I own nothing to do with True Blood obviously. Thank you all so much, hope you enjoy this one and that it isn't terrible. I was really nervous writing this one haha! You all are really the best, thank you!
I'm going to go run and hide now :P
Chapter Thirteen
"You stand over by the wall across from me, and I'll do the same," I direct him, hating the nerves and tension in my voice. I hate that it's so obvious how I'm feeling about all of this. I can't even look him directly in the eyes, for goodness sake. "We'll take off our clothes, and then when I say to turn around, we both will."
"Why the fuck would we do that?" Eric asks, his voice low and throaty. "What's the point?"
"Because I feel like I can better prepare myself."
"Fine. Whatever you want, Perky."
If he is nervous in any way, Eric certainly isn't showing it right now. Doing what I say at once, he goes over to the wall, facing it obediently, then starts kicking off his shoes. He loses his shirt next, flinging it at his feet without a care in the world. Damn it. Why can't I be as natural as he is? Why do I have to be the one all... fluttery right now? Why can't we be equally as fluttery? Just looking at his back, I want to touch him, feel every muscle, run my hands over his bare back. It takes me a moment to realize what I'm meant to be doing. I've got a job to do myself, and that's getting stark-naked along with him.
I try to perk myself up, as I face the wall. I peel off my shirt, then unclasp my bra around my breasts. There is a whole lot of clothes rustling going on from his side of the room. I hear the buckle of his belt come undone, and then... I just can't help it. I throw a quick look over my shoulder, and I almost gasp out loud. He's halfway through pulling down his jeans, his back to me. He has a strongly shaped back, broad shoulders. Delicious. Whoa, Eric Northman goes commando. He isn't wearing any underwear, and it presents me a mighty fine sight, as he bends down to step a bit awkwardly out of his jeans.
His butt is glorious. No dimples whatsoever, on that butt. Yum. Very nice. I never knew a woman could like a man's butt so much.
"Are you staring at my ass?" he asks completely out of nowhere, startling me. Oh, shit. There's a knowing tone to his quiet voice. How the hell did he know? Unless... he has eyes on the back of his head? How creepy.
Quickly, I bring my attention back to the wall ahead of me. The wall paint certainly isn't as interesting to look at, as that butt of his is. "Um, no," I whisper, trying to sound deeply insulted. Unfortunately, all I sound, is guilty. I've been caught out, and it's not a very good feeling. My face feels hot. "I wasn't, thank you very much."
"Oh, I think you were."
"Yeah, I wasn't!" I sound way too defensive.
"Are you out of your clothes yet?" he asks, a little on the impatient side.
"Nope. Still got to take off my jeans and underwear. Oh, and my shoes."
He sighs loudly. "Then hurry the fuck up. Staring at the wall is kind of tedious."
"Yes, Mr. Grouchy Vampire."
As quickly as I possibly can, I pull off my Nikes and fling down my jeans. Ungraciously, I step out of them, as well as my underwear. Suddenly, it's freezing in my room, being exposed and nervous the way I am. I can't help but get all shivery, and I hiss through my teeth. I wrap my arms over my breasts, trying to warm myself up.
"Are you done now?" he asks from his spot over by the wall, finally bringing me back into the matter at hand.
"Oh, yes," I breathe hesitantly.
"Finally. I'm turning around now, and you better do the fucking same." I just love how threatening he sounds. Not.
All righty, here it goes. Straighten your shoulders, Stackhouse. Be confident, despite your nakedness. I pull my arms down to my sides, and clench my fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. I set my jaw, and work myself into breathing slowly, as I take my swift turn into the direction of his voice and where he is standing. I blink rapidly at the sight, and press my lips together, swallowing down some drool that puddles in my overly dry mouth.
Hello, Mr. Naked Vampire. Very nice to see you. How do you do?
If he seemed completely calm and unbothered before, now he isn't so much. He looks just as nervous as I feel, luckily. Well, it mightn't be that obvious, but there is a few tell-tale signs that I can see, loud and clear; I can see the nervous tension around his eyes, and his eyebrows are raised slightly, crumpling his forehead. His lips open slightly, as he takes in a deep and unsteady breath, puffing out his chest and squaring his shoulders back a smidgen, while letting those eyes roam down the entirety of my body slowly. Eric hardly looks let-down in the slightest by me standing before him in the flesh. It's a wonderfully reassuring thing.
