FICTION SERIES

#9 Blood of the Covenant — Chapter 8: Reality Bites

A paranormal fantasy

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I awoke.

I did not bother trying to open my eyes; I could already feel the burning through my lids. I reached out and found the corner of the bedside table. I slowly ran my hand over the gentle undulations of the wood until my fingertips found the sunglasses. It wasn’t until I had them in place and pulled myself up until I was sitting with my back against the headboard of the bed that I risked tentatively opening my eyes. He was at the curtain, closing the tiny crack that was allowing a burning desert sun to scorch the room, smoothing the curtains into place as if his encouragement alone would keep them together. It was… cute. I snickered a little and although he had his back to me, I felt him smile.

Everything was clearer.

My mind felt as though, perhaps, it was ready to accept the disturbance, although really, did it have a choice? Accept or disintegrate and spend eternity picking imaginary ant people off the wall.

And so it was how it was it to be. I was ready to hear the words he had already told me. He’d told me such fantastic things that it was hard to keep focus, so too damn bad if it frustrates him to have to start from the beginning again. My mind had jumped around with questions and impossible thoughts and by the time it was able to focus on any one tiny bit of information, I had missed the next revelation. It seemed like the truth was somewhere mixed up in my fantasies and fears. My mind had been stretched to its limits the past few hours, days, weeks; I had no idea how long.

“OK,” I started with confidence and determination that immediately slipped the moment I spoke. He turned his body to face me yet stayed by the curtain. The small crack sneakily reappeared behind him and I giggled. I took a deep breath and focused my thoughts. “Alright, talk time,” I said and my confidence was back. This was it. It was happening. Now. “I’m coherent now. I think it’s only fair that we revisit that discussion, I mean, now that I think I could understand it and…” I took another deep breath exhaling as I added, “And deal with it.”

A thousand emotions distorted his features in a second; happiness, fear, disgust, self-loathing, pity, remorse, but I think he stopped and settled on reluctance. No wait; agreement. Crap. I mean good. I mean crap.

“You know, I think that’s a good idea,” he said, a strange subdued smile tugging at his lips. He seemed as fearfully determined as I was to get this thing done. “Let’s go out though; you’ve been inside for th… for so long. A bit of fresh air would be good for you.”

I made a conscious effort to ignore his verbal stumble and simply nodded. Scooting over to the edge of the bed, I took his awaiting hand and though I didn’t need it, I allowed him to help me to my feet. My grip on his hand tightened as my body wavered. He held firm, not even a twitch. I was definitely a little light-headed. It made sense; I figured I had spent so much time in that bed that my body was just unaccustomed to effort. He was right; a good stretch was definitely in order.

As I stood, I looked down at myself for the first time. I was a sight of dramatic disaster dressed in satin boxer shorts, similar to the ones I occasionally glimpsed peeking out over the waistband of his jeans and a flimsy singlet shirt that was twisted awkwardly around my torso. My clothes were clean. My body was clean. My hair felt a little tangled and matted, but nothing a brush could not rectify. Should I be this clean?

My eyes widened and I stared at him with accusation.

My gaze must have been fiery clear because he understood. “You had some very sweaty nights,” he explained with a nonchalant one-shoulder shrug. “I couldn’t leave you all wet and dirty.” There was a glint in his eye and a slight smirk that I instantly wanted to smack right the hell of his face.

Hold on. He couldn’t? I assumed, maybe, the girl.

“You dressed me?” I screeched louder than I expected as I shoved a finger into the middle of his chest hard enough to make him stumble backward. He still gripped my hand so I tugged myself free. I was mortified. This strange man, this boy, had his hands on me? Seen me at my most vulnerable? Undressed me while I slept? And god only knows what else. I was fuming. I wanted to throw something at him.

I ripped the glasses from my face and hurled them at him. His instincts and speed were stunning — in a blur, he dodged the projectile with unexpected ease. Burning flames of lightning struck my eyes and I squeezed them shut as tightly as possible. The sudden and unexpected nearby thud and crash startled me yet I did not look. I could not look. I was visually paralyzed behind my protective eyelids. I pushed my fists into my eyes. I felt his hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off violently. MY shoulder.

“Don’t touch me,” I snarled, surprised by the wild acidity in my tone. His lips were at my ear again, hovering so close but never touching it.

“Don’t be mad,” he whispered calmly. “It’s nothing new to me.” The fucking nerve! I could feel his smug smile and it just infuriated me more. Irrational. I tried to control my anger, to push it back. I was shaking with bone-crushing fury, though I did not know if my fury was even legitimate. My head hurt again. Deep breaths.

I felt the sunglasses slip into place. Calm.

“I’m not happy about it.” I sounded furious, though controlled. Good. “You should have made that girl look after me. I don’t know you.” My lips curled with disgust as the last sentence ran from me and his smile drained away. The hurt was as obvious as his confusion.

“I’m sorry, but, you do know me, and I know you. I’m the only one that knows you.” I did not like his suggestive tone, though for some reason, I could not hold my anger with anyone or anything. I was quick to anger and just as quick to pacify. It felt like too much effort to hold on.

“Well, just for future reference then,” I told him already forgetting why I was angry in the first place.

“OK, sorry. I, ah, anyway. If you still want to talk, I can get you some clothes from Abbey.” Abbey? The sweet young confident one? I nodded.

As he walked past me, I noticed the large chunk missing out of the wall behind where he had been standing. Fragments of something black and shiny stuck out of the roughly cut hole; on the floor, more of the same mangled, crumpled black material. Interesting.

