A snarl rips from my chest as he topples over screaming. I plant my weight on his stomach, trapping him on his back. I rake claws into his arms, smearing blood along my mouth and tongue to sample him. A terrible wailing fragments the night. Power, fright, he's mine.
I'm not in control of anything, except him. His life is in my hands now. The man scrambles and thrashes trying to push me off of him. It is nothing to me. I slash at him in a frenzy.
'Maybe if I was smarter, this wouldn't have happened.' *Swipe.*
'Maybe if I wasn't so careless, this wouldn't have happened.' *Slash.*
'Maybe if I was stronger, this wouldn't have happened.' *Swipe.*
Now what am I? What do I have left? Family and friends I can't even get close to, a murdering house mate, a man who just betrayed and obliterated my freewill?
I am so lost. All I know is blood.
He hollers a slew of unintelligible curses as I batter his chest and arms. I nearly take a chunk of his ear slicing into his scalp. His pulse is throbbing in my head, I can't see straight.
I smear my slick hands over my mouth to prevent myself from screaming. Sticky, wet ambrosia pushes into my nostrils. I snort up the mind numbing aroma.
His body flexes to shove me backwards, every muscle rears in adrenaline heaving hysteria. But he's far too slow… And I'm… Gone.
I snarl, beating his hands away and chomping into his upper arm.
He chokes on pain as he spasms beneath my jaws. Fingers spidering at my head to grab a fist of my hair. I flip around biting the hand like a rabid canine, crunching the bones in his hand.
He yells a string of madness. His face is pasty white compared to his flushed neck. It's strained, veins bulging. His pulse is pounding like crazy.
My bite slackens on his hand, my head is spinning with delirious rage and satisfaction. My nails swipe at his chest again, tearing through buttons, fabric and muscle. I gather up his chaotic arms in each hand as my fingers puncture his flesh like overly ripe fruit. The wounds splurt around my finger tips.
He yowls and squirms as terror bursts through his pores. I pin him down and sink my teeth into his neck.
Addrenline, sweat, fear, tears and ecstasy.
Blood.
Screams echo in my ears along to the thumping heart hammering through his ribs. I take gulps of shear magnificents as strength courses through my veins. *This* is in my control. I'll have it all. Glorious.
"Stop it, Ash!"
Muscular arms curl around my waist from behind in surprise attack and I flip myself around to tussle. This is mine! His blood is claimed!
I only catch a bit of flesh as I'm lifted and spun on my heels. I snap my teeth, taking blind swings but I'm thrusted against a vehicle.
"Get your own! I'll gut you!" I spit, striking fast but the figure dodges twice. My nails get under his shirt on the third, slicing a half inch into his stomach. Flesh splits, peeling apart like plastic wrap.
The fighter snaps up each wrist, pushing them into the metal frame. I jerk forward to bash him in a headbutt and miss.
The man takes advantage as I recover, rearranging my arms crossed over my chest and holding me with one hand. He locks my legs against the car so I can't kick. The other hand is raised, ready to restrain if I wriggle something free. I feel like a wrapped up Christmas present.
I growl and squirm as he urges, "Come back to me. Don't let it get the better of you."
Wait, his scent, I shouldn't attack this person. His voice is surprisingly soothing, but it's not enough. If they are my ally why are they interfering?
My wounded prey is crying out behind him in panic. He's scooting himself backwards, lesions and cuts dripping beautifully like a watercolor painting. Crimson smears and stains the concrete in long points as he slides away.
I try to jump to my claim, fighting against my capture's hold. A broken neck will prevent him from escape and silence his cries.
The man holds me firm as he flips his head around to my prey with an aggressive hiss, "Be still and be silent!"
The bloodied man goes quiet as emerald irises focus on my face again. I grind my teeth, convulsing with agitation, a need to kill.
"Calm down. It's ok."
I rock against the car, teeth snapping, blood pounding, vision red. It's slipping away! No, his life belongs to me! Mine! I want to kill! I'm in control! I'm in control?
I'm completely *out* of control.
The foggy haze of violence dissipates and I feel my disoriented rational half coming back. I take slower breaths. I'm being mercilessly battered by hits of blood, wild scents and sounds.
The animal in me is pacing and rattling my insides. I search the familiar face of the one restraining me. It comes into focus, I draw a connection to him.
"Sam," I begin to cry, overwhelmed by my loss of self. I feel shame, distress and confusion.
He relaxes his shoulders with a nod, cautiously releasing me, "It's ok."
He holds me as I weep softly into his shoulder. Breathing in his calming, clean aroma. I curl my fingers into him. What came over me?
'I was extremely angry…. Because of…'
Tension spreads throughout my spine upon remembering. I remove myself from him and grit my teeth. The anger is building in my gut again. I glare, "...Sam."
