The Sweetest Kill: A Young Adult Paranormal (6 page)

His pale hand wraps around my neck and I let out a gasp as it tightens around my throat. My whole body is shaking, but I don’t look away from his eyes. I don’t know why I do it. But, I figure it comes from the last reserve of whatever courage I may have left in me. Closing my eyes, I slowly angle my head away from him, offering him my neck.

Just do it, I plead to him in my head, Just do it now.

Suddenly he’s gone. I slump to the dirty ground in a heap, with my heart hammering in my chest and my throat feeling a little bruised. I look around the alley but there’s no trace of him. Tears begin to build up in my eyes, as I cover my mouth to stop a building sob from escaping. I don’t know if it’s in relief or agony that he didn’t kill me, but the tears are unstoppable once it starts.

After a few minutes of this, I steady myself against the wall as I get to my feet. Wiping my damp cheeks with the palms of my hands, I’m down to just tentative breathes. I stumble closer to the mouth of the alley and look around the scene. As I begin to speed walk back into the crowd, I wonder what stopped him from killing me.

Maybe he wasn’t interested in you
, the uncharitable part of my brain retorts.

Maybe he wasn’t. I don’t know and to be honest I don’t want to know. This was a stupid idea anyway and considering my reaction when faced with the reality of it, it wasn’t for me. Wrapping my arms around myself, I start walking home without my coat, heartbroken, and without a shred of dignity left.

Pedigree

I lay my head against the cool taxi window, as the city’s sights pass by. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept very well since the incident with Lawrence, and now, fang toothed blood drinkers have been added to the nightmare mix. The only concept of a vampire I have is the western version. Ridiculous eastern European accent, dramatically wielded cape, and of course, the urge to “want to suck your blood”. It’s all pretty cliché and cheesy, but most of all, nothing like the creature I met last night.

His bright red eyes and blood stained chin come to mind and I shiver. Yeah, nothing like the Dracula version I’m thinking of. Sitting back in my seat, I accidently meet the cab driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Averting my gaze, I look out the window but feel my tension rising. I don’t like being looked at. The irrational but very real paranoia that he’s judging me.

I pull down the sleeves of my back up winter coat, and try to ignore the churning in my stomach. I tell myself that he has no idea who I am and all he wants is my money. His opinion, even if he has one, shouldn’t matter to me. It shouldn’t matter, but for some screwed up reason, it does. Glancing in his direction again, I’m relieved to find his eyes are stationed and focused on the road ahead.

It’s all your head, I chant to myself.

“We’ll have to take the highway.” He says loudly, making me jump, “There’s too much traffic this way.”

“Um, okay.” I nearly whisper. Can we just go now?

“Just thought you’d like to know.” He murmurs.

Now, I feel like an asshole. Clearing my throat I try to speak louder, but wince at the unsteadiness in my tone, “Y-Yes, thank you.”

He says nothing else and for that I’m thankful.

It only takes another forty-five minutes of driving, before the taxi pulls to a stop outside of my parent’s house.  Shakily handing him a few bills, I scurry out of the cab and inhale the fresh winter air. I clench my fists and stand perfectly still on the sidewalk, with my eyes closed until the taxi pulls away. I try to force myself to pull it together, but the reason for coming here only peaks my anxiety.

I know that my parents love me and I love them, but they also like to meddle in things they don’t understand. My depression, my anxiety, and all my other issues aren’t something they can sympathize with. My mother has always been too self-contained to ever understand my outbursts. My dad is so rational and calm, that he doesn’t comprehend my fears and irrational thoughts. He tries, they both do, but I don’t think they can truly look at me and not be scared shitless. I don’t blame them for it either. I scare myself sometimes.

Unclenching my fists slowly, I try to even out my breathing as my heart starts to slow down to a reasonable rate. I open my eyes and try to slip on my most convincing sanity façade. I’m okay. I’m taking my pills. I am not having any suicidal thoughts at all. I even made a friend. Yes, I think I’m getting better. Dr. Reynolds would agree with me. He’s very optimistic.

Taking my first steps towards the house, I run through my lines, preparing for the expected inquisition. Pushing open the small wrought iron-gate at the stop of the steps, I take a last calming breath. The house is beautiful, it always has been, even in my darker memories. It’s a colonial style with three floors. We’ve lived here ever since I was really small. It’s the only real home I’ve ever known, but even in here, I don’t think I ever felt comfortable.

