Chapter 9

Fighting Her Battles

For so long I had fought to keep memories of Freda tucked away in a far off corner of my mind, but now they were all crashing down on me. Leah wasn't Freda, and I knew that, but how could I trust myself to even think of loving her when the last time I gave someone everything I had barely escaped with my life?

Freda was the first to find me after months of running from what I had done to Calida. Back then I thought she was an angel, crossing myself and babbling in Spanish, asking if she could take the demons out of me. I must have looked insane, but Freda saw something in me, something that no one, not even me, had ever imagined.

She took me under her wing. At least, that's how I thought of it. I worshipped her for the first few years, eager to do anything that might make her smile, make me feel like I could be worth something to someone. Eventually the infatuation faded, but I still followed her with everything I had. Freda was safety; Freda was home. The only home a creature like me could hope to deserve. My life revolved around her, and she was just happy to have the attention. I wasn't anything more than an interesting specimen, a credit card or a weapon.

Freda liked touching. My face, my arms, and my neck. Always my neck. She would always stroke it as she outlined a plan, praised me, told me what I was to do. And on that day, that horrible day when I told her that I wouldn't fight her battles any longer, it was my neck that she went after first. After I left her, burning, I couldn't touch my neck without remembering her. I wouldn't let anyone else so much as graze it, but it seemed like my hand had a permanent spot there, to make sure she wasn't back, touching me all over again.

Now, I was squeezing it as hard as I could, trying to force myself back into the present. But the past wouldn't stop coming; memories I had run from for years but couldn't escape any longer.

-The Art of Running-

I sat in my usual position. Legs crossed, hands clasped, head bent, eyes closed. It almost looked like I was sleeping. It was as close to sleep as I could come, anyways. It was like I was in a trance; aware of everything that was going on around me, but detached, separate. I could stay like that for hours on end, doing nothing, thinking nothing, simply sitting.

Freda lounged on the couch, flipping through a magazine at inhuman speed, laughing or hissing depending on what she read. She had an obsession with mortal things such as that. She liked to compare herself with the celebrities. Occasionally she would ask me if I thought she was prettier than them. I would always answer yes; it was what she expected, and I didn't have a death wish.

"I think we may need to do something about the Urdir Coven, Pet," she said suddenly. "They have been getting a little too powerful for my taste."

I reluctantly sat up straight, knowing that Freda would demand my attention again anyway. "I thought we were allies with that coven," I said, my tone bored as always. I couldn't remember the last time there had been life in my voice. Even the adoration was beginning to fade; replaced with a resigned detachment. Sometimes Freda could coax that life out of me, when she gave me specific assignments, but she had been doing that less and less lately.

Freda shrugged lightly, making the light yellow fabric of her dress ripple around her shoulders. "I have grown bored with them. They are not worthy allies of me. We will kill them."

I frowned slightly. I had liked the members of that coven. The leader, Budek, had been kind to me. My golden eyes had fascinated him; but instead of mocking me, he had merely stated that there were rumors of others like me. And there had been a girl, a little girl, who reminded me of my Calida.

Calida. Her name was like cool water, awakening me slightly from my lethargic haze. It was thoughts of Calida, and how she questioned everything, that brought about my next word. "Why?"

Freda's head whipped around and she stared at me in surprise. I had never, not once, questioned Freda's judgment. It surprised me almost as much as it surprised her, but I was careful not to let it show.

"Oh, Pet…why not?"

In an instant she was beside me, her cold hands running up and down my neck. It occurred to me that I didn't like it when she touched me like that. I wondered vaguely why I had never protested it before. Perhaps it was because I never really felt the need; I was too lazy to stand up to her.

"Stop doing that." I surprised myself once again, reprimanding her and moving away from her roaming fingers.

Her lips curved down into a pout, but her eyes were dangerous. "Brycon, what has gotten in to you? Is something wrong with you?"

Not 'Are you feeling alright?' or even 'Is something wrong?' She wasn't asking about my wellbeing. She was only concerned that I was contradicting her. Her perfect little credit card was malfunctioning.

"I'm just…" I struggled to put my tangled emotions into words. "I'm confused. Why are we killing that coven, if you offered them peace in exchange for favors? I thought Budek was your friend."

Freda's eyes narrowed. "You thought. It isn't your job to think, Pet. Besides, I have no friends, only enemies, and those who I've decided to spare."

I wanted to ask which category I fell into, but decided against it. I wasn't sure if I wanted to hear the answer, and the conversation was straying away from the main point too much anyway. "I just think that it's…wrong," I said at last.

Freda's eyes relaxed, and she laughed. It was her victory laugh. The laugh she used right before she had me destroy entire covens. The laugh that said, Is that really what you think? You think you are in control, you think you can possibly outthink me? Watch how much I will prove you wrong.

"You think it would be wrong?" Her voice had a gleeful, mocking edge to it. "Oh, this is rich. You think that killing is wrong. Need I remind you of what you did mere minutes after your transformation? You killed your sister, Brycon, your sweet, innocent, baby sister. Do not think yourself worthy of deciding right from wrong after the murder you committed."

Her words were like physical blows. With each one I shrank, cowered, trembled at the weight of what she was saying. I was helpless, utterly useless, because she was right. I was an awful person; I didn't have any right to say if something was wrong.

Freda could have won, if she left it at that. She could have left me, completely beaten and submissive once more, and we would probably have continued on with normal life. But nothing was ever enough for Freda. She had to keep on pushing. So she laughed, that same awful laugh full of disgust and superiority. And that was what ruined her.

Because what I had done to Calida was horrible. I was the worst kind of devil, and there was no forgiveness for a sin like that. But Freda was not better in that aspect. So many vampires had died at her word. Yes, I had killed them, but she had commanded it. And she was not above me when it came to that.

