FICTION SERIES

#4 Blood of the Covenant — Chapter 3: Confused Puppy

A paranormal fantasy

I awoke.

I was alone.

My face hurt.

I heard the snarling animal again, though it was a little more guttural now, like the puppy was learning. It still had work to do, but it was definitely not so cute anymore.

The puppy sounded as if it was in pain and aggravated as if its wounds were frustrating it to the point of anger. It had a distinct message: it was hungry. There was a tugging in my stomach, an ache.

I was hungry too.

As I recognized the pain for hunger, it became more intense, more acute, and more desperate. I rolled onto my side, pulling my body into a ball and a small cry of pain escaped my lips. It sounded like the puppy. Oh!

“Hungry.” My voice confused me, I did not know it was coming and it sounded crunchy and pathetic. I knew no one was there to hear, I could feel his distance, yet suddenly he was there.

Oh, the smell. That smell.

Exotic, sweet, and tangy. The physical response was involuntary; I salivated. Ow, my face.

Nestled in his hand, was a mug. I knew what was inside and my mouth flooded in preparation. My lips were already open and waiting for the sweet liquid.

He handed me the mug and my lips locked around the straw. A spill-proof child’s drinking mug? What the hell? I had to suck hard to pull the liquid into my mouth through a condescending self-closing straw. The frustration became an internal anger. As soon as I took the pressure off, it closed over. What is this? Does he think I am too incompetent to use a glass? I wanted to punch him in the face, to throw myself on him and claw his eyes out. I wanted to completely fuck his shit up.

Wine.

I threw my head back and sucked hard letting the warm liquid saturate my mouth and my throat.

The taste was wrong. I was briefly thankful that the flow cut off instantly. It was still nice, though not the sublime juice he had promised me ‘later’. For this betrayal, this lie, I wanted to crush each rib one by one and watch him slowly drown in his own blood as it pooled in his punctured lungs. The anger was intense yet I could not externalize it, as if I were two people. Inside was pure red rage while the shell was calm and accepting.

My expression gave me away as my nose crinkled with displeasure and disappointment. He laughed and my internal self tore his tongue out. Outside, I drank. It was still delicious; it is just that it was like comparing chocolate to carob. The inner violence had the urge to destroy that boy in a disgustingly, pleasurable way.

“You’ll have to get used to that, I’m afraid,” he said as he took the mug from me. “I know it’s not as nice, but I don’t think you…” he trailed off. He smiled and continued, “It doesn’t matter.”

It didn’t matter. I was already addicted, that first sip had me instantly addicted. That is insane, it is just stupid wine. How can wine make me feel like this? How can I need wine, that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Yet I was acutely aware that I did need it. It could not possibly be wine alone. What the hell was in it?

It did not matter. What matters is that I need it and he is going to stop me from having the good wine. Who the hell does he think he is?

The question struck me across the face. Who the hell does he think he is? Who the hell do I think he is? Who the hell does he think I am? Most disturbingly, who the hell do I think I am? Who am I?

A choking fear suddenly attacked my already atrophying psyche. I had no idea about anything — him, this place, my life, or me! I concentrated; it hurt. I could remember… I could remember… I remembered only hunger.

I attempted to shake the confusion from my mind. No, there was more. I concentrated harder, scrambling for recognition. My head pounded with the effort but I needed to know. A flash of hidden past smacked me in the face. I remembered… a cage, no a prison, no wait, a cage. I remembered being in a cage and I remembered… him, so sad.

The effort of forcing my memory, of squeezing and ripping at the darkness of my mind, was like trying to push a vault door in the wrong direction. Just as I thought I may have the strength to get it to budge the slightest bit, my muscles gave out and the synapses of my past tore. The more I pushed, the weaker I became and any chance of recovering memories seemed to float away on an invisible breeze.

I collapsed on the bed, exhausted and wasted. I sighed. I knew I must have more memories, where was the rest of my life? Why did I possess no memory of my own existence? He gently stroked his soft fingers along my palm as I lay sprawled out, utterly beaten. A voice in my head yelled at me, ‘Do not let this vile and tortuous boy touch you’. I only remembered him from the cage and the cage made me angry, yet his touch was so calming and reassuring. How could he lock me up, torture me, and now care for me? All lies.

