I decided to actually give myself some time off from homework. Well, I was forced by my mother as I'm ill (damn this English weather... oh yeah, and my lack of green tea at the moment), and well, this chapter happened as did watching literally every Harry Potter film in existance, taking breaks to read bits from The Great Gatsby and listen to whole of The Beatle's Abbey Road album. During the times I wasn't reading or watching Harry Potter do his thang, I wrote this VERY LONG chapter. So, it's been a fun ill day :')
Ooh, by the way, I suggest you guys listen to the songs when mentioned in the chapter, they make a good atmosphere. That, and they're good songs. I totally don't own them and only using them for this chapter.
Miss-Understood: Ooh, um, I will in the next chapter, I promise as you are one of my loyal reviewers, that and I like your guest name :) Just keep on eating the wedding cake, and it today should go okay for you, the wedding cake is the best part (especially if it's chocolate and vanilla... aw damn I'm hungry now) Sam found the whole comic book store heavenly, being his comic book loving self, of course! As for the swooning and fangirling, you legend! I'm pretty sure you'll fangirl more in this chapter... I say no more :'3 Hope you enjoy!
Sarah-Frog-Brothers-Fan: Hey again, hope you're well! You shall see about Michael soon, and don't worry, Sierra will be okay! I miss Marko, too... might need to put a dream in soon just to bring that crazy vamp out again :') Ooh, I was thinking on doing a Edgar PoV as a chapter soon, what do you think? Somehow your username brought that idea to me... Anyway, enjoy!
EvilFalconofDoom: Ugh, damn that Kool Aid and its niceness (if that's even a word). Yup, basically that's what sneaky David did... David would make a real good ninja. Hope you enjoy :)
And I guess I never told you, I'm so happy that you're mine.
~Elvis, Always on My Mind.
Sierra PoV
I sat there. On the bed, naked of its silken sheets and arctic from the high quantity of misery devouring this cave. I couldn't listen to them anymore. More like, I didn't want to listen to them anymore. Whilst I should be paralysed with anguish at what they have done to Michael, I dolefully confess now that I deemed this atrocious event foreseeable. He was sleeping, a slumber he had been coerced into unknowingly, and that's how he was slipped the blood. If it was not for the regrettable fact that I had fallen unconscious, I would have protested, bargained something for him to escape this fate.
He can't even utter a word. Ferocity and bemusement has ravaged his ability to speak, think or move. Instead, he does the same as me. Situated at the end of the bed with legs crossed and crystal blue eyes deflected so they don't stare intensely at anything other than the tattered mattress, he does not speak. He can't physically or emotionally bring himself to do it. I can tell.
Why do they have to do this? It's not righteous. Then again, insane vampires tend to be autocratic megalomaniacs. They yearn for me in order to accomplish their retribution dating back to 1964. First they wanted Delilah, they received her. Secondly, there was me. But I am so diverse in personality in comparison to my older sister, and because of that, I have already perceived a glimmer of the Utopia I long for – to be human again. When I ponder over my flawless Utopia, I begin to extract elements of a Dystopia as even I know life is not perfect. It never can be. This whole ordeal is the paramount evidence for that pragmatic concept.
I glance at Michael, and at that precise moment, he glances at me. In a style of mutely conversing, we exchange smiles. A faultless method of informing each other that we are tolerating this abortive endeavour to unchain ourselves from domineering tormenters as we both know it will not be our last. The following approaches to a newborn getaway may be futile with no rewards only punishments, but it will not hinder or terminate our aspiration.
Pondering over this desire to be free from such a gruelling pain, a malediction from our tormentors mouths in shape of a command, I evoke the moment of weakness I had earlier. God, why did I have to say that? I condemn weakness within myself, especially when it arises from the pits of my strength. I favour being resilient. Recently though, it has transformed into an unbearable curse. Subsequent to that moment of weakness, it has turned back into its normal self, being something I will hold onto as a virtuous trait from now. I'm still in disbelief that those words departed from my lips. I don't want to do this anymore. I was correct. I don't want to do this anymore, who in their right state of mind would want to be this horrendous creature? However, in order to succeed in a coveted outcome, I must fight it. I have no choice. There is no other way to escape this.
