Crimson Groves (17 page)

I hurried to the hallway, rushed past the kitchen smelling of burnt toast and stale coffee. The laundry room was straight ahead, the garage beyond that. The door was closed. I came up to it, hand on the doorknob, hesitating. A thin stream of light appeared along the bottom crease of the door. I jerked my hand away, stepped back. A car door slammed shut. The garage door swished and creaked. Then the light was gone. I stayed where I was. Better safe than sorry. Footsteps slapped the concrete, moving closer toward me. Paper bags swished and rustled. I took a few more steps backwards and the odors from the kitchen returned, leaving a bad taste on my tongue.

Tyler walked into the hallway, smiling, eyes sparkling like green stars. He wore relaxed fitted blue jeans, a heather gray hoodie over a white cotton tee shirt. His brown hair was perfectly messy. A pair of white Adidas sneakers finished his look. He carried two large brown paper bags, one in each arm. “Hey babe. Miss me?” He walked past me into the kitchen.

I stayed in the doorway, didn’t want to get too close to that smell. “Yes, of course I missed you,” I said. “And I was worried sick. Did you find something for me to wear?”

“Come over here and see.” He set the bags on the countertop.

I didn’t move.

He looked back at me. “What’s the matter?”

“That smell. It’s horrible. Give me a minute to adjust.”

“How about I just clean this mess up?” he asked.

I nodded; sounded like a great idea to me too.

He cleaned the kitchen as fast as humanly possible. I waited patiently in the hall, watching him. He bagged up the trash and went to throw it in the bin in the garage. He jogged back in sucking at the air a little more urgently. “Is that better?” He released a deep breath.

I nodded, then followed him.

He grabbed the bags, carried them over to the café table. Then he pulled out a chair for me and we both sat down.

“All right. What did ya get me?” I asked.

He reached into the bag closest to him and pulled out a pair of faded, worn blue jeans and a short-sleeved, black button-up shirt. Then he returned to the bag, digging a little deeper. His hand came back out holding a pair of black pants and a royal blue V-neck shirt with thin spaghetti-strapped sleeves. He tossed everything into my lap.

I grabbed the skimpy royal blue top. “This is a little too sexy, don’t ya think?” I threw it back at him.

He caught it. “I thought you’d look hot in that. It’s perfect for the clubs. If you don’t want to wear it out, that’s fine with me.” He chucked it back to me and then dug into the bag again. “Here, I knew you’d give me trouble over that shirt.” He handed me a light blue V-neck cotton tee.

I leaned over and grabbed it. “That’s better,” I said.

He leaned back, half laughing. “Just be grateful you have a boyfriend that doesn’t force you to hide those beautiful curves of yours.”

Boyfriend. An argument built up on my tongue, but I just couldn’t get the words to form. Did that mean he was my boyfriend? No way. It was too soon. I shrugged. “What’s in the other bag?”

His right eyebrow arched higher than the left. “Everything we need to change the way you look.”

I let out a deep sigh. “Oh goody. Did you find some good wigs?”

He shook his head. “No, I didn’t think that would work. You move so fast, what if it fell off?” He reached over, grabbed the other bag. He pulled out a pair of shiny silver scissors and one of those hair colors in a box that you buy over-the-counter at most stores. There was a picture of a brunette woman on the cover. “You’re going to look amazing as a brunette.”

I swallowed hard. “What are the scissors for?”

“Bangs.”

“No freaking way!” I said, head shaking rapidly side-to-side.

“Yes freaking way.” He was smiling. Why the heck was he smiling?

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I said.

He stood up, held out his hand for me. “Yes I am.”

I took his hand. “Fine.”

I pouted all the way to the bathroom. He ignored me. Sitting on the counter next to the sink was a small lamp glowing yellow light. Almost everything else was white: the tile floors, cabinets, slick marble countertop, textured walls. Tyler pulled the sheer white shower curtain to the side, revealing a white porcelain tub and tiny square tiles up and down the walls. A big square piece of wood was nailed on top of what must’ve been a small window, preventing any light from getting in.