I knock on the door once, before it swings open to reveal my mom. She looks fantastic in her white turtle neck sweater, with the sleeves rolled up her elbows, black slacks, and bare feet. Around her neck, is a red coral pendant that Charlotte, me, and our dad got her for her fortieth birthday. The sight of it rises up emotion, so I quickly avert my gaze to her face. Her hooded almond shaped black eyes sit perfectly on her clean alabaster skinned face. Her long black hair, streaked with gray, is pulled back into a tight bun off her face, as she gives me a small smile.

“Annie, you’re late.” She says, making me fight an eye roll.

Walking into the house, I start to remove my jacket, “There was traffic.”

“You could have called.” She says disapprovingly, as she eyes my secondhand jacket. “We should get you a better jacket. Something without all the holes.”

I lean over and kiss her cheek, while purposely ignoring her comment, “Mom, I don’t have a cell phone. How was I supposed to call?”

She twists her petite mouth a little, “Still, a call would have been nice.”

“Okay.” I agree with a sigh, not willing to get into an failing debate, “Where’s dad?”

“In the sitting room.”

I nod and make my way deeper into the house. The inside décor is white, clean, and minimal, with a modern edge to it. Mom did all of it. Dad has his study, the one place in the house that is his, and only few are allowed entry. I think I’ve only been there once or maybe twice. That was always when I was in big trouble. Speaking of my dad, the man himself is in his favorite chair, and the only one that looks sturdy enough to hold him. It’s a white leather recliner with silver studs lining the top and arms of it. His eyes are trained on the European soccer match playing on the flat screen TV, over the white washed stone fireplace.

“Are they winning?” I ask, as I lean against the sitting room’s doorway.

Dad turns his head and gives me a quick smile before nodding, “They’re well on their way.”

I study my dad as the match seizes his attention again. He looks nothing like me and to be honest, I don’t expect him to. He’s a tall man, nearly six feet compared to my mother’s diminutive five foot, two inches, and my own five foot, six inches height. His hair is light brown and is thinning a bit on top, but it’s easy to see the handsome young officer my mom fell in love with.  

“How was the doctor’s appointment this week?” He suddenly asks as the commercial break begins, “Is he feeling good about your improvement?”

Internally, I groan but outwardly I appear impassive, “He wants me to open up more but that’s nothing new.”

“Are you going to do it?”

I purse my lips and shrug. A silence settles in and though the match is back on, I can feel Dad’s gray eyes on me. I cross my arms across my chest and stare intently at the TV, but it’s not long before he speaks again.

“You have a bruise on your chin.”

I self-consciously touch the now yellowing bruises on my chin, “I slipped on some ice.”

“Day dreaming again?” He asks with a teasing smile.

I’m relieved he doesn’t sense my lie and smile a little, “Out in the universe with no intention of coming back.”

“Until your face hit the concrete.”

I let out a quiet laugh, “Until right then, yes.”

Mom comes into the room from the other entry and gives us both warm looks, “Dinner is ready. I hope you’re hungry, Shoshanna. You look so thin.”

I tuck some hair behind my ear and don’t retort. I don’t really have much to say on the matter and if I did, it would just become a fight. No one really says anything as we all make our way to the dining room. The pretty light fixture above the center of the table catches my eyes. It’s made of crystals and the rays of light from the implanted bulbs give a lovely glow to them. It must be a new addition.

“Good thing you like it.” Dad whispers as he passes by me, “I think the damn overpriced thing is ugly as sin.”

I give him a wry smile and sit down between my parents who sit on either side of the table. I try not to focus on the empty chair across from mine, but it’s hard. It’s one of the reasons I don’t like coming here. Everything reminds me of Charlotte and more often than not, the thought of her is painful. I miss her and I have no doubt that my parents feel very much the same, even if they don’t show it.

“Did you do anything fun last night?” Mom asks innocently as she starts placing food on my plate. I try not to grimace at the action but I can’t say I’m surprised. I feel a little relief though, when I realize that the food is obvious takeout.

“I went to a club downtown.” I mumble as I grab the glass of water sitting out in front of me, “Just to try something new.”

“Did you like it?”

A mental image of the vampire with his fangs bared and the blood on his face flashes through my mind. My heart rate jacks up and I shakily bring the glass to my lips, “I… It was alright.”

“Meet any young men?”

I give her a tight smile over the rim of my glass, “A few.”

“No one caught your interest?” She asks with a small frown.