And, oh, the silence...
There isn't anything off-putting I imagine I would hear, had I been standing naked in front of a human man whose thoughts I can read. There isn't any inclinations of disappointment. Not any, "Damn it, she isn't as well endowed as I thought she would be. That bra definitely lead me on..." Not even a single, "Gross, she's got a bit of meat on her belly. It makes her stomach jiggle."
Just exhilarating, peaceful silence. Oh, and maybe my own, private thoughts whizzing by in my head...
The front view is just as nice as his butt was, if not scarier and shocking to take in. He's very pale and white, which you kind of have to expect, with him being a vampire and all. He's muscular and strongly built, but not excessively so, like those guys I imagine you see at the gym injecting themselves with steroids. He's just... perfectly fine. Hip indentations. Whoa mama.
"Is this what you were expecting?" he asks. Bless him, he sounds apprehensive.
I can't even begin to put it in words. I don't even know what I was expecting, honestly. But his body is above all expectations. I'm pleased as apple pie, and it's impossible to complain. Really, how can I? There really isn't a single thing to complain about.
I give out an incoherent mumble in response; It's a mortifying sound. A mixture between a flustered groan, and a high-pitched, squeaky giggle. All in all, I think it sums up how I'm feeling beautifully.
"Am I?" I manage hoarsely. "Or am I... less?"
He makes that familiar exaggerated top movement of his lip, bringing out his fangs to me. I fight not to cover my body. "I believe that explains it quite well," he says breathlessly, though I'm not quite convinced. No, it leaves me feeling majorly uncertain and confused. He thinks bringing out his fangs tells me how he feels on the sight of my bare body? I can't say it does. Unless... he's meaning he wants to bite the crap out of my body with them?
My body is good enough for him to assault it with his fangs? Is that what he means? All righty then...
Eric strides over to stand directly in front of me, drinking me in shamelessly, and I just don't know where to look. My eyes seem to go everywhere; To his narrow hips, and those wonderful indentations, to the way his abdominal muscles ripple as he walks. It's as if he is completely comfortable with his body, and I can't say I blame him. He is sporting one gorgeous and toned body. I guess, living for a thousand years, it gives you confidence. Seeing naked bodies is nothing new and out-of-the-ordinary for him, obviously. As for myself, I haven't seen a man naked before. I might have Googled it out of plain curiosity, sure. But I learn, extremely quickly while drinking him in myself, that it was sort of a wasted effort; Men clearly come in different shapes and sizes. How do you prepare yourself? You just can't. He's simultaneously daunting and delicious in the flesh.
"What the fuck is with your feet?" he asks, shocked. He puts his right foot near my left, comparing the two silently and their supposed differences.
"What do you mean?" I ask, a little worried. "What's wrong with my feet?"
I examine the difference myself, feeling a little lost; As far as I can see, there isn't anything all that different noticeably about our feet. We both have five toes on each foot. His feet are just... larger than mine, putting mine to shame.
"Midget feet," he informs me casually.
I don't know whether to laugh, or whether to be insulted. When I steal a brief look at his face, I can tell he means it in a playful way. "Well, at least I don't have giant ogre feet," I joke, trying to keep a straight face while I'm at it, which is mighty hard. I can't believe we're talking about our feet, of all things, while standing around naked. Too weird.
He leans back a fraction, astonished. He's trying to keep a straight face himself. "Ogre feet? My feet have never been called that before..."
Playfully and deliberately, I stomp on his foot with mine, digging my toes into his skin, then quickly back away from him, swinging mine out of range before he can do the same.
"Delikat," he mutters appreciatively underneath his breath, still unnecessarily fixated on my feet and toes. I can tell he is not entirely speaking in English; His voice takes on an odd lilting accent, as he pronounces the word, with a swift roll of his tongue.
"Are you saying my feet look edible enough to be chopped off and sold in a deli?" I tease, purposefully misunderstanding him.
He makes a deep grumbling noise from the very back of his throat. He seems to be considering my light-hearted taunt far too seriously. "Now isn't that an idea," he mumbles.
"Don't you dare," I warn him, unnerved to the heavens.