Sam searches my face apprehensively before his expression goes flat, a hint of bitterness remains, "You can be angry with me. Just let me get this potential regret out of the way."
I turn my head away with a sharp breath of resentment. But I do need that guy gone. The stench of sweetness is everywhere. I almost murdered him.
First the club and now this. I thought I had my thirst in check. This is bad. I really lost it.
I separate myself from them, I can feel something crazy scratching at my insides, prodding for weakness.
I stagger away from the temptation, moving carefully as if I'll be thrown into a fit of rage again with the wrong move. I hear Sam convince the man of a stray dog attack before I get too far. I'm shocked to see the man get up and walk away despite it all. Limp away, I guess, but he's not freaking out, that's a plus.
My family, my parents, that's what I need to do. Their anguished faces stab blunt upon recalling. I need to let them know I'm alive. I can't stomach the pain of them believing I'm abducted or dead.
I'm making strides toward my apartment again. Running through how to confront them.
"Ash, please, don't go to them."
I snarl over my shoulder, "Get away from me, Sam! I don't want you near me."
I'm almost stomping forward. Everything is a mess, I'm not out of control but dangerously close.
He gets in front of me and I feel animosity crawl up my backbone.
I spit through clenched teeth, "Get out of my way! After the bullshit you just pulled, I'm not sure I ever want to see you again!"
"Think about what you are doing. You are covered in blood! Be angry all you want but seriously think through this. There are cops and cameras, not just your parents. You will put yourself and everyone involved in danger if the wrong people see you."
I look down at my bloodied hands and clothes. He's right. Had been from the start, damn it. I can't go to them, especially like this. I hate this. I *hate* all of this.
"I'm sorry I did what I did. But I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if you hate me for it," he laments.
My voice trembles, "Did you see them, Sam? Did you see their faces? Can you imagine not knowing what happened to someone you love… How can I leave them with that kind of torment?"
I shut my eyes and exhale. I swallow down the lump in my throat before dragging my gaze to him. His face is pinched, unhappy. He obviously feels for my situation.
I stare into the trees lining the east roadside, "Look, I won't go to them right now. But I cannot let them go back home without knowing I'm alive. Even if I have to lie to them, I'll make something up. I just can't let them live like that."
Sam sighs heavily closing his eyes. He is still as a statue unmoving for a long time.
"...You'll regret it, Ashlen. It's never goes well."
"I'll regret it more if I don't confront them. I'm not strong enough to leave them in that state. I'll regret it so much more if I never see them again."
He seems to think that over for a long time, his expression is tortured and despondent.
"You might need my help, then," he finally responds, solemnly staring at the road, "To persuade them… just in case. If you want me to disappear after that I will."
Disappear? My stomach drops as I stare at him in alarm, he's still glumly boring his gaze into the black street.
I'm mad, really mad at him… But I don't want him to leave for good, I can hardly bear the thought. I try to recall what I did and said when I went crazy. I socked him hard, I feel terrible about it.
"No, please don't disappear," his eyes meet mine as I say this with an ounce of shock, "I didn't mean what I said. I was just really angry. Like out of my mind."
My face scrunches up, "but it doesn't matter if I was out of my mind. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what I said… I can't believe I hit you. I… Am so sorry for that."
His expression relaxes into something sympathetic, one corner tilts up ruefully, "You've got quite the arm. That was a solid punch."
"That was so wrong of me to do that. Why didn't you try to dodge or block it?"
"I suppose, I felt it was deserved. I understand why you'd hit me."
He tries to hide that expression of self loathing. He really didn't want to do that to me. He's as scared and worried as I am, he just hides it better. Why do immortals feel the need to take things to the extreme?
"You didn't deserve it… But please don't ever do that to me again."
"You broke out of my hold so I don't think it would work a second time," he looks impressed before it melts back into remorse, "I never wanted to do that to you."
"Is that what you've been doing to the people we drink from?"
"No, I just persuade them. I haven't used control in years… I avoid it whenever possible."
"Why?" It's probably a stupid question but I want to know his reasoning.
"I don't like forcing people against their will. Persuasion is different, it's more like hypnosis, some part of them is on board with my suggestion… But control is a mental and physical take over. And it's… Addictive."
"Addictive?"
He makes a bitter face looking away and shifting uncomfortably, "I don't like what it brings out in me."
His expression is haunted as he stares off into space. A single car brushes past us, wheeling down the street. I watch the tail likes fade into two red dots floating in space.
"Is there anything that will change your mind about this?" Sam asks suddenly, staring at the same car.
"No," I answer honestly.
"OK," he says with a deep sigh, "then let's prepare before it gets too late."