1 - À la folie

My first memory dated from the time I was one. My mother stood frozen, wide-eyed and stiff; before her stood a man who towered over her, his eyes shaped in a stern glare. The infant cradled in her arms was probably me. No, not probably, it was me, and I knew this intuitively. I was observing the scene as a third person, standing just a little ways off. The infant was fast asleep, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed pink from the night chill, her little breaths deep and slow. The man unsheathed a long katana. At the sight, my mother let out a frightened gasp; her eyes glazed in unshed tears. Just as she was about to speak with what seemed a combination of terror and desperation, she was gone. This was my earliest memory. Nothing came before it or after it. It stood alone, separate from my other memories and untainted by the tendrils of time.

I used to make a point of asking all of my friends how old they were at the time of their first memory. Most of them weren't able to answer, others with a rough estimate of four or five. Surely then, the memory of my mother's death wasn't real; it was merely a fabrication. I had given plenty of thought to this possibility, but I had arrived at the conclusion it was not. It was too vivid, too real. Her fingers tightening around my small body, the sudden loss of warmth, I could feel every moment play out. And then that smell, sickly sweet, nauseating yet so enticing. It couldn't be just my imagination. Besides, I had my father's words to haunt me too: "You aren't like your friends, remember that."

When I was still a child, those vivid seconds would return time and time again without warning and without consideration of either time or place. I could be in the middle of a conversation or writing answers to my teachers' questions on the blackboard during class, and it would swallow me whole. I don't think I would've minded it much if I was in the privacy of my bedroom. As cynical as it might sound, there was a part of me that welcomed it, after all, this was also the only memory of my mother. How ironic, don't you think? To see my mother, I had to watch her die. As it was, it always happened in the most inconvenient times in places where I was surrounded by people. I didn't feel terror or dread when it happened, though a part of me feels like I should, instead I just let it happen — all of my limbs paralyzed, my breaths caught in my throat, sounds would grow distant, my vision would fade away into that lucid landscape, and I'd lose all connections with things around me. When the present took grasp again, my heart would beat rapidly against my ribcage to the point it hurt and that sickly sweet scent would stick around. I would always excuse myself from whatever conversation I was having or hold my breath and quickly try to finish writing my answers on the blackboard before running out of the room. Sooner or later, I realized it was easier just to announce that I had anemia, which was somewhat true. Whenever I dropped that diagnosis, people looked at me with understanding and didn't question much if I needed to leave. It was convenient.

What followed the pounding heart and nauseating smell was ravenous hunger, or thirst really, a burning in the back of my throat. But everything would return to as it was in time. I would pull out a couple small white tablets and toss them in my mouth when I was finally away from worried eyes. The thirst would all be over in less than thirty seconds, on rare occasions, it lasted as a dull ache until I could have real sustenance. Regardless, the thirst was something satiable, but the longing I felt for my mother could never be sated. As trite as it sounded, it was true. There exists no cure for a broken heart.

This "episode" was longer than usual. I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and covered my mouth and nose with my hand as the sickly sweet scent hit me, and not far behind it, a wave of nausea and hunger. When was the last time I had one of these "episodes"? I guessed not since I was a child. My mind was still trying to process what I saw. The scene deviated, and instead, my mother was gone entirely and I was the one standing before the man. His katana was hurtling towards me, and then—

"Shion-chan, Shion-chan!" Someone was calling. It didn't take long for it to dawn on me that I was hearing my own name. The voice was reaching out to me just above the surface. "What's wrong, Shion-chan? Do you need to go to the infirmary?" The voice was closer now.

I finally opened my eyes, managed to focus them, and stared at my own pale hand gripping the edge of the wooden table. Some numbness remained and I wasn't quite sure where I was, but the hand was certainly mine, along with the rough cracks just beneath where my hand was. Those were certainly my doing. I wiggled my fingers to shake off the last of the numbness, and then settled on resting my palm flatly over the cracks to hide them. I would have to fix them later when everyone's eyes weren't on me.

My throat was dry and scratchy, more than what I was used to. Was it a side-effect from my returning "episode" or was my body getting more spoiled and needy? I reached for the cool glass on the table with my other hand and drank a few sips, careful not to let the glass slip from my unsteady hands. It tasted like nothing, but that was expected. The coolness didn't soothe much either as it passed down my throat, if anything, I think the blandness and coolness made me feel worse. I set the glass down, took a shaky breath, and willed the thirst to go away. I'll feed you soon, so just be quiet for now.

"Sorry for worrying you two, Yuka-chan, Sumi-chan, I'm okay now." I brought my eyes to meet their concerned gazes when I was finally sure the redness in my normal cerulean eyes was gone. I was sure to accompany my words with a delicate smile to help convince them.

The two girls across from me were Fuyuka and Itsumi, and I knew the three of use were having our lunch in the outdoor garden seating. We had been talking about the Night Class students, their looks specifically, and I was listening to all of their fantasies about who the Night Class students really were — high-profiled heirs to conglomerate companies, princes from another land, beings too perfect to exist. They basically hit the mark, all they were missing was the actual word. I humorously helped them, comparing their likeness to vampires, and they took to it tout de suite like a child to sweets. Of course, they were indeed vampires and the humorous part was that Fuyuka and Itsumi along with the entire Day Class didn't have a single clue. That was how the twisted pacifism worked.