He finally brings his attention away from my feet and gazes up at me, puzzled. It's almost as if this is an ordinary, day-to-day thing for him, having a woman standing before him naked. "You look cold," he says, scrutinizing my breasts a little far too carefully, after a beat. "Let's get into your bed." Lord, am I that obvious? I'm certainly not shivering that hard. At least, I don't think I am.
My nerves ease at that suggestion. I'm none the happier to hop into my bed, because it means I can conceal myself under the sheets. Maybe a little too enthusiastically, I stroll over to my bed, pull back the sheets, and slide right in, burrowing into the warmth the sheets present on my exposed skin. Ah, that's better...
He stands at the foot of my bed, and it's a bit odd, being naked the way he is. I can hardly believe this is actually happening. Eric Northman, in my bedroom, without clothes on. Wow.
I open up the sheet to him, hopefully seeming inviting. "Well, come on in. Don't just stand there."
Without further ado, he slides in, rubbing his feet and ankles up against mine.
"Jesus!" I have to stifle a shriek. "Your ogre feet are icy cold!"
He gives out a shaky laugh. "Well, what do you fucking expect?" he breathes unevenly, his eyes holding mine intently. He gets up onto his knees, well, at least... I'm assuming he is, since I can't see what's going on underneath the sheets, and hovers over me, carefully placing them in between my legs. At first, I haven't the slightest clue what's happening, until he spreads his knees slowly, pushing my thighs wider apart. The realization sinks in quickly, and I feel close to having a panic attack of some sort.
We're getting straight down to business. No nonsense here. Gotta appreciate that.
His glistening blue eyes hold mine intensely, as he places his hands near each side of my head, and leans down. It's the most alien feeling in the world to have a man's entire body pressing into yours, and it's freezing. I gasp, and wriggle around a bit.
"Oh, my." I bring my hands around his back, rubbing around helplessly, trying to spread some of my warmth. "Why are you so cold?"
"I am a vampire," he says simply, by way of explanation. Well, no shit.
"Oh, are you?" I blink up at him, feigning shock. "It completely slipped my mind. Is that what those things are? Those long things that look like fangs? What a revelation!"
Shifting on his elbows, he slides down deeper unapologetically underneath the sheets, and lays the side of his face against my chest. Even his ear is ice cold, as he presses it into my collar bone. What the hell is he doing? I lean up propped on my elbows, and peer down at him questioningly. He has his eyes tightly closed, and he appears to be concentrating hard on something, lost in his own private world. I haven't the slightest clue what he's doing.
"What-?" I begin nervously.
"Sssh," he cuts me off.
I lay my head back against the pillow, resigned, staring up at the ceiling, letting him have his moment.
"I can hear it," Eric whispers hoarsely, after what feels like hours have gone by.
I sit up on my elbows again. "Hear what?"
"Your heart beating." At true last, he lifts the side of his face away from my collar-bone, and looks up at me, examining my face. He licks around his fangs slowly. "What do you fucking think?" he asks dryly.
"Well, I don't know," I mumble petulantly, shrugging. "It isn't everyday a vampire puts their ear to my chest. I thought you were maybe listening to my blood, or something, and trying to stop yourself from eating me."
He shakes in silent laughter, sending the mattress and my body trembling.
"Oh, shut up." I swat him lightly across the forehead with my hand. He makes a noise and bends into my touch. "What was I supposed to think?" I brush my fingers through his hair. It's surprisingly soft and in peak condition for an undead man. Shiny, too. No split ends in sight. "You know, for a thousand-year old... I'd at least expect you to have grey hairs in there somewhere..."
"Is there any?"
"Nope. Well, not any that I can see anyhow."
He passes a hand over his face. "Good," he grumbles, relieved. "Pam does it for me."
"She does your hair?" Why does that amuse me so much?
"Yes, she does." He looks a bit embarrassed to admit it. "She likes to put foils in it, and cut it and all that shit. Her version of therapy, besides buying clothes."
"Wow." Vampire's put foils in their hair. How funny. "She puts foils in your hair to cover up the grey?"
"I don't have any fucking grey hairs," he says harshly, and runs his hands over his hair self-consciously. Boy, oh, boy. He's touchy on the subject of his hair. Another thing to add to the list...
"Well, all right. If you say so. No need to get cranky at me."
"I'm not. I'm just... fluttering. It's annoying."
