by Gray, Sophia
“What?” I’d said.
“Look, Zoey, I know I shouldn’t get this angry at you, but you are not to talk about him, okay? It makes me sad to think of him.”
I was stunned. That was the closest to an apology my mother had ever got. I was so naïve that I thought that after this brief connection she’d become more loving towards me. The next day I walked downstairs and put a hand on her shoulder, thinking that this was the beginning of our new loving relationship. She’d pulled away and looked at me in disgust, the smell of whisky strong on her breath. She didn’t say anything, but just walked away from me like I was nothing, taking a swig of whisky before she left the room.
I wiped a tear from my eye as I stared down at the medal. Why wouldn’t she tell me about my father? Didn’t I deserve that much? Didn’t anyone deserve that much? I wished then, not for the first time in my life, that my mother and I had a better relationship. Why did she hate me? What had I ever done to her?
I thought about it, seriously thought about it for a few minutes. Ben came in and gave me the drink, and sat down with a book. I grunted thanks. I was too young to have done anything when I was a baby, surely? But that was when she’d started hating me. My earliest memory was of her shunning me, and ever since then, except for the half-apology, she’d hated me with a fury. Everything I did seemed to annoy her.
What sort of a mother hates their child for no reason? I thought. Perhaps I had been an accident, and she resented me for something I had no control over. I’d never considered that before, but the more I thought about it the more likely it seemed. If I’d been an accident then it made sense that she would resent my existence, which she so obviously did. An even darker thought crept into my mind. Perhaps my father wasn’t the man I thought, perhaps my mother hadn’t been willing . . . no, I wouldn’t let myself think it. Even the thought of it brought tears to my eyes.
I gripped the medal hard and let out a whimper, and for a moment the emotional pain of my mother’s hatred dulled the physical pain of my aching shoulder. Ben put his book down and stood up. “Zoey, what’s wrong??”
“It’s nothing,” I said, wiping my eyes. “It’s just . . . my mother hates me.” I didn’t mean to, but I broke down and started to cry. The tears came unbidden, but once they came they wouldn’t stop. It was like a dam had broken in my tear-ducts. They streamed down my cheeks endlessly, and I found myself thinking of all the things that made my life unbearable.
My mother, my appearance, my friendlessness all ran through my mind in a stream of despair. I knew I was being silly, that crying would do no good, but I couldn’t seem to stop. Ben came and wrapped his arms around me, and I was happy to let him embrace me. I fell into him and cried into his chest. He was warm, and I hugged him close to my body. He didn’t say anything, which I was thankful for. He just let me cry myself out.
When I finally stopped and pulled away, I saw that Ben had been crying as well. His face was flushed red, and his blue eyes were bloodshot. That confused me. “Ben, why were you crying?” I said, a bit embarrassed now that the moment had passed.
He smile oddly and looked away, walking the length of the room and sitting down. He picked up a book and started to flick through it. It was a good book, one about a woman who falls in love with a dragon. It was a bit cheesy, I knew, but it was a good read nonetheless. Honestly, any fantasy tale was a good read. As long as it transported me somewhere that wasn’t my life, I liked it. “Ben,” I said when he didn’t reply. “Why were you crying?”
He continued to ignore me, staring down at the book like he was under a spell. After a long while, he replied. “Because I don’t like to see you upset,” he said.
My heart lurched. It was beautiful. It was a beautiful thing to say, and it was beautiful that he cared so much about me. I looked at him and he stared back with his big blue eyes. They seemed to be staring into my soul. My palms started to sweat and my heartbeat increased. Was this affection? I thought. I’d never really experienced it before, but this seemed to be what it’d feel like.
I rubbed my hands on my trousers and stared at him. I wanted to speak but my mouth had gone dry. I thought about walking over to him and kissing him, but the thought filled me with dread. What if he pushed me away? Plus, I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to kiss him. His love for me was blinding me. Was I attracted to him, or was I simply flattered by his attention? I didn’t know.
“Oh,” was all I managed to say.
He stood up. The way he did it made me a bit embarrassed for him. It was so unconfident, like he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to stand up. His face was bright red, and his lips were quivering. His legs were jittering as well.
He took a cautious step forward, and suddenly I decided that I didn’t want to kiss him. He was too indecisive. He wasn’t confident enough. If he wanted me, why wouldn’t he come and kiss me, instead of being so nervous about it? I realised that I was being stupid. What right did I have to be so fussy? But I couldn’t bring myself to feel attraction towards him.
Finally he made it to me and looked down at me. He leaned down awkwardly and took my hands. I stood up, and the pain in my shoulder exploded. I whimpered but tried not to wince or flinch, lest Ben think I was cringing away from him.
He seemed to take my whimper for one of pleasure, because he smiled and moved his hands up to arms. He rubbed them, and I knew that I had to stop this now, before it went too far and I hurt his feelings ever more. I knew he was about to kiss me.