Michael casts his sight downwards again. He doesn't sympathize with himself. If there's one component attached to Michael that I have been educated of, it's that he never feels any sort of empathy for himself. It's only now I have finally realized how alike we are. I don't commiserate with myself either. What makes our arguments so quick but a complete turmoil is that we are too relentless to surrender to each other, but in the duration of silent musings where neither of us speak to each other, we eagerly resort to comforting each other with embraces and apologies when we realise we were erroneous during the conflict and because we can no longer stay infuriated with one another.
"You're always there for me, Michael" I whisper. This instigates Michael to hastily flick his head up. He crawls along the bed, caringly assembling me into his robust arms that will guard me forever. "How'd you do it?"
"Because you're my girl" he breathes, retreating into a little paradise by burying his head into my neck, my thick waves of dark brown draping over his head, his words soothing my soul. "I'm lost without you" He's always been here for me, never ceasing to be a consoling presence lavish in solacing emotions, and so, I'm lost without him too. I wrap my arms around his head, resting mine on the surface of those beautiful curls. "We'll be alright, baby"
The others had deserted us with the untouched Chinese food, the beaming red boxes unopened so the steam is sealed under the cardboard packaging, approximately thirty minutes prior to this moment. They have gone to The Boardwalk. Why I do not know, but they didn't fail in locking the entrance to the cave and their daunting coffin. I can only pray that they do not lay a finger, or fang, on my family and friends. To my distress, the likelihood of them going there to taunt my loved ones is high. With Edgar and Alan's imaginations notorious for being excessive with melodrama, transporting them to places far beyond reality, the lack of my attendance will either suggest a fallacious death or catastrophic impairment. As for Michael, I can't help but to feel woe as I mull over Lucy and Sam. They've been through this once, and now they will have to endure it again. It's so unnecessary for that ache to repeat itself again. Haven't they been through enough throughout this summer?
"I know. I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't know what I was saying" I feel nothing but guilt for that sign of defeat.
It must have affected Michael in some way, he came all this way to save me from this barbaric exploitation David has inflicted upon us, and for me to say something like that out of a distraught world to which I yielded to, it's probable that it has made him wary of the future. Michael shakes his head and peers up at me from my shoulder, causing my eyebrow to naturally arch itself.
"Everyone has their point where they break, angel. You've been strong, and I think you needed that little respite from it. You're back though, and I know for a fact we'll be stronger than ever this time" He's totally right. I've never perceived something so true in all my life, and it inspires me. Then, Michael quickly surveys me, the conclusion being his eyes etched with distaste. "When was the last time you ate?" he interrogates with concern.
I bite down on my lower lip, knowing he won't be fond of my answer, especially with my forced diet bordering on malnutrition. He raises his eyebrow, the time between his question and my unspoken answer being too elongated for his predilection.
"Sierra?" Michael's voice lowers, a sense of dominance highlighting the effect he has on me.
"The lasagne you cooked at your house earlier" I mutter.
"When was the last time before that?"
I can specifically remember how I slept throughout the entire course of the day and when I awoke from a troubled sleep, Dwayne would provide me with a meal. The day before I left for Michael's, Dwayne gave me a Salisbury steak with a few vegetables on the side from some cheap diner. I almost considered him a decent person when he served it on a plate. It was food though, something that managed to fuel me.
"I'm not having her starve" he had growled when David mentioned his scheme to feed me little in order to make me crave human blood more. Delilah even made an insignificant debate about it, commenting on how she isn't accepting her sister going without a meal. She was soon silenced though, and so ushered herself over towards me. It was one small meal, so David's plan was going in the right direction. I don't understand Dwayne and Delilah at all. It disappoints me that I knew Delilah so well, and now, after three years, she is a stranger to me.
"The night before tonight" I admit in the same low tone.
Immediately, the boxes are snatched into his hands, and ripped open, revealing a delectable looking meal.
"And water?" he asks with the identical critical voice.
