AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I realized I have yet to tell you guys that I don't own any of this. I don't. Because, you know. Obviously if I did, this is how the books following Black Dawn would have gone. I still haven't read Bitter Blood, so forgive me if I'm messing stuff all up in here, but I promise I don't mean any offense to any of the characters in the series. Just playing around with what I wish would happen. Also, it's a great place for me to give my favorite character I ever made a home. I like to think she'd fit right in in Morganville - though that may remain to be seen as I continue through this trilogy. As always, I invite you to read, enjoy, review, and fav/follow. As always, feel free to PM with story requests, or story complaints. Much love to you and yours. ~ Billie
EVE
I couldn't believe what was happening. Here I was, trapped in a jail cell with my husband. Normally, that could be kind of sexy, except for the fact that he was getting hungrier by the second, and I was his only source of food. It also wasn't incredibly sexy that he was the whole reason we were trapped.
I sat on the cot, eyeing him as he sat on the bench on the other wall. He must have known how freaked out I was, because he was keeping his distance. And as much as I loved him, and as much as I trusted him, I couldn't help but think back to the last time things had been this bad. That time, it had ended with him clamped on to me, sucking my life literally out of my body. It had been the scariest moment of my life, and while we had been moving on, I still wasn't to the point yet where he could kiss me on the neck, or where I could completely let my guard down around him.
This whole situation was just another strike against our marriage. How could I live this way, knowing that at any time he could turn on me like some kind of crazed giant leech? I closed my eyes, hoping that would help my pounding head. But it didn't. Because closing my eyes meant not knowing where Michael was. And not knowing where Michael was was terrifying. And I hated myself for being afraid of my husband. Michael was a good man. He loved me. I loved him.
But since the incident with the draug, things had just been so damn fragile between us. And I hated that. I hated that sometimes, I had nightmares where my husband - the man I loved, the man I had pledged my entire life to - turned on me with red eyes and tore me apart, laughing while he did it.
Michael's eyes were red now. Not the crazy bright red that was an obvious sign that he was about to attack, not even the red of the desert sunsets. But it was there. I don't think anyone other than me would have noticed it, but I'd been gazing into those eyes for years now. I saw it. And I knew it meant our time was running short.
Last night - or was it longer than that now? How many days had passed? How long had we been in here? The night of the funeral, I finally decided would be my new way of keeping things straight, was a haze. Michael and I had been leaving the funeral - Claire and Shane were still hanging around. But I was getting freaked as more and more humans left - not that there were many to begin with, but at least there had been a sense of safety in numbers - and I wanted to head home. I had been pretending that I wouldn't be scared, home alone with Michael, and maybe I wouldn't have been. But in that moment, I had been torn between going home and staying. I knew Shane wouldn't let anything happen to me.
I gritted my teeth against the scream that was trying to escape. I should have known Michael wouldn't let anything happen to me. I knew Michael wouldn't let anything happen to me. But even as I knew it, I also knew that I was lying to myself. Michael wouldn't let anything happen to me as long as he was in control. We had ended up here, in this cell, after all.
My mind stopped for just a second. Was this how women in abusive relationships justified staying in them? "He's fine, as long as he's in control. But sometimes, things get out of hand and then he just gets angry. And when he gets angry..."
But that wasn't really the case in my book, was it? I mean, Michael was fine as long as we weren't in a life-threatening situation. As long as he had a supply of blood to feed off of. As long as I wasn't bleeding profusely and waving it under his nose. As long as... As long as we weren't living in this Morganville. This town, when it ran the way it was planned to run, was safe for the two of us, or at least as safe as we were going to get. Michael and I could live here happily.
But now, because of the things my friends and I had done - not just because of us, of course, but I had to admit we had played our part - Morganville was not the same. The status quo had been blown to hell over and over again, like it was a zombie in one of Shane's video games. And there was just no time for us all to recover - for us all to make the changes we needed in order for everyone to survive safely.
All of a sudden, I thought about all the times I had railed against donating blood. How many people had been injured because I was being selfish? Probably none. But plenty could have been.
But was I being selfish by being unwilling to share my blood? I needed my blood. It kept me alive. My eyes drifted over to Michael. He needed blood, too. But, unlike my body, where my cells were dividing and multiplying even now while I lay on a cot in a cell that would likely be the last place I would ever see, Michael's body couldn't create its own blood. It needed a fresh supply - and it needed it on the regular.
Vampires weren't monsters. They were sick. The psychos like Shane's dad that thought all vampires were evil and should be destroyed were no more right than any of the other prejudiced bastards that had lived in our world. But then again, the vampires were killing us. Slowly but surely, they were destroying the Morganville residents from the inside out. They were destroying their souls, their hopes, the very essence of their beings.
Something had to change. There had to be some kindness somewhere in this whole messed up situation. There had to be some way that we could all actually live together in some semblance of harmony. I looked at Michael again. My dear, sweet, wonderful, handsome, gentle Michael. He'd been turned against his will. He'd been made into what he was with no real choice in the matter. But, weren't we all just a product of other people? None of us ever had any say in whether or not we were born into a family we liked, or to people we just tolerated until we didn't have to anymore. Look and Jason and me.
And look at how the two of us had turned out. I closed my eyes again, not caring anymore where Michael was, or what he was doing, or if he was hungry. I didn't want to think anymore, I just wanted to go back to normal, whatever normal was. I just wanted to stop having to ask myself questions there were no easy answers to. I just wanted to not have to be afraid.
I sat up on the bed and Michael's eyes lifted to watch me. He was wary, scared, he didn't know the right answers any more than I did. And in that moment, he looked so young and so alone. I held my hand out to him, tears welling in my eyes. The look of relief that crossed his face made my heart swell. He came to me and sat beside me, putting his arms around me and holding me close. And in that moment, I wasn't afraid anymore.