“Ben, I have to go,” I said, backing away from him.
His entire face dropped and he looked at the ground. I could tell that he was trying to hold back tears, and I wanted to do something to comfort him, but I knew that if I stayed I would only make it worse. “Oh, okay,” he said. His voice was quiet. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
I walked to the door and looked back at him. His back was to me. I contemplated putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing reassuringly, but that would only made it worse, I decided. “I’m sorry,” I said softly as I left.
“Don’t be,” I heard him say as I descended the stairs.
The pain in my shoulder was becoming really unbearable now. It rushed up my body and made my head pulse. I stumbled as I left Ben’s house and had to rest my hand on the wall to support myself. My breathing had increased, and each breath was painful.
I tried to walk, but the furthest I could go was a few steps before stumbling and having to rest. I felt stupid. Why hadn’t I gone to a hospital immediately? I supposed that I didn’t think that it was this bad, but now, as each step made my entire body pulse with pain, I felt like an absolute moron.
I collapsed. The ground was hard underneath me, and amplified the pain. I brought my knees up to my chest and hugged them, and felt fresh tears falling down my cheeks. What the hell was the matter with me? I was meant to be strong. Years and years of my mother’s hate had made me strong, and yet here I sat, like a little baby, crying because my shoulder hurt.
I sat there for a long time. The sun was setting, and the world was tinged orange. I looked out eagerly for a passerby to call out to, but I was in a secluded area and nobody came. I hoped that resting would make the pain go away, but it only increased. After a long while the idea of standing up seemed ludicrous to me. My vision was hazy. My eyes were heavy.
I’ll just have a little sleep, I thought, resting my head on the wall. My eyelids were falling shut, and I didn’t even care if they never opened again. All I cared about in that moment was a respite from the pain. So what if I fell asleep never to awaken? At least it would mean that this horrible pain would go away. But then I saw him.
He stood under a street lamp. He had short blond hair and a thick blond beard, and muscular arms that showed even through his thick jumper. His face was rough and he looked concerned. He didn’t move for a long time, but just stared at me, his face a knot of worry. It took me a while to figure out where I recognised him from, and when I did I barely believed it. “Galahad,” I said, and even
as I said it sounded ridiculous. Galahad? Who was Galahad? Just some made-up person from my dream.
He smiled as I said his name, and the roughness of his face transformed into strong kindness. My eyelids were nearly closed now and my vision was hazy, and that’s when I realised. I’m hallucinating, I thought. I must be.
I took out my father’s medal and held it tightly. Galahad’s gaze flickered to it and he looked at it for a long while. It unsettled me. I tried to put it back in my pocket, but I was too tired and in too much pain. I dropped it and it clattered to the ground. He started to walk towards me, his thick legs taking long strides.
He bent down in front of me. “Zoey, you must come with me.” His voice was thick and deep.
“What?” I tried to say, but no words would form. I reached out for him, but then pain seized my arm and I went into spasm.
“Zoey,” Galahad said, but I didn’t hear him.
My eyes finally closed and I fell unconscious, oblivious to Galahad’s concerns.
Blinding white light filled the room. I tried to lift my head, but even that small effort I couldn’t manage. I whimpered, and then there was a woman looking down on me.
Mother.
“Mother?” I said, but she must not have heard me. She just stared down at me, genuine worry on her face.
“Zoey, can you hear me?”
“Yes,” I said, but again she didn’t hear me.
She turned around and I heard her talking to a man.
“You should’ve brought her in sooner,” he was saying.
“I know that now,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “But it didn’t seem so bad before.”
“It didn’t seem bad? I’ve been a doctor for a decade and this is the worst case of internal bleeding I’ve ever seen. I hope you know how serious this is.”
Doctors? Internal bleeding? What? My mother had brought me to hospital? How? And what did she mean it didn’t seem so bad before? She hadn’t even known about my injuries. I whimpered again and my mother returned to my bed.
“Zoey, are you awake?”
“Yes,” I said, but again my voice wasn’t loud enough.
She stared down at me for a long time, and then I passed out.
The next time I awoke was to my mother’s face again. I couldn’t get over how worried she looked. She looked like she genuinely cared about me. It was strange, and the expression looked unnatural on her face. Her eyebrows were set hard and her lips formed a constant frown. The wrinkles on her face creased as she stared down and mumbled to herself.
She placed her hand upon mine. I tried to jerk it away, reflexively. I had never held my mother’s hand before. What had brought on this sudden change? She leaned into me, still squeezing my hand. “Trust Galahad,” she said.
She got up and walked away. I wanted to scream out and ask her what she meant. Trust Galahad? How does she know him? I thought. I didn’t even think he was real.
I struggled to sit up, but my body wouldn’t respond.
Once again the blackness seized me.
