The "I" Word
by Lexa Rawr

Chapter Nine

The sight of him is... indescribable.

The smell of him is unfathomable.

I freeze, at a loss of what to do.

A thousand unpleasant sensations slither like snakes through me, all of them akin to fear, repulsion, anger, while a thousand more feelings somewhere in-between those burn at their edges.

"Beautiful," he breathes, and while the word is complimentary, the tone – his voice, his face, everything about him – is far from it.

Rage. Pure, unadulterated rage courses through me like liquid fire, burning through my veins and charging under my skin. I hear a roar – and neglect to realize that it is one I've made myself – and launch myself at him. Him, monster, enemy, hated.

I forget everything I have been trained. Play defense. Taunt them, make them come at you and then exploit any weaknesses that come from their reckless actions. Instead, I am the one who acts recklessly. Instead, he is the one who knees me in the gut and pins me to the ground – but I don't feel a thing. His skin. I don't want to see it. Morbidly, I want nothing more than to rip – "And strong." I can hear the unspoken ending: but not strong enough. It only fuels my efforts, but, frustratingly, I find myself unable to get out of his grip. The pressure of his hands on my arms reminds me of slime, but his grip is firm. I want to vomit and I want to rip his throat out.

Sounds. Thudding against the dirt, rhythmic but urgent at the same time. He's sickly-pale. His eyes are so light, it's as if the irises aren't even there at all, just a tiny pinhole of a pupil mars the white surface. "Later," it's a threat, one I want to end – could end (if I could get the upper hand) – but, ultimately, am unable to. "You're too stressed, Beauty. First you must Stay. Then, you're going to Relax."

Pressure builds in my chest, like a thousand freight trains stacked neatly across my collarbone, crushing my lungs until I can only wheeze. He flees, but I barely notice. What. The. Fuck?

In the corner of my eye, I see a dark, reddish blur, but only briefly. Not a second later, Jacob is at my side. "Anya!"

A moment passes and the pressure is released. Gasping, I sit upright, clutching my throat now as if I'd been choking.

"OhGodohgodohgodohgodohgod, AnyaAnyaAnya–" it's as if he's hyperventilating, too.

"I'm fine," I croak, still trying to catch my breath... which is surprisingly hard now that his arms are around me, even if his embrace is reassuring and not suffocating. "I'm fine... I need to –"

"Rest. You need to –"

"No," I snap with more irritation than I truly feel. "He needs to –"

"He?" His confusion is brief, however. "He is nothing. Is nothing, has been nothing, will be nothing. Forget about him, Anya." The conviction in his face almost convinces me to. Almost.

I shake my head. "No. No, no, I will –"

He pulls me up as if I weigh nothing. The reassuring warmth keeps me from struggling, even as all my instincts are screaming to run, to pursue, to kill. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

"Then who's gonna save you?" I mumble, suddenly feeling quite...

Sleepy...

"What do you mean, 'her tracker hasn't moved in two days?'" Carrie DeZarn asks, frowning at Niall, who looks startlingly unkempt today.

"'What do you mean, 'her tracker hasn't moved in two days?''" He mimics in a whiny, high-pitched voice, gesturing madly with his arms. "What do I mean, really? Oh, it must be a philosophical question, you know, 'cause I'm deep like –"

"Niall."

"I mean exactly that. Her damned tracker hasn't moved in two days. Its coordinates say it's at... a beach."

"Maybe she went swimming." it's a weak-ass explanation and she knows it; she rakes her hand through her blonde waves with a short breath.

"They're implanted in our fucking hips, Carrie. They're not gonna jiggle loose if you start –"

"So you think she's...?" She didn't dare finish the sentence.

"I don't think she's anything yet. That's what you're there for, to go see what the fuck happened."

"Why not send a clean-up–" She didn't even get the chance to finish this one.

"We don't need a fucking CU. Not yet." Niall's glaring at her now, as if her implication was out of line when it certainly wasn't. "Investigate first, when it comes to our own. You know that."

"Of course," she says, after a brief pause. "So, where to?"

A/N: Short, but I had to get back into the writing groove.

Thank you so freaking much, jacobluver113, laurazuleta18, and AchyBreakyJakey for reviewing the last chapter. The wait has been unforgivably long; I will not even try and use flimsy excuses.