"Plenty"
"Eat up, Sierra" Michael directs, and I comply with ease, observing Michael eat as well just to assure myself that he won't go hungry tonight. Unfortunately, we will both be hungry. But it won't be for food. We'll get out of this. Someway, somehow.
I chew reluctantly on a morsel of the eggroll, really not savouring the taste of the pork swathed with brittle cabbage and bean sprouts. After that, I manoeuvre onto reddish-brown sesame chicken, hoping my tastebuds will approve of something different. What's going on with them? Nothing tastes the same anymore, and I can't relish any food I would have once enjoyed. Immediately, I drop it after one attempt at gnawing on it. It makes my stomach churn. This, of course, obtains Michael's attention as he instantly peeks up at me from his own meal of vegetable chow mein.
"You okay, baby?" To his question, I shake my head. "Sierra, what's wrong?"
"I can't eat it. It just," I sigh, feeling as if the notion of finding something mandatory to survive dissatisfying is completely improper "I can't eat it. It's like someone's stuffed a load of shit into it"
"Thanks for the mental image" he chuckles before furrowing his brow, realising the significance in my words. "You need to eat"
"If I eat anymore, I'll end up blowing chunks everywhere, Michael. I haven't thrown up for a while, I'm not too keen on starting now" I grumble, slouching on the back of the wooden bedframe disguised partially with lucent cobwebs and compressing a feathery pillow to my stomach that convulses mildly with agitation.
"You need to eat something" Michael repeats, flashing me an expression of undiluted severity, thrusting the cardboard box near my exposed feet. I examine them for a second, glaring at the chipped red nail polish and never ending growth of the nails.
"And I also need a pedicure" I murmur, returning my field of vision onto the box of eggrolls and sesame chicken, warily pinching an eggroll into my slender fingers.
I close my nostrils with my free hand and chew speedily, replicating this routine until I have finished half of the meal. Before I even release my nostrils in order to breathe through my nose again, I gulp down a little bit of water to dilute the sickening taste ricocheting around in my mouth. Cautiously, I let go of my nose and inhale deeply. Michael had finished eating several minutes beforehand, but for me, it has taken at least twenty minutes to complete a meal. Michael leaps off the bed, going to the far left hand corner like he is looking for something. It is then as he rotates around, he saunters over to the bed clasping onto a black rucksack. If I didn't know any better, he was clandestinely designing a plan to stay. I heighten an eyebrow at him, to which he smirks prior to unzipping the bag and arranging a collection of blankets, clothing and water bottles.
"You planning on having a sleepover here or something?" I question, my eyes languorously wandering along the items he has smuggled out of his home.
"Nope, just taking care of you" he chuckles again, planting a kiss on my head. He sits upright and begins a visual quest around the interior of the cave. "There still a rockbox in this place?" Yet again, I hoist an eyebrow up, mystified by his enquiry.
"Um, yeah, over there" I nod in the direction of the portable radio, inspecting his movement over to the area I had told him to go, not knowing what he plans.
Michael PoV
This whole ordeal is more arduous for Sierra than it is for me, and so, it is my independent assignment to make her content for a little while longer. Of course, I am more than aggravated at the moment that I have been turned into half of what they are, but it is fundamental I remain unruffled.
Sierra's watched her older sister, an appalling one at that, transform and abandon her willing for these monsters, now she is being forced to watch me become one. I know what they are doing. They have a plan to entice her into the group with the immoral extortion of having me turn, knowing she will follow. It truly disgusts me what they are doing to my girl. I swear if that Dwayne even glimpses at her, he'll be dead.
A broad grin surfaces my lips as I detect the radio, slanting my head to the side in order to catch sight of Sierra's reaction to my spur-of-the-moment decision to play some music. I inwardly chuckle at her bewilderment. However, she doesn't why I'm going to put on music. She hasn't danced in a while, and I know it is a passion of Sierra's that gladdens her. Sierra deserves some happiness. I smirk at her as her light blue eyes conclude a review of my action. As my finger presses down on the rigid button, a scratching noise blares out of the radio's speakers, causing me to wince.