He was at the door now, clearing his throat until I gave him my attention. “So, you know, future reference. I’ll wait out here.” He left the room and closed the door.

It took a moment for me to understand until I noticed the clothes already arranged on the bed. A pair of jeans, an ugly thick yellow jumper with full-length arms and a high polo neck, and a green T-shirt with Count Von Count on the front — now that was just several levels of wrong!

I dressed in the jeans and jumper. The latter was mildly uncomfortable, itchy and tight, but if I was going anywhere with him, I wanted to cover up as much as possible. Oh, whatever! I swapped the sweater for the T-shirt and headed out.

On my way to the door, I had a random nagging thought, like an irrational fear burrowing in predictive knowledge. I went back to the bed and grabbed the music player. The time blinked on the display, 6:32 pm. Damn, it was bright out for this time of night. I did a quick check; yep, still had the sunglasses on, though they seemed different. They wrapped around my face and pressed into my skin blocking out all the light except a few stealthy rays that managed to invade near the arms. I had not noticed the snug fit before. I shoved the music player into my pocket, just in case, and headed into the unknown.

“It’s still a little bright out,” he warned. Really? You think? “Perhaps you should check it’s not too much for you first.” He stood in the kitchen holding the heavy wooden door ajar, barely brushing it with his fingertips.

As I crossed the open lounge room to the kitchen, I saw them out of the corner of my eye. The child, Benedict, was sitting on the couch with his body facing the TV, though his eyes followed my every move. He seemed concerned. Benedict looked over his shoulder at him and I could easily read the small unspoken exchange that took place between the two. Benedict was wondering what was going on. He gestured out the door and raised his eyebrows with a look of uncertainty. Benedict responded with a pleading expression and his eyes flicked in my direction as if he was asking about me. He silently responded that I could not stay in there forever as his eyes darted to the bedroom and back to Benedict. The entire silent discussion lasted perhaps a second and both ended with a supportive smile directed at me. Whatever.

The girl remained still. She sat next to Benedict, staring at the TV and nodding in agreement — a tiny motion that I almost missed. “Abbey.” The name was out before my brain even registered that I was speaking. I said the name with authority, not as a method to get attention but as a statement of knowledge.

She turned and smiled at me. Her grin was comforting; her teeth were perfectly straight and white like a movie star. She looked aged, though young, like him. Her spiky, black-tipped blond hair surprised me. I was expecting a sweet and innocent preppy girl, not this lip pierced punk. She was stunningly gorgeous, though something about her face was just, out-of-place. Perhaps it was the translucent skin and her large, pink, bloodshot eyes. Or perhaps it was her suddenly eager expression. Benedict’s hand pressed against her arm as if warning her to stay back. She looked ecstatically happy and excited. How strange.

“Thanks for the clothes,” I said and I truly meant it. Seeing the black leather pants, the ripped and tied flannel shirt and the studded wristband she wore, I was very grateful for the more conservative wardrobe.

“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed as she sat back a little, losing her excited edge. “That’s OK, any time.” She seemed to deflate as she fell back into the couch and returned to the TV.

Benedict let escape a nervous laugh. “Have fun,” he said without meaning and joined Abbey in her escape into the television. I doubt I was supposed to notice that he was holding her hand between them, stroking the back of it reassuringly with his thumb.

“Ready?” He seemed to completely ignore the incident. I could not really make anything of it anyway, so with an internal shrug, I walked out the door. The light pinched at my face and my uncontrolled reaction was to squint though I soon realized I was safe because outside, it was dark. Dark, though still brilliantly bright with clarity.

I gasped as I looked around. The sky was almost black and only refracted sun-rays still lit the night, yet everything was so clear and brilliant, like a perfect painting. The trees were lusciously green and the flowers were brilliant in their individual colors. The path laid out at my feet was a circus of round pebbles of varying shades of grey and brown though even within these drab colors, I could see imperfections, veins and specks of red, green, purple, silver, and orange; a rainbow of minerals.

He stood a few paces along the path holding his hand out to me. Ridiculous. I shoved my hands in my jean pockets and walked past him. He dropped his hand and walked beside me. Good boy.

We followed the path around the back of the house, past a large field that may have been a paddock, through an opening in a bushy hedge, down an empty tree-lined dirt walkway to a lonely house-lined road. As we walked along the sidewalk, he seemed to move deliberately slower. Every time I got ahead of him, he would pinch at the back of my top to slow me down. I tried to read the expression on his face but he walked hunched over with his head hung low. Freaking emo!

We stopped at the mouth of an alleyway that was barely more than a fissure between two wooden fences. It looked like a construction error. Single file only, obviously. I watched his face as a query passed through behind his eyes and he gestured for me to go ahead. Maybe he was worried I would bolt if he went in first. Maybe I would. I laughed at the thought and walked into the claustrophobic crevasse. He was right behind me, his fingertips brushing my shoulder. I guess it was a gesture to let me know he was still there, or something. The guy was slightly stalkerish.

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Chapter 9: It’s Quite Simple, Really

“No, I didn’t do this to you,” he continued. “I mean, I did, in that, I wouldn’t let you die in your coffin but it wasn’t me that took your life. I mean it was me in a sense, but I didn’t…” The individual words made some sense and a few of them ran together, but overall, it sounded like gibberish to me. His tortured expression was humorous, or pathetic. Or painful? I waited for him to continue — a fruitless expectation. Honestly, I do not think he really knew the answers.

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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.