He got a few towels out of the cabinet under the sink and laid them on the ground in front of the tub. “Get on your knees and hang your head over the tub,” he said. “I’ll run the water through your hair to dampen it.” The showerhead was detachable. He slipped it out of its base and brought it down to his side.

“I don’t think you get hair wet before you put color on it. Read the directions!” I went ahead and got on my knees just in case.

He paged through the pamphlet, a little too quickly for my taste. “You’re right. Glad I thought to check that,” he smarted. “Hang your head over the tub anyway, just incase I get this crap anywhere besides your hair.”

Using the tube-shaped applicator, he squirted the hair color all over my head, running his hands through my hair, blending in the cold, sticky gel. It stunk to high heaven, but it was still better than burnt toast and stale coffee. When he finally finished, he twisted my hair in a bun and told me I could sit up. It was going to take at least twenty minutes for the color to process. I got up while he washed his hands and sat on the toilet lid.

He told me stories about his shopping trip while we waited. By the time he finished sharing almost every detail, it was time to rinse my hair. Water splashed everywhere, completely soaking me. Thank God I had new clothes to change into.

I grabbed a towel, dried off the best I could, and then walked over to the mirror. Holy crap! I barely recognized the brunette girl looking back at me. I couldn’t believe how different I looked simply by changing my hair color. This identity change really was going to work.

Tyler got a comb, started working it through the knots. “Bang time,” he said. He leaned down to get the scissors.

Maybe he grabbed them too hard, or perhaps they were just too sharp, but I smelled the blood before I heard him gasp.

I stared in the mirror, watching that dark red ring form in my eyes. “Get out of here! Now! I mean it! Go!”

Tyler made a run for it. Thank God he didn’t argue. I gripped the sink, fingers pressing hard against the marble. I tried to stop myself from going after him. But the smell of his blood was all over me—sweet, fresh, unbitten. It smelled better than I’d ever imagined. My mouth filled up with saliva, and over and over I swallowed it down. No! It’s Tyler! No! Nothing was helping. Tears built up in my eyes. I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t fight it. I just needed a taste, just one little taste. I closed my eyes, let go of the sink, and went after him in a whirl of motion.

Tyler stood by the sink in the kitchen. He was wrapping a Band-Aid around his index finger. I grabbed the frame in the doorjamb, dug my fingers into the wood. “What are you still doing in the house?” I screamed. Panic seized me. My stomach tightened. “You have to leave! Now! Get out of here!”

“Abby, you’re better than this! Fight it! Resist it!”

What was he doing? Why wouldn’t he leave? I couldn’t fight it. I couldn’t stop. My feet inched closer toward him. My grip loosened, fingernails scraping the doorframe, but it wasn’t enough to stop me. “I can’t control it! I can’t control myself! Ty, please!” I sounded like a crazy person. I
was
a crazy person.

He didn’t move. He still didn’t leave. He stood there, green eyes staring at me, holding his injured finger in the other hand. My tears burst into a full-blown waterworks show. Please God, don’t let me hurt him. I let go of the doorframe and rushed straight for him.

“Abby, I love you! Don’t be mad!” Tyler reached above the sink and pulled open the thick burgundy curtain. Rays of light burst through the tiny window. It felt like instant flames all over my body. I screamed, deep and loud, wailing like a banshee. Smoke seeped from my skin, burning, scorching. My fangs burst from my mouth with a growl, anger surging at me, but there was nothing I could do. The heat was too intense, burning all over. I flung back, retreated to the safety of the dark living room. Now I didn’t just want his blood, I wanted to hurt him for what he’d done. I held my arms out, looking down at them. The skin was peeling, oozing pussy blisters and sores. I looked like one of the lepers the Bible spoke of. I tried to take deep breaths, force myself to breathe, but the trickle of air coming in was nothing less than a joke. But this definitely wasn’t funny.

“Abby,” Tyler called out. “Are you okay?”