~
It took me a long time to realise what must’ve happened. Galahad must’ve taken me to my mother’s house and then my mother must’ve brought me here. What I didn’t understand was why Galahad didn’t just bring me straight here, or how they knew each other. I turned it over and over in my head, but no explanation presented itself.
The doctor walked in with a nurse as I was emerging from another heavy sleep. I was dimly aware of them talking, and it took some effort to latch onto their conversation.
“. . . incredible, never seen anything like it,” the doctor was saying.
“. . . I thought she was going to die,” the nurse said.
“. . . completely healed.”
“. . . miracle.”
That’s when I realised that the excruciating pain I’d been feeling had suddenly disappeared. I thought that it may have been the drugs, but I immediately dismissed the idea. Even with the drugs the pain had been horrible. No, this had to be something else.
I tried to move, urging my body to sit up, but nothing happened. I decided that I was being too ambitious, and resolved to focus on individual body parts. I willed my toes to waggle, one by one. I did this for about ten minutes before giving up and moving to my legs. My legs were dead too, as was my chest and my arms and my fingers. As far as I could tell all I could move were my eyelids, but then I moved my tongue.
It was sluggish at first, heavy in my mouth, but after a while it loosened up. I ran it over my teeth, and as I did so a strong scent filled my nostrils. I couldn’t work out what it was. It smelt thick and metallic, and appetising, I realised. Whatever it was was making my mouth water.
I continued to rub my teeth with my tongue, happy to just be able to move part of my body. The smell didn’t drift away, as most smells do, but stayed and got stronger. Soon it was so strong that I almost gagged on its metallic thickness. Despite its strength, I found that it was making me hungry. Whatever the smell belonged to I wanted to eat, and my stomach grumbled at the thought.
My teeth were smooth and wet, and they felt nice on my tongue. I kept going, savouring the feel of each tooth, feeling pitifully happy at being able to move a part of my body, and then I came to my canines.
At first I thought there was something in my mouth and tried to spit it out, but I didn’t even have the strength to spit. Then I ran my tongue up and down it. It felt like a tooth, wet and smooth like the rest of them. But this one was longer, much longer, and when I reached the tip of it, it pricked my tongue and made it bleed.
My mouth filled with my blood and I whimpered in pain, but then the blood started to flow down my throat. It was only a little, but the taste was sensational. It was better than anything I’d ever tasted in my entire life.
It swam through my body, claiming every pore. I urged myself to sit up, and to my astonishment I did. I looked around. I was in a one-bed room. There was a television in the corner and a pile of magazines on a table next to me. I hopped off the bed and inhaled deeply.
The metallic smell drifted up my nose once more, and now I knew what it was, and knowing made me hungrier. The smell controlled me. In that moment I went from Zoey Brook to a mindless creature whose sole concern was reaching the source of the smell.
The smell was the smell of blood, human blood.
I stumbled onto the street. The sun burnt down horribly and my skin felt like it was on fire, and yet I felt more alive than I’d ever felt. The scent was thick in my mouth. I followed it eagerly.
People looked at me strangely as I passed. I didn’t blame them. I was still wearing my hospital gown and was snarling like a hungry animal. I wasn’t myself. All I could think about was how amazing my own blood had tasted, and how someone else’s blood would probably be even better.
I didn’t know whose scent I had and I didn’t care. All that mattered to me was the blood. My mind had been replaced with two things. Follow the blood. Drink the blood. Those thoughts were the only constants as I staggered through the street. Follow the blood. Drink the blood.
A man put his arm on me and I was dimly aware of him asking me if I was okay. I lashed out without thinking. He fell back against a wall and screamed out in pain. People shouted at me, asking me what my problem was. I snarled at them, bearing my pointy, blood-covered teeth. They backed off, muttering apologies.
Yes, I thought, feeling powerful. You should be sorry.
Zoey Brook was gone. All her insecurities, all her weaknesses, all her self-hatred had disappeared. I was powerful. I felt like a god. Each movement I took was infused with energy. Despite the sun’s burning hotness, my skin tingled with pleasure. My eyes were keen and I felt like I could run a marathon without tiring. I’d been moving for a while and yet my heartbeat hadn’t increased. It was just a steady thump.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Occasionally a voice would drift into my head, a weak voice that wasn’t my own. What are you doing? It would say. Where are you going? Yo
u can’t kill a human and drink their blood. I ignored it. Why couldn’t I?
I didn’t know what I’d transformed into or why I’d transformed into it, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the blood. The scent was strong now. It wrapped itself around me like a blanket until I couldn’t tell which direction to go in. I breathed in deeply, savouring it.
In a few seconds I knew where I was and where to go. The midday sun tinged my skin as I walked through the school gates. It was break-time, and the children were out playing. Looking at them now, with my newfound power coursing through me, I found it hard to believe that I’d ever been scared of them. They were puny insects, ones that I could easily crush.