Fluttering. There he goes again... I know by that now, that he means just nerves. He's just far too... haughty to admit to it. Maybe he feels getting nervous around someone is a bad thing? It's a perfectly natural thing, though. Pity he couldn't see it that way.
"Everybody get's nervous at the best of times."
"It's not fucking nerves," he argues, exactly like I'm expecting he would.
I can't help but grin brightly down at him. I know better, and I guess that's all that matters.
Eric comes back up, surprising me, and puts a hand around the back of my neck, squeezing down. I swallow dryly. It isn't all that hard, it isn't painful, but it's enough pressure he's asserting down on the nape of my neck to make me feel slightly light-headed and woozy. He places his face near mine, resting the side of it against the pillow. His lips part, and I can feel him breathing gently on me.
"You are beautiful for a human," he says, his voice low and sincere.
I can't believe my ears. Did he really just dare to say that? Or have I heard wrong? "Huh?" I cup a hand over my ear, pretending to mishear him. "What was that?"
"You heard me. I will not fucking repeat myself."
"I didn't hear you, just then." I compress my lips together, fighting back a smile. "Can you say it again? Maybe a bit louder for me?"
He sighs loudly through his nostrils. "Pam was right. I am turning fucking soft." He releases the back of my neck and pushes away from me, much to my dismay. He rolls onto his back and peers up at the ceiling silently, his mouth pulled down into a revolted frown. I'm smiling so hard to myself, I feel like any... second... now, my cheeks are going to bruise. "This is disgusting," he sighs unevenly through his mouth, and brings his hands up to his face. He runs them over his forehead before palming his eyes wearily.
"Well, I think it's sweet myself, personally," I admit honestly. But then again, I'm stating the obvious, really...
He grabs fistfuls of his hair and brings his eyes back to mine warily. "Do you, now?"
"I damn well do." There's no sense in denying it, after all.
A startling, odd look comes across his face in a split second, and he sits up hurriedly and peers at something distractedly over my shoulder. There's a bleak, shiny shift in his blue eyes, and his entire body goes rigid, with tension. "What?" he whispers tightly, tensing his jaw. "What do you mean?" I turn over and look myself, but then there's... no one? "I can't hear this, Godric." His eyes moisten and glaze over. "You appear to me, and this is what you reveal to me? This?" His voice is getting dangerously louder and louder by the second, and I know he's coming precariously close to yelling. "I don't even understand! You told me this was weak, and now you're telling me otherwise?"
It isn't very good. Not when my Grandmother is probably sleeping in the other room. What if she overhears him shouting, and comes to investigate? My Granny would not be a very happy camper, to say the least.
"Eric," I whisper frantically. "Sssh."
With desperation on my side, I grab his face tightly in my hands and give him a little shake. It seems to take him out of the moment with his Godric wonderfully. He closes his eyes abruptly, his expression softens from the immediate anger Godric has brought onto him, but he's still breathing harshly. His entire body is trembling.
I mightn't know what his father said to him in his vision, but obviously it wasn't something he was keen on hearing.
"I don't understand," he breathes to me urgently, and his voice is hollow and empty. "I don't understand." He repeats it over and over, shaking his head compulsively. I can't say I understand myself. But I can't stand seeing him like this. It hurts my heart, my head, everything... He mumbles something underneath his breath, in that unknown language I heard before. (Car-lick, it sounds like? What is that supposed to mean?) "...How is that possible? I never knew I could?"
"Look, Eric," I whisper, aiming to sound as calm as I possibly can. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do in this situation. What the hell am I meant to do? I'm merely reduced to caressing his face helplessly with my hands and fingers. There just isn't any reasonable sense in the whole damn thing at all. "I can't understand what's happening myself. Does this usually happen when Godric...?" I falter, feeling my throat tighten.
It wasn't this bad as the first time I saw him experience his vision down in that horrible, damp basement in Fangtasia. No, this time it was almost hundreds worse, because of his reaction... I can feel the rage, confusion, and upset radiating off him almost palpably.
He doesn't bother replying to ease my mind, damn him; He squeezes his eyes closed, his forehead creasing, lips pinching tight, as he breathes deeply through his nose. I just don't know what to do at all. Powerless, I work at smoothing out some of the stubborn lines creasing his forehead with my fingers, rubbing around. All and nothing works. When I stroke around his eyelids gently with my fingertips, something wet and sticky comes away.