"Don't you talk about my sister!" It came out as a roar, full of anger and rage and the most dangerous kind of fury. And Freda must have realized that she had gone too far, because she took a step back.

Freda, the all-powerful Freda, took a step away from me, her eyes widening with a hint of fear. She had miscalculated, and she knew it. "We are both angry; it will do us no good. Go, clear your head, we will discuss this matter later." There would be no apology; Freda never apologized, but it was the best she would offer.

I left, leaving by way of the balcony and jumping down to the busy street below. I didn't care if anyone saw me, they would come up with their own explanations of it. I did not have any destination in mind, all I did was run, through the city, around the city, retracing paths until I knew it better than most who had lived there their whole lives.

I couldn't remember the last time I had been alone with my thoughts. At first, the urge to run back to Freda and be told what to think once more was nearly overwhelming, but if I went back at that moment one of us would probably end up dead, and it wouldn't be her.

Back when I first met Freda, she had been my savior. She wasn't the villain out of some storybook; there was no black and white or right and wrong when it came to her. She saved my life, and no matter what happened I could never deny that.

For a while I must have loved her. Wasn't that what love was, needing someone so badly that you couldn't breath when they were gone? I didn't know what I was without her anymore, and I wasn't sure if I had the strength to find out.

I wish I could say I had some huge epiphany where I realized that life in itself is a gift and the only way I could be okay again was if I found a way to love myself, but life sucks and I was the last person who needed to be loved.

It was Calida who saved me. A little thirteen year old girl who loved her brother too much to be afraid even when he woke up with red eyes and sharp teeth. She should never have died, but I cut off whatever great thing she was going to become and turned into a monster. And I couldn't be that monster anymore, not in Calida's name.

I could have run away then and there. It would have been so simple; all I had to do was not go back to her. But I found myself returning anyway. I would like to say it was because I was strong, strong enough to break the hold she had over me and say no to her face. But in truth, it was because she still had some hold over me. I still felt the need to follow Freda.

When I got back, she was sitting on the couch once again, staring blankly at a magazine. Her eyes found mine the moment I entered the room, and she frowned at what she saw.

"Well?" Her voice was sharp. "Are you better? We will take the coven tomorrow; you must be ready by then."

"No." My voice did not shake as I said it, something that took an immense amount of effort.

"What did you say?" she hissed, appearing at my side. "Pet, why are you acting this way?"

I moved out of her reach once more. "I'm not your pet."

Her laughter was stiff. "Of course not, it is merely a nickname."

"Is it?"
She frowned at my stoic response. "This is silly. You have one day to get over these…qualms, and then we will act."

"No," I repeated. "I'm done fighting your battles."

Her lips curled back into a snarl. "Think carefully before you leave me, Brycon."

"I have. I died for the gang life before, I have no wish to die for it again."

Her expression suddenly became blank. "So be it."

I turned to leave. It was only after I had taken my first step away that I remembered a vital lesson. Never turn your back on Freda. I whipped around just in time to see her hands reaching for my neck, and then she was on me.

We were rolling, hissing and snarling like tomcats. I was young and strong, but it was Freda who knew how to fight. My persuasive words had no use when the target was too busy trying to rip my head off to listen. It was all shrieks and nails and terrible screeching, and then all I knew was pain as my arms separated from my body. Freda was clawing at me, ripping off every body part that she could and muttering under her breath. She looked up once I was immobile and there was a crazed gleam in her eyes.

"You shouldn't have done that." Her voice was strangled. "Shouldn't have tried to leave me. What can you do without me? You'll just crash and burn. Burn, burn, burn. That's what you deserve. Let's see if we can find a match, shall we? I wonder how cool you'll be when you're dying. And do you know why you'll die? Because I said so. Because I said so, and what I say should be your law."

She flashed away from me and began to search the room, trying to find a box of matches. I struggled to reach my arm, willing it to move forward so I could put myself back together, but she was back before I had a chance.

A match was pinched delicately between her fingers, the little flame flickering and shaking wildly. Funny how such a small, fragile thing could do so much harm.

She held it close to my skin, taunting. "Burn, Pet," she whispered, but before she could touch me I spoke.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

She froze, her eyes slowly glazing over. I continued, pouring everything I could into my voice. "It wouldn't be a good idea to burn me, Freda. That's not what you want. You don't want that. Put the match on your own arm."

She was like a child, her face wide with confusion as she brought the match to her own arm. "Now, keep it there," I urged her. "Don't stop, no matter how hard it gets. Why stop? It would be easier to just keep it there. Keep the match on your arm." I hesitated, and the last sentence came out of pure spite. "Burn, Freda."

I watched in fascination as she began to slowly destroy herself, her face twisting in pain but unable to stop. I was whole again soon, speeding around the room and gathering all of my meager belongings. I paused at the door to the balcony, looking back at her. The fire had eaten a path up her arm, and small whimpers escaped her mouth. I didn't know how long my effect would last once I was gone. She might die; she might survive. I couldn't stop myself from caring. But I didn't do anything about it. I just closed my eyes and jumped.

-The Art of Running-

I still wasn't quite sure who I was without Freda. I gave her more than I had to give, and I didn't think I could risk giving that much to anyone else ever again. But Leah wasn't asking for everything. She wasn't even asking for anything, but I still wanted to give it to her. Maybe that was the difference between whatever hold Freda had over me and what I felt for Leah. I had given Freda everything I could and she still wanted more, and it ran me dry. There was no balance there.

But with Leah, she gave back just as much as she took. She had plenty of strength without me, and she didn't take mine away from me. Maybe love wasn't supposed to be a desperate need, but a shared strength. Not something that could kill you, but something that made you live.