"Shut up, radio" I curse as that wasn't the noise I anticipated to get an earful of. "Oh great, I'm talking to a radio"
Mercifully, the music converts into something more coherent after I skim through the different stations, discovering She's Like The Wind by Patrick Swayze from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack, a film Sierra adores coincidentally, on a ballad station. It's midway through the song, possibly near the end. I'm not inclined to listen to songs like this, but I know for a fact Sierra listens to a variety of music, and I know she loves this song. It seems fitting this song has came on, as it rouses a memory from the profundity of my mind – the night Sierra and I saw the midnight showing of Dirty Dancing.
August 1987, three weeks beforehand...
With my fingers entwined with hers, I leaded Sierra out of the movie theatre flourishing with people. It was the midnight showing of Dirty Dancing, a film that had became famous within moments of its release. Sierra thoroughly enjoyed it whilst I sat back snacking on popcorn, and occasionally Sierra's popcorn when she wasn't looking, like the good boyfriend I was. When she did glance over at the wrong moment, she would just giggle and playfully slap my hand before snuggling up to me. In the end she submitted to just consenting me to have her box of popcorn. As we ambled leisurely across the road, I enveloped my arm around her shoulders and peeked up at the moon dangling nonchalantly in the black sky. Then, a thought collided with my head, and a smirk rose onto my pink hued lips. I tapped Sierra's bare shoulder where her naturally golden skin glimmered under the moonlight, attaining her interest as her bewitching eyes fixate onto me.
"Hey, because you're my baby, does that mean I'm your Johnny?" I snickered. It was cheesy, but those were the sort of cherished jokes we shared together. Sierra giggled, savouring the mirth and when we had finished embarking the lengthy road, she stopped my movement.
"Why have a Johnny when I have a Mikey?" she whispered, a gentle smile pencilled onto her lips. "I'd rather have a Mikey, a.k.a. you, than Johnny" It made me feel complete rapture what she had said. I couldn't stop grinning at her.
I noted how the leather jacket I had loaned her wasn't covering her shoulder, thus, not concealing the jagged scar engraved into it. She was so insecure over the scar induced by her father's drunken actions, and it was my duty to ensure she didn't feel like that anymore. She was about to modify the deficiency of masking until I tenderly interweaved my fingers with hers again, leaning down where I showered the scar with caresses from my lips, treasuring the smooth spot and clemently promising her that she needn't be afraid of showing a scar.
"It only adds to your beauty, baby" I said softly before shifting my position so I stood up, resuming the loving touch by stroking the scar.
She smiled sweetly at me and rested her head on my fingers as I brushed the scar relaxingly, and in return, kissed them gingerly with her rouged lips. It was a night where we declared something in such silence, it was vociferous: We would always be there for each other.
Present, September 1987, Michael's PoV
"Care to dance?" I chuckle as I proceed out of the beloved memory, offering her my hand. Sierra smiles, a smile encrusted with everything we feel for each other – love and devotion– and skips merrily over to me where I capture her in my arms. I wrap them around her waist, her doing the same except around my neck, and we gazed amorously at each other. I search through her blue doe eyes, finding them irresistible. But above all, I loved them.
Sierra PoV
Looking into his ocean blue pigments, I could see something distinctly – our future. I could see our escape, the fortune of contentment and how we would argue but never fail in reconciling afterwards. I look deep within them, the music fading into the background, but am soon hauled out as Michael peers over towards the entrance. Nothing is there; we both know the guys and Delilah won't be back until the moon consummates its journey of the night and descends, bringing my temporary enemy to life so it can spread its bright shadows over Santa Carla. I twist my neck around again, my attention engrossed completely onto Michael again.
"Living without her, I'd go insane" Michael mouths simultaneously with Patrick Swayze's voice, a Cheshire cat grin established on his full lips, teasingly patting my nose with his finger, a giggle discharging from my mouth announcing how mollifying the atmosphere is. No dance to any other song could be so romantic.
The quixotic music invades us. It's mesmerizing, emphasizing our sashaying in this one sector of the floor.
"She's like the wind" his voice mumbles in my ear where a cold presence is missing, his finger coiling around a strand of my hair.
The earring.