I inspect the tips of my fingers curiously. Something a deep red, resembling blood a whole lot. Is his... eyes bleeding?
"Oh," I gasp, feeling the panic surge wildly. "Eric, I... I think you got blood coming out of your eye-balls. Are you all right?"
At that, I finally get a reaction out of him. His eyes pop open, and, along with it, blood trickles slowly down his cheeks in a thin stream. Oh, Eric. Why are you bleeding? Poor darling. My mouth goes dry, and I have to force several swallows down. Maybe it takes him a belated moment to realize he has blood leaking out of his eye-balls himself, because quickly, he touches his cheek and inspects the blood soaking his fingers, with a mixture of both wonder and embarrassment. His eyes widen fearfully, and then, scaring me half to death, he gives out an unexpectedly loud sniffle and turns his back on me, as if afraid that he has blood leaking out of his eye-balls himself; Finally, an understandable reaction out of him.
He climbs out of the sheets and plops down onto the end of the bed heavily, giving himself distance from me. I'm far too concerned to even begin to appreciate the rear-view image it presents me of his body. Something clearly isn't right. Something isn't right... with him. Of course, while he isn't the most simplest vampire to understand and get along with, I haven't seen him like this. Never like this. It's depressing and scary.
"Should I go get my car running?" I ask, my voice coming out small and shaky. "I can take you to the hospital? I wouldn't mind it. I... I just want to make sure you're all right?"
"Sookie," Eric says tonelessly, his back still to me.
"Yes?"
"I don't need you to take me to the fucking hospital. It isn't necessary."
"How can you not need to go to the damn hospital?" I hiss indignantly, my voice breaking. "You're bleeding in your eyes! We need to get you to a hospital like yesterday! Don't you dare tell me it isn't necessary!"
"Do I need to puncture my ego even more in front of you?" he growls, sending a swift punch into the side of the mattress. I yelp, startled, clutching the sheet over me. I certainly wasn't expecting that from him.
Eric groans deeply, and buries his face into his hands. I stare at him uncertainly for a few minutes while he sits there, still as anything, undecided. Should I move closer, or should I just sit here? I know he deliberately moved to the end of the bed to get some distance between us. Perhaps he doesn't want me anywhere near him right now?
Thinking to hell with it, I scoot down the mattress closer towards him with my feet, bringing the sheet along with me to keep toasty warm and my body hidden. Once an inch or so near his back, tentatively I reach out with my hand and clasp his shoulder comfortingly. To my horror, he's shaking greatly. What has gotten him into such a state?
"Are you all right?" I ask gently, hopefully in a soothing voice. Stretching out my arm as far as it will possibly go, I rake my fingers through the back of his blonde hair. He groans into his hands again; a guttural sound. "I still think I should take you to the hospital. Bleeding from your eyes... it... it can't be normal, can it? Do you get that a lot?"
His shifts slightly on the end of the mattress and turns back to glance at me over his shoulder. The bleeding has gotten worse over just a few minutes, and it makes my heart pinch painfully. He quickly avoids my eyes, gazing at my hand that is clutching the blanket to me instead, as if ashamed. Why on earth would he be ashamed? "I'm crying, Sookie." I feel my face drain of all color. He's crying? But what of all the blood? "There, I've said it." He turns away from me again, and I see him wipe his face on the back of his hands. "I'm fucking crying. Are you happy now that you understand?"
"But..." I shake my head, at a loss.
"It happens for vampires, when we cry. Don't tell of this to anyone."
I feel my body sag slightly in relief. The tension leaves me wonderfully. Well, almost. He isn't hurt. He's... hurt in another way. Not physically. Mentally, maybe? Vampire's cry out blood? Well, I'll be damned. I never knew. No wonder he's reacting like this, though; So eager to get away from me, and shield his face from me. He's like most men, I'm presuming. Exactly like my brother, Jason. He would rather get run over by a truck, than cry in front of me. I'm guessing Eric was the same, then.
"Oh," I whisper sadly, once the realization fully settles in. He's crying.
He sighs and twists his head back to look at me again, frowning. "Do not pity me, please."
"I guess you're like most men," I mutter confidently, getting to my feet, making sure to wrap the blanket around me completely. He stiffens at my approach, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. It's like a slap in the face once I reach him and stand around near his knees; He looks so depressed and forlorn, as he blinks up at me. "You don't very much like crying in front of women, and showing your vulnerable side. I get that."