A growl built up deep in my throat, rolled off my tongue. “That wasn’t very smart.” I didn’t recognize my voice. It was evil, pure evil.

“I had to protect myself. You were coming after me.”

There were footsteps approaching the living room. “Don’t come any closer,” I hissed.

“Abby, I’m sorry.” His voice was closer. I swung around to see where he was, anxious, ready to jump at him again. He stood in the hallway, light from the kitchen glowing behind him. “Please. You’re better than this. Fight it. You’ve got to try.” He sounded choked up, like he was about to cry.

I shook my head, mortified by my behavior but completely helpless to it. I had got to get a grip, had to calm down. A cool sensation crawled up the back of my neck, onto my head. Tingles raced up and down my skin like tiny ants. Chills flushed my face as if I were standing in front of an open freezer. I looked down at my arms again. They were already healing. The open sores were sealing up, the blisters disappearing beneath the surface. My whole body relaxed. My thirst for blood wasn’t as strong as before. I could resist it now. Didn’t have to have it anymore. My ability to heal must be offsetting the blood craving. Oh my God, what kind of monster was I? I shook my head. “Ty! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes. I’m okay! Are you?” He inched a little closer, his right foot entering the living room.

I held out my hand as if it were a stop sign. “Don’t you dare come closer to me. Not yet. I can still smell your blood.”

“What should I do?”

“You really need to leave and give that wound some time to heal before coming back.”

He nodded. “Okay.” He turned abruptly and left.

How could I have been so close to biting him? Did he hate me for this? I deserved it if he did. But he said he loved me. Damn it! He said he loved me right as I was about to bite him.
God I hate being a vampire!
Why can’t I control myself? His blood created a raging hunger that I was completely lost to. Could my attraction to him intensify my desire to drink from him?

I went back to the bathroom, the weight of my thoughts pressing hard in my skull. I let out a deep long sigh. It didn’t ease the pressure. I retrieved the scissors and carefully cut out some bangs. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed they looked okay, as good as bangs can look anyways. Most people I knew that had bangs always styled them to the side, in an effort to get them off their forehead. I’d most likely end up doing the same thing, as soon as I didn’t need to hide behind them anymore. I stared at the new me another moment, watching my face crumble and my eyes fill with tears. I shook my head and jerked it away from the mirror. I couldn’t look at myself any longer—I hated who looked back at me. I dropped down to the floor, wrapped my arms around my legs, and completely lost it.

It felt like I cried for hours. The tears dried to a flaky, sticky residue on my face. I rubbed my fingers under my eyes, across the tops of my cheeks, and then just held my face in my hands. My stomach was twisted in knots. My mouth was so parched I could barely swallow. My hands slid down my cheeks, rubbing up and down my neck. I needed some water. In a flash, I was standing over the sink, looking down into it, avoiding that damned mirror at all costs. I cupped my hands together, bowling up some of the running water. Then I lifted them up to my lips and gulped the cool, crisp beverage down, splashing it all over my face. It helped a little, but not as much as I’d thought it would. My knees buckled and I dropped back down to the ground, weak and pathetic. I pulled my legs against my chest, burying my face on top of my knees.

I picked up Tyler’s amazing scent. He was close, somewhere in the house. How did he slip in here without me noticing? I really was pathetic. A door slammed shut, his distant footsteps getting closer and closer. I opened my mouth, letting my tongue help me sense him. It was just him—no blood. He was all cleaned up. Regardless of that, I was still afraid to get too close, so I stayed frozen on the floor. I felt him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his eyes on me like a second skin. But I was too humiliated to look up at him. I squeezed my eyes shut and pushed my face deeper into my knees.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey.” I sounded drowned out, muffled.

“Are you okay?”

I slowly turned my head to the side, looking up at him. “I don’t know.”

To my surprise, he smiled. “Come here.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sure it is. No more blood. Promise.”

Hesitantly, I got up and walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around me like a warm winter blanket and pulled me against his chest. He held me tight. It was comforting, wonderful. I didn’t deserve it.