It feels like, as a person, I am not complete. It became a vital ingredient to my personality over the three years I bared it, like I depended on it to show who I was.
The song ends, fading out. Lukewarm affection lingers. The gentle steps glowing with love doesn't cease. It never will.
"Watching every motion, in my foolish lover's game"
Meaningful words of sentiment from Berlin herself echo throughout the cave, springing off the walls.
"Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say – take my breath away"
Michael PoV
I love her. With her waterfall of cascading dark chocolate locks, crystal blue eyes, young porcelain face, beauty blatant in her personality, the list is eternal. I love her. I fell in love with her instantly, and I continue to go through that exquisite transformation every day I possess the honour of seeing her beautiful face.
"Through the hourglass, I saw you"
When her presence was stolen from me, when my girl was stolen from me, I hungered to hear her sweet, tender voice with that hint of a New York accent one more time. Sierra is the only woman I can adore.
"In time you slipped away"
She is beautiful in so many different ways that is possible. The love I have for her won't, can't, ever wither. It can't ever die, that fire will always be ignited until the day she dies – until I die. Beauty has her way with Sierra, and that beauty has captivated me deeply. It's not just her appearance that is this divine beauty – it's everything. Her kindness, the way she smiles radiates warmth even in the most arctic place on earth. She wouldn't hurt anyone, not even a fly.
"When the mirror crashed, I called you"
I called her. In my sleep, my graphic dreams, she implored for me to save her. Each and every night, she screamed ever so distraughtly, and it would haunt me in my consciousness. Every time I would reach out, even with the agony in my limbs, I had to rescue my girl as tears sprinted down her cheeks, and I would miss. I would wake up, my mom shaking me powerfully, yelling out for her. I need her. I need her to console me, as I have consoled her. I need her alleviating touch.
My muscular arms bind around her, my fingers coiling around her dampened shoulders, kisses from my lips raining over every inch of her neck.
"I love you, Sierra" I whisper, yearning for her to whisper the same words with a different name as the closing word.
"I love you, too" she whispers back, her words laced with honesty. Her head burrows into my neck. Nothing's going to stop us now.
Sierra PoV
"Take my breath away"
Under dark eyebrows are the sultry eyes of the warmest shade of blue. Even further is the pout of full pink hued lips, the top of the pair drags nonchalantly down mine, causing them to part ever so slightly. When I first met Michael, I thought he was perfection, complete perfection with no faults. His bare fingers that have been kissed by the sun from so much time spent seeking for my presence in daylight with the hope that I was human still smouldering his heart, mind and soul, curl around the back of my neck, leisurely skimming the necklace beads as if savouring the silken texture of them. There is a nostalgic sensation overwhelming us as it foreshadows what we know will happen in this room, but also recites the story of what we shared the last time we were both in this gloomy situation and how it pacified us, sending us to a diverse dimension for a while.
Our identical ice-blue eyes harness together through the thin air, the compelling gaze holding a sensual message only the two of us can share.
"Your eyes are so beautiful, Sierra" Michael breathes – hushed, and in something just above what is considered as a whisper. The echo of rocks overlapping each other shifts my view, though it does not do this to Michael's. Have they come back? I am soon distracted by this harrowing musing that I hope won't, but know will, materialize as Michael capturing me in an aphrodisiac kiss.
"Haunted in the notion, somewhere there's a love in flames"
I return the kiss, luxuriating the tingle of his amiable breath expanding on my lips as he retracts momentarily, the tempo of our hearts drumming at the same quick rhythm, juxtaposing with how calm we are on the outside.
"Turning and returning to some secret place in time"
Michael, not breaking the fusion of the kiss, soars me into his arms, cradling me in his caring custody. I don't know where I'm going, I don't know what to say, but I'm in awe at how astoundingly peculiar this desire is, like it something I have never experienced.
"Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say, take my breath way"
All I know is, I want him to take my breath away.
"My love, take my breath away!"
The song, Berlin's momentous message, is coming to an end, the ending more uplifting than ever.
"My love... take my breath away, my love!"
I love him, and nobody, can take that away again. Not Dwayne, not anyone.
"Take my breath away"