He takes in a deep breath. "I am not vulnerable." He refuses to look at me; He stares down at his hands, as he clasps them out in front of his knees. Still so embarrassed. It's so silly.
"It won't change my opinion of you," I tell him reassuringly. He rolls his eyes, and sniffles again. "I just... hate this, frankly. I hate seeing you like this. Hurting this way." My throat tightens again, and I feel I'm close to crying myself, which isn't very good. I couldn't stand it if I cried in front of him again, like a hysterical girl. "I wish I knew why you are hurting the way you are. I'd very much like to help you, but... I can't if you won't let me."
"I don't need your help," he says venomously. "I am not a charity case."
"And I never said you was," I reply tartly.
"The grief is my own," he whispers, his voice a bit uneven. I almost get to thinking he is on the verge of crying again, but he holds it in admirably. "What good would it do in sharing it with you? I have lived for a thousand; I have experienced many losses. I'm positive I can manage on my own."
"Well, fine." I'm affronted. Not to mention a tad disappointed. "Suit yourself," I add, mocking him. I sit down next to him, being sure to keep all my lady-parts covered in the blanket. We sit for a few good minutes, neither one of us bothering to talk. He keeps avoiding me, and I hate it deeply that he is. "You know what I like to do when I'm upset?" I ask him.
He darts me an odd look. "What?"
"Wrong answer. You know damn good and well already!" I give him a shy smile, and get to my feet.
And then I turn, bend down, and give him a hug, hard.
It surprises him, and he leans back as I push all my weight into him, but he ought to have already known. Wasn't I just crying to him a few hours ago on the porch? Didn't I attack him with a hug then? I just love that I continuously keep him guessing, and when I release him the sheet slides off my shoulders, much to my embarrassment.
"Whoops," I gasp, reaching down to fling it over my body again. His lips part as he takes in a sharp breath, clearly shocked at my sudden accidental exposure himself, and I can see he still has his fangs out. They haven't gone anywhere; those trusty, sharp friends of his. I narrow my eyes at him. "You know, I can always torture you into confiding in me. After what we did tonight with the Vampire Bill, I'd say I'm getting pretty good at it."
Finally, I succeed in lightening up his bleak mood. He ducks his head and fixes his eyes on his hands again, trying to hide his amusement. What is he thinking so deeply about? Damn vampire. I truly wish I could read him. It would do wonders in working out what he is all about...
"I'd like to see you fucking try against a thousand-year-old vampire like myself. You have nothing on me, Perky. Absolutely nothing. Jack-shit."
Oh, that sounds like a dare. I love dares.
Boldly- and I haven't the slightest idea where it comes from, either- I toss the blanket off my shoulders. It takes a fleeting second to regain my confidence with being naked in front of him, but I think I manage well. I grab him by the shoulders and lie him back forcefully on the bed, enjoying his humorous confusion all the while. I climb over him on my knees, my legs at his sides, and place my hands on the mattress an inch or so above his shoulders. Eric blinks up at me, bewildered, and gives out a very nice, gruff moan when I run my hands over his chest. It's a very empowering feeling to know I can somehow hold my own against this vampire- as far as being sexual goes.
His eyes don't leave mine as I bend down slowly over him to kiss him. I kiss around his cheeks, very slowly and gently, at the still damp blood marking them. Each and every single time my lips meet his much cooler skin, he makes a low noise deep in his throat. I pause to glance down at him, feeling a chill break out all over my skin. He looks about ready to bite the crap out of me, in a very animalistic and dark way.
"You have my fucking blood on your lips now," he informs me, sounding oddly excited and moved by that.
"Do I?" Purposefully, I smack my lips together, and bring out my tongue. I can definitely taste it, sure enough. Dry blood. I try my very hardest to ignore the churning feeling in my stomach. "What about now? Still there?"
"Cocky move, teasing a vampire who hasn't had sex in years." He sits up suddenly, so that our noses are almost touching, and grabs the back of my neck, angling my head forward. I flinch, grabbing his shoulders roughly. He puts his mouth near mine, breathing unevenly all over my skin. "Not very smart, though, Perky."
What a way to throw myself in with the sharks.