"Was it your anemia again?" Yuka asked.

The students at the neighboring tables shared the same concerned look as Fuyuka and Itsumi. I nodded to them and delivered the same smile I had just given to my two lunch-mates. They all frantically turned away with red dusting their cheeks and resumed eating. I internally sighed, too much charm? Was it better just to ignore them? I wasn't supposed to be drawing attention to myself.

"Yeah, it's nothing to worry about though. It happens all the time, I just need to take some of my vitamins, and I'll be good as new. Sorry again for making you guys worry." They looked relieved at my words.

"Don't apologize, Shion-chan! We're just glad you're okay."

The not so dull ache in my throat made me reach down for my school bag with more urgency than I intended to show. I had a feeling that just a few tablets wasn't going to be able to satisfy me this time. When did I become so spoiled?

"Did you find your vitamins?" It was Sumi who asked this time.

"I did." I showed them my macaron-shaped pill case.

It seemed as soon as I revealed my pill case, a rough hand latched around my wrist, and it was snatched out of my grasp. The surrounding chatter immediately fell silent, and I felt everyone stiffen.

"Why hello, Zero-kun. Do you desperately need my vitamins? I heard that Vitamin D can combat depression and boost moods."

He didn't need words for me to tell that he was seething in rage, his fingers itching to reach for his anti-vampire gun hidden under his school jacket, his lilac eyes bearing down into my cerulean ones. But alas, we were in front of Day Class students and such a bold move, like pulling out his gun, would definitely cause an unwanted commotion and later, a tiring explanation, not to mention it'd send everyone in a panic thinking Zero was some terrorist.

"You!" That was what he settled with saying. He was really holding back with the insults — his jaw clenching and his fingers using me wrist like it was some stress-relief ball.

"Well Zero-kun, can I help you with something? Did you want to check my pills? You can go right ahead, I won't even mind if you decide to take some yourself. They're just vitamins, is that against the rules?" So much for not drawing attention to myself.

In a swift movement, his hand was fastened around my upper arm, and he forced me up with a painful tug. The sudden motion made me feel more nauseous and I stumbled against him which only pissed him off more as he let out an angry huff and yanked me off of him. Then he proceeded to drag me away, not even waiting until I could properly walk myself. I had half the mind to just fall limp to see if I could piss him off more.

"Where are you taking Shion-chan?" I heard Fuyuka screech after the two of us. Zero paid her no mind.

There was nothing inscrutable or unique about this boy Zero Kiryuu. You could easily tell from his expression or tone of voice what he was thinking or feeling. This was only because his one sole expression was anger. He was very quick, that was certain. It must be in his genes to be constantly suspicious. He caught on to me much quicker than I anticipated, not that it mattered much. Since I arrived this morning at the school and sat through classes with him, he and his partner, that girl with brown hair, seemed to always nod off at some point in the middle of lectures. It didn't take long at all to realize that he was hated by most if not all of the Day Class students and teachers due to his sour attitude and cold demeanor. See, nothing more than an angsty nobody.

"Who the hell are you and what business do you have at Cross Academy, vampire?" Ah, there was that anti-vampire gun I had sensed earlier. It's cool, silver barrel pressed against my throat, not hard enough to make me physically uncomfortable, but it did prevent me from moving around too much, not that I could really move anywhere. He had trapped me; my back shoved against a tree, his hand now squeezing the life out of my shoulder, and of course his gun was pointed right at my throat. Fear didn't well up inside me, even when I met his angry eyes and the gun was shoved harsher against my throat. Was it because I was confident I could get out of the situation or did I just stopped caring about what happens to me?

"Vampire? You're taking my joke with Yuka-chan and Sumi-chan too seriously. We were simply comparing the Night Class students to vampires. I don't know if you know, Zero-kun, they don't really exist."

He stiffens at my teasing. "Drop the act, vampire."

I grimaced at both the pain in my shoulder and my throat, though it wasn't clear if the pain in my throat was from his gun pressing into it or my thirst, probably it was a combination of both. Zero seemed to like that I was in pain, what a sadistic boy. He had no class.

"I think it is you who should drop the act, playing vampire hunter when you're a vampire yourself. But what you do isn't my concern, I couldn't care less. However, I do need you to do me a favor, take me to Kaien Cross."

The redness of my eyes could be seen reflected in his lilac ones; it's unnaturalness stared back at me. You aren't like your friends. A deadly coldness spread in the center of my chest. Go away. The thought of my father's words fluttered away when I concentrated somewhere else. I averted my eyes to stare at the bridge of his nose and then more southwards when his clenching jaw caught my attention. His fuming glare was now replaced with a painful grimace. His limbs should be going numb, but I can see his muscles shaking in resistance.

"It's futile. Now, let's go." I spoke to him again. "And for the record, I'm not a vampire."

~ To insanity