“I’m not exactly the dating type Mom.”

“Of course you are.” She says with a dismissive wave, “Any man would be happy to have you.”

What about a homicidal vampire?

“I wouldn’t know Mom. I’m just trying to focus on my job right now.”

“How’s that going by the way?” Dad asks, relieved by the change of subject.

“Good.” I answer, “I don’t think the café industry is for me though.”

“It’s a step in the right direction.” He says encouragingly.

“You haven’t had any attacks there, have you?”

I chew on my lower lip and shake my head.

“See? Already an improvement.” Mom adds with a pleased smile.

Clearing his throat, Dad decides to step into the conversation as my discomfort becomes more noticeable, “Made any friends?”

I hum in response, as I set my glass back down on the table. Okay, you rehearsed for this. Let them know how well adjusted you are and then you don’t have to talk about it for the rest of the night. Easy enough, right? Maybe.

Dad and Mom share a delighted look, before Mom asks, “Is it a female friend?”

“Yup.”

“Is she from work?”

“Yes.”

My mom frowns, “Does she have a name?”

It’s driving her nuts, I know it is, but I can’t help myself as I smile at her, “Yup.”

“Shoshanna…” Dad says with a laugh but stops abruptly when Mom glares at him.

Turning her dark gaze to me, she sits up a bit straighter, “Have you been taking your medication?”

My mirth dies quickly. Pursing my lips, I twirl my fork in the pasta on my plate, trying not to snap at her. I know exactly what she’s doing. She does this as a way of taking control of the situation again. She doesn’t like being the butt of jokes and hates it when we ‘gang up’ on her. So, she pulls shit like this.

“Yes, I’ve been taking two pills every morning just like, Dr. Reynolds says.” I tell her patiently, though the grip on my fork tightens. “I told you that when you called.”

“Are you feeling any better as a result?”

I grit my teeth, “Yes.”

Dad reaches over and places a hand on my arm, “We just worry about you, sweetheart.”

I ignore him and stare at my plate, “I know but you don’t need to keep badgering me. I’m doing the best I can.”

“We know that but we just want to be sure.” Dad assures me.

“Have you been harming yourself, Shoshanna?”

I glance up at her and see her staring at my arm. The sleeve of my thermal shirt has ridden up a bit, to show the edge of a bandage. Pulling the sleeve over my hand, I hide it under the table. The air changes and I’m struggling to stay in my seat and not run off.

“Shoshanna?”

I close my eyes and clench my jaw, “No.”

“Are you trying to end up back in the hospital?” She asks tightly, “After all the advantages you’ve had, and all the help we’ve given, you continue to do this to yourself. No, not only to yourself, but to us as well.”

“Haruko.” Dad warns but Mom doesn’t listen.

“We’ve done so much to get you better, but how can we, when you refuse to help?”

Mom’s almost disgusted tone has me throwing my fork onto my plate in frustration. Closing my eyes, I dig my hands into my hair. I should have known this was a bad idea. I’ve had such a shitty week and I’m sleep deprived. I wasn’t ready for this today, not at all. I should have prepared more.

“Shoshanna, take deep breathes, sweetheart.” Dad says lowly, as his hold tightens on my arm.

I don’t want to be touched right now, but I know his hand is the only thing keeping me from running from the table. Closing my eyes, I try to beat away the rising urge to act like a petulant brat. Over the course of a few minutes, I succeed. When I open my eyes again, I look straight at my mother with barely restrained anger.

“I’m trying, okay? I’m taking the pills and I’m going to my appointments. I’m trying to make friends and I’m trying to be normal, but it isn’t easy for me. So maybe, you should focus on what I’ve done, instead of what I still need to do.”

“You’re right,” She agrees, as she grabs her glass of white wine, “Perhaps, I was a bit harsh.”

Yeah, you think?! I only say it in my head and I’m yelling it at her. I grab my fork and continue to play with my food. Silence falls over us again and it reminds me of all the other silent meals we’ve taken together as a family. These arguments aren’t a new thing and as time passed, it always ends the same way. Just the three of us, sitting in silence, with nothing but our silverware clinking.

Later that night, I’m standing outside of my apartment door exhausted and ready to sleep for two days. As I absently dig my keys out of my jacket pocket, I wonder if I still have those sleeping pills somewhere. They’re over the counter and enough to knock me out, without tempting me to down them like skittles on one of my more desperate nights.