my mouth, unable to be swallowed quickly enough. I sigh as the warmth spreads between my thighs, across my stomach, and over my breasts. My hands massage it into my skin, like a thick moisturiser. My lips greedily lick away the last drops of this life as the flow recedes to a drip, and then to nothing.

“Go tell the Queen, she’s ready.” A male voice, edged in anger.

“Do not damage her, she is not ours!” a female voice shoots back as it retreats.

The footsteps leave the room. I open my eyes and focus. Everything is so bright, so sharp and clear. The smell of blood is rich in my nose. I suck on my fingers, like a child with an ice-lolly.

I look around and see that I am still in the large kitchen. The walls and floor are splattered with blood and ash. I see the body of a girl next to me. But I don’t care. There is only one thought that holds precedent in my mind.

I hope that he’s dead. I hope that it was painful, and he suffered. I saw his face moments before I had closed my eyes; he was a broken man, his heart crushed. I hope he’s burning in hell now. I rub a hand over my face, and grimace. My skin is still too sensitive, and painful to touch, and I pull my hands away.

Donovan is standing, leaning against the wall. He watches me, but doesn’t move. I look away but feel his eyes continuing to bore into my skull.

“What?” I look back at him. He’s still expressionless. “I said
what
? Why are you staring at me?” My words catch in my throat. It’s still irritable and dry.

I push myself up harder, forcing my body to sit, and then stand. I sway- the room spinning wickedly. My movements are ungraceful- like a lamb standing for the very first time. Donovan throws a blanket to me, and I cover my body with it. Raising my chin in the air, I force myself to meet his gaze.

I have no fear of him. I don’t fear anything anymore. My teeth grind together tightly, and I’m about to say something else to the brute when sounds in the corridor alert me that something or someone is coming.

The door swings open widely as Ava enters. She stands to one side, holding it in place. The air grows colder the skin on my arms tightening, the hairs rising. There is no sound of footsteps, nothing to make me aware of her presence, but I know she is here.

Ava bows her head, and I look to Donovan and see him doing the same. I consider for a moment that perhaps I should do it also, but then I don’t. Why would I? She’s not my queen. I owe her nothing.

She enters. Her movements fluid and graceful. She is both beautiful and hideous at the same time. I take in her image as she takes in mine.

She narrows her opal-coloured, elongated eyes at me. Her skin is like polished marble, glistening as if damp. Her dress is tight, and pearlescent, split to the thigh. Her hair, pure white, is tied high upon her head.

I feel pathetic stood in front of her, a blanket covering my pink, raw skin. I brush a hand through my hair, suddenly nervous. It feels short and rough—dirty, even—but as my fingers trail the ends, I feel my scalp twitching and it begins to grow. Steadily, faster and faster, until I feel its soft tips stroke gently down my back. I should be anxious, but I only feel anger now. I don’t care that I am alive, or that my hair is pretty. I don’t care that I have healed. I didn’t want to heal.

I wanted to die!

“Finally we meet, Mia.” Her voice is soft, and melodious. She moves towards me, stopping just short of arm’s reach.

“You say that like it’s a good thing,” I huff.

She smiles, her head tilting to one side as she continues to watch me.

“Stop staring at me.”

Her smile widens, but there is nothing genuine in it. She walks around me, looking me up and down. I feel even more paranoid now.

“What? What are you looking at?” I snap, my anger rising by her nonchalance. I watch Ava and Donovan move towards me.

The Queen breathes deeply, shaking her head lightly at them. One hand sits delicately on her hip. “You’re very beautiful.” Her words are cool. She reaches out a hand to touch my hair, but I shrug away from it.

“Don’t touch me.” I look to Ava and Donovan. “Any of you.”

The Queen eyes Ava and Donovan up herself, turning to each of them and watching their reaction to me. Apparently satisfied, she returns her gaze back to me.

“How was the blood, Mia?”

“Fine. I would have preferred you let me die though.”

“Really? Is that what you want? To die?” Her voice is hollow.

“Yes. That’s all I want. Is that too much to ask for, or are you going to torture me some more?” I pull the blanket round me further.

Donovan steps forward to say something, but the Queen holds up her hand to hush him, and he returns to his original position. I notice then how her movements are stiff. Her joins not moving as they should, her face almost hard.

She raises an eyebrow. “Torture you?”

A sigh leaves my throat heavily in response. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve taken everything from me.” I gulp as her eyes narrow once again at me.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Well no, not you, but…Mr Breckt.”

She laughs, a high-pitched, shrilling laugh, which reverberates around the room and makes the others and me jump unexpectedly.

“You mean Robert?”

“Yes, I guess so. He works for you though. So this is still…” My words die out. “Your fault.” I add quietly as her laughter ceases.

“I suspect you’re right, Mia. He does work for me, as you said. So this mess is therefore mine to clear up.” She tuts with a click of her tongue but I can see the action is difficult for her.

She circles me again. She has no aura. I look to the other vampires and see that theirs are present. That part of me is finally back to normal. I’m not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. It’s very distracting.

I search my head for any signs of Oliver, but there is nothing. He has gone. He has finally gone. My anger leaves me. I feel hollow, the world muffled. There is a cavernous gap where my heart should be. It will never be filled again. I crumble to my knees in front of her, my blanket falling from my shoulders.