“What is it?” the boy asked, speaking so gently. I was confused and disoriented and inside, I sobbed. He took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it with such sensitivity.

I pulled my hand away. My hand, not yours. Don’t touch.

“Please tell me,” he pleaded. Go away. You confuse me!

I used all my strength to fold my arms limply across my chest and he waited patiently. His face came down close to mine, too close, yet strangely not close enough.

“Who am I?” I asked him. The words came out calm with no hint of the disorder behind them.

He could not mask the tumult of emotions. In his deep pink eyes, I saw fear, distress, horror, sorrow, love, hate, knowledge, anger, despair, and grief. It was as if he expected my words and knew they would be spoken, but when he heard the words spill from my lips, he forgot they were expected and was totally and absolutely crushed by their depth.

He opened his lips to speak then quickly closed them. I could almost see the thoughts rushing through his head in a blur. He was assessing his answer. He visibly swallowed and took a deep breath. Exhaling slowly, his eyes released all the tension they held and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. He looked almost serene. Almost.

He took my hands and held them together. My hands! OK, fine. I’ll share, for now. I could feel the explanation on his lips, ready to spill forward. I sat up weakly and leaned into him in anticipation. He laughed a little as he looked away, then his hand was on my cheek and his eyes were burning into me.

“You want to know who you are?” he asked with a smile.

I nodded.

“Who do you think you are?”

His answer gave me an instant sense of… absolute frustrated rage. ‘Who do you think you are?’ What the hell is that? I clenched my jaw so tightly I could feel the pain of my teeth pushing further into my gums than they should. I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself and hoped I could speak through my grinding dentiles. It worked, though only barely. I was on my feet, with no knowledge of how, or when I stood, and no knowledge of how I found the strength.

“And who the hell do you think you are?” I questioned, the words coming out strained and acidic. My eyes burned into his.

He sighed as if I had completely missed an inside joke.

This would not do, this was getting me nowhere. I would have to change tactics and I had the perfect plan of attack.

I shook my head, clearing it of contradiction. Right. I slowly and seductively lifted my right knee onto the bed beside him. My left leg followed suit and I straddled him. I felt his breath quicken as his hands pressed into my back bringing me further into him. I rested my head on his shoulder and realized for the first time that the sunglasses were gone.

The room around me was dark yet I could see clearly. More than clearly, I could see everything.

I could see the art on the far wall, a fantasy/realism composition by Murphy Elliot; at least that is what the white scrawl in the bottom right corner told me. I could see the fine blue brush strokes the artist used to recreate the comet and the small imperfections where paint met paint. I could see the intermingling of colors and the fine detail the artist ensured.

I could see the minute irregularities in the plastering of the wall and a mosquito caught in a spider’s web on the roof where the lattice plasterwork attempted to bring beauty to a plain setting.

I could see the fine bloodshot veins in the white of his eyes, pulsating ever so slightly. I inspected his perfectly flawless skin and thought it strange that while everything else around me seemed infinite in its molecular clarity, I could not see a single pore on his porcelain features.

My lips found his ear and my breath drifting back to me as it deflected off his smooth neck. I took his earlobe between my lips and kissed it gently.

The confusion and surprise in his face were strongly scented with anticipation. My hands were on his shoulders now and I moved them slowly along his neck and up to his face. I held his face in my hands and felt the electric warmth radiate from his mouth. I leaned in close, my lips hovering near to his.

He did not try to force it; he waited.

With casual intent, I brushed my top lip along his bottom lip. His breath caught in his throat and he tensed. I giggled inside, too easy. Back at his ear, I halted with my lips near his lobe, not touching it but letting him experience the anticipation and desire. He wanted me; that excited me. He still did not breathe.

My right hand teased the hair at the back of his neck and his breath started again, staggered and expectant.

I spoke quietly, gently, in his ear.

“Who are you?”

He was gone.

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Chapter 4: All the Voices

I could hear the friction of skin on skin as he stroked my arm. I could hear him breathe, I could hear him blink, I could hear myself whimper and the sound was deafening. I tried to stay silent.

Copyright © 2021 Kai Parker (adapted from Awakening by Porle Joen — also me, lol). 2021 queer reworking — LGBTQ2SAI+ Paranormal Fantasy.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.