It was all too overwhelming.
Just as I thought I'd found peace, the entire world came crashing down on me. The sounds, the smells…the way everything seemed too sharp all at once. Though my brain felt like it had an infinite amount of room to think, the space also seemed to complicate matters when it came to keeping my focus.
Except for the burn.
It was unnerving how easy it was to focus on just that.
It felt nothing like the paralyzing flames from before, but rather a thirst. A need to quench a desire I couldn't quite comprehend. Regardless of how much I tried to avoid thinking about it, the sensation would linger inside my throat, constantly reminding me of its presence.
There was no rational explanation for these newfound feelings. It bothered me. I had a faint memory of the weakness I had felt during the time before the fires started. I was on the verge of death. And now, my body had never felt more alive than it did at this very moment.
Stupid, I thought to myself. I was foolish enough to think I'd actually reached heaven. This was clearly just an extension of my former hell.
My eyes were the first to readjust and notice the changes. The blinding light was coming from a large, open window facing me. It was an overcast day, but the clouds turned the sky into a powerful, bright sheet of white light. Coming to think of it, the word "blinding" seemed inaccurate– I could clearly see the circular shape of the sun hidden behind the clouds. It glowed in a kaleidoscope of colors that would gradually change as it made its way across the sky. What surprised me more, though, was the additional hue I'd never seen before. It bounced off the dewy morning air, interacting delicately with the floating dust particles outside.
I followed one of those motes as it danced its way through the window and onto the densely woven fibers of the blanket at the foot of my cot. I could easily make out the intricate patterns of the individual threads that formed the pliable fabric and the ways in which they would mold themselves into irregular shapes.
The detail of everything was as awe-inspiring as it was terrifying. Too surreal. I'd been so concentrated on the details of what I was seeing that I didn't even notice I hadn't been breathing since I woke. I took in a jagged breath to steady my reaction, only to find it provided no real relief. It felt strange to inhale, although it did ignite a newfound sensation.
I could taste something.
It was bitter and stagnant, lingering in the air around me. Before long, I noticed the off-putting flavor was coming from my clothes. Confused, I took in another unnecessary breath and caught the scent of other details I hadn't noted before. I was smelling sweat mixed in with a collection of cleaner, more pleasant flavors. Honey-lilac, vanilla and pinewood were the closest comparisons I could draw, but I couldn't quite pinpoint an exact description for them. Amid these favorable scents, the burn in my throat returned– never truly allowing my brain to forget its presence.
This reaction to my surroundings mustn't have taken more than two seconds. Strangely enough, the rate at which I could process my environment somehow allowed time to slow down. It was so easy to get lost in the minutiae of it all… And still, it felt disturbingly foreign to be seeing this much.
As I drew in