The "I" Word
by Lexa Rawr
Chapter Six
There was no resistance, only more heat, so I could not tell if I was moving as much as I was trying to. Gravity had faded. You don't realize how much air weighs until it is gone.
You don't know how hot the sun is until you step into the shade.
I most certainly must have done just that.
Gasping as though I had been drowning (which I may as well have been), I launched myself forward, tumbling down onto something hard and so cold it was sinfully divine. Marry me, concrete! I swore I would utter the vows as soon as I could catch my breath again.
"Anya!" Sound. Such annoying sound. It was so dreadfully loud, like the commercials that are set at too high of a default volume, contrasting too much against the scheduled program. "Anya, Anya, Anya!" Warm arms surrounded me, warm arms too reminiscent of the fire. I jerked away and growled in response.
Wait...
...growled?
I opened eyes that I, through all of this, had not realized were closed.
Instantly, I was assaulted by... by... everything. Everything was tilting this way, but only for a second, then it tilted that way, but, again, only for a second, it would then tilt this way again, and then, after a second, that way, and –
"Anya!" His eyes were dark and familiar, but I felt as if I'd never seen them quite like this. Eyes were reminiscent of NASA's photos of nebulae, the way they shot out in all kinds of lines and curves, flaring and jutting out from the pure black pupil. I saw every minute detail, even the tiniest of miniature freckles mere hair-lengths from the edge. Was that even possible? A miniscule freckle on one's iris? "Anya?"
This man's impossibly dark eyes were framed by equally-dark (and enviably thick) eyelashes. But between the edge of his eye, between those lashes and those dark irises, were fiery red angles, hallmarks of several things. Mainly a lack of sleep, or inebriation, or, perhaps, some kind of other ailment. As if in a trance, my gaze lowered just a fraction, to the telltale purplish skin beneath that eye. The first of those possibilities it probably was, then. "Have you been sleeping at all?" A voice startled me, made me jump like a spooked deer, and it took a full second for me to register that it had been my voice. It sounded so loud, though! Had I yelled? It didn't feel like –
"What? Have I been – Anya, you've been... been..." My eyes had been a camera lens, zoomed in too far. After dropping to his mouth in response to his words, it was as if I finally figured how to zoom back out. His face... I knew his face... but from where?
"Jacob Ephraim Black," I said in a much quieter voice, as if in a whisper, but it still sounded louder than it should have.
"Jacob Eph– what?" His brows wrinkle and lower and it is as if I see every cell involved with that movement. "Anya..." A hand shot out and went for me, which I saw as a Threat and something that must be Stopped to Protect myself. That is my only conscious thought before I am on top of him, pinning him by the throat. I blinked, reminded of when I had been a little too close to that grenade, more shocked than anything else, surprised when I felt like I should be experiencing another emotion. "An...ya...!" My grip was so tight, I could see it, as if in a special vision of some kind, how easy it would be to end this, end him, with little more than a deft flick of my wrist, of all things. Something gnawed at me, something insistent. I was supposed to do something... something to him... but what was it?
Considering the thought, oblivious to his struggling, I tilted my head, regarding his panicked face for a second.
His panicked face...?
"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry!" He was the hot pan's handle, the one I needed to drop quicker than a wink. Oh, but I was so much faster than a wink, for I was backed up against something (a wall?) before I could even finish thinking that I should let go. "I... I... what is this? Where am I?"
He rose on unsteady feet and staggered toward me while touching his neck gingerly. I tensed, as though anticipating an attack, a retaliation for what had just occurred. I felt justified, strangely, just as much as I felt bewildered that I would have done such a thing. Hurting him was so wrong, it had to have been, I was sure. But he had come at me, had he not? It was his hand that had snaked for me, could have...
"Anya..." He sounded so broken, apologetic, anxious. A thousand emotions lurked in his eyes, eyes that had been little more than a curiosity all of ten seconds ago. None of those emotions were good, as far as I was concerned. "What happened?" He said that so softly, but it didn't sound quiet enough for the tone. It must have been a windy day, too, for I could hear all kinds of rustling around me.
"What do you mean?" Suspicion chased away the almost-concern that had been rising in my chest, that had been constricting my lungs.
"You're... you're..." It was as if he were choking, suddenly.
"Jacob?"
His muscles tensed, suddenly, in a way that made me try to take a step back, but I had already gone as far back as I could have gotten. Why? Why would I respond that way? What, was he going to –
Jacob was there, too close, too close! I went to struggle, but his arms were as strong as a vise. I had been the strong one scant moments before. How had the tables turned? It made no sense. "You're different somehow." Different? How? "You were... hurt... So..." His eyes were so haunted, I stopped trying to resist at the stark emotion in his expression. More than anything, I wanted to get rid of it, get rid of the suffering the sadness in his eyes revealed. How dare any unhappiness even think to lurk inside of him? "But now... you're not... but you're not... you're not... you're not. You're not cold." Cold? All I wanted was to be cold. He said it like it was a bad thing. He radiated heat, something I wanted to avoid. Was this how nature had felt when Man had lit a fire? Had rebelled against the rules Nature had wished? Had Man enslaved something that was not meant for them? No, this was not how Nature had felt, no, this was how that poor stick must have felt, being trapped in the hands of a barbarian who was afraid of the dark. "But you're Different." Different... Different, different, different.
"Different..." I murmured this, almost quietly enough for it to actually sound like it. Different. What is Different? "You're Different," or at least it sure seemed like he was. When had his presence been so... so... powerful? My thoughts kept flickering back to him, like a colt unwilling to step too far away from his mother. "You... feel different." It was impossible to describe. I took a shaky breath. He... smelled different. Stronger. I couldn't tell what he smelled like. It made me think of Earth, of the forest, for whatever reason. Wild, I decided, everything civilization was not.
"What? I'm not the one who's been comatose for the last week."
"Comatose?" Who was he talking about? "I never said you were in a coma."
"But you were."
"I was?" Irritation swirled in my veins. Why hadn't anyone informed me of this? If this had happened, surely I would have known?
"Yes!" He let go of my arms. I hadn't noticed how much he had loosened his grip before this, though. I could have shaken them easily. "I found you... You were hurt." He said this like I was supposed to understand.
"What?" What game was he playing?
"In the woods. By the river. There was this... this... tree by it. It was shaped like an umbrella. You were under it, Anya..." So perplexed by his strange words as I was, I didn't notice his hands when they cupped my face, even though I felt the heat. "You were hurt."
In the woods. By the river. You were hurt. In the woods. By the river. In the woods, by the river... "In the woods... By the river..."
In the woods. By the river. I was hurt. How could everything be so blurry when I could see it in perfect clarity? A spider crawled up over a gnarled tree's root, scuttled up along one of the wrinkles of the trunk. I watched it, for there was nothing else for me to look at, for it was the only distraction.
Everything became distorted; blackness encroached into my vision, but only for a second. I blinked and kept it at bay and looked for the spider. It had made its way up further, before ducking into a crevice. I waited to see if it would resurface for one, two, three heart beats.
When it did no such thing, I tried to lean my head back, tried to look up further. Nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing happened. My gaze darted this way and that, but nothing else would respond.
I should have been afraid, I realized. This was wrong, I should scream. But... I did no such thing.
Don't panic, I warned myself, don't panic. That would only get me killed faster. Killed by what? What had happened?
Rustle, snap, crunch. Now, to my horror, fear did creep in, like ice, oozing through my veins. He was coming. He would be –
"Anya?"
His eyes, well, his eye was breathtaking.
"Jacob."
"Are you okay?" I thought of the freezing fear, the realization of His approach... and leaned into Jacob's warmth. I'd take a warm fire over a blizzard any day of the week, I decided.
"Sure."
"Sure?"
"Sure." No... it had not been a barbarian afraid of the dark. Or, at least, he'd not been alone in his fear. The stick was not necessarily a prisoner, but more of an aide.
"I'm not convinced. You need to rest."
"But... you just said I was out for a week."
"And you looked ready to return to it a few seconds ago! I was afraid to move you out of the back seat... you were... you were in a bad way."
"Back... seat?"
"It was bad."
"I'm sorry–"
"What? Why would you be sorry?"
"It was a –"
"Anya." He leaned in closer again; I certainly didn't mind. "I was... I was worried. To put it lightly."
"You had no reason –"
"You were hurt. I... I couldn't... I didn't... I should have protected you." Not comprehending, I shook my head questioningly. "I'm sorry."
"Now you're –"
"Come." He looped his arm around my shoulder, able to spin me on my heel and toward the door from the garage. "It'd be good to actually get you inside."
"My camera..." I remembered it, belatedly, as we moved toward the couch, with me putting up with his apparent need to "guide" me there and let me lean on him. As if in answer, a wave of dizziness washed through me, and I was grateful he had been there after all. "I don't know where it is..."
"Sorry, but it's gonna have to wait. I promise you I'll look for it... when you're better."
"I don't feel like I was hurt." I protested, as I sat down on the couch. Smoothly, he sat right next to me.
"You... you healed." Uneasiness was clear in the frown of his mouth.
"Healed?"
"Yeah. It's like... it's like you weren't... but you were!" He said this emphatically, as if I would deny it. "You were hurt."
"I-I... I don't understand."
"Honestly, I don't, either. Did... were you... did someone..."
"Do this to me?" Cautiously, he nodded.
He was approaching, I could smell the blood on his breath even now. My blood. But not just my blood, not anymore. Someone else's, too. "I brought you a gift, Beauty." His voice reminded me of icky slime, markedly more so with the sing-song tune to it now. "Oh, you'll love it! You will now, anyway. You're like me, now, Beauty. You are mine." I couldn't move... I couldn't –
I blinked away the images, able to just about forget them the moment I looked back into Jacob's eyes, frantic as his were.
"Anya! Anya, what happened?"
"I... He..."
"He?"
"He." Couldn't he just understand? How could I explain that He was the monster, that He had done something. What had He done? He, who was everything to me that Jacob certainly was not: hated, frightening, and wrong. "H-he..."
"Who? Me?" I shook my head swiftly, horrified at the mere notion.
"No. Not you. Never you."
"Then who?"
"I don't know. I don't know. I really don't know." Teeth, teeth, blood, hair, blood, blood, blood. "I-I... I just... don't go," I pleaded, uncaring of the indignity such begging meant.
"Never," he promised, and I let go of trying to keep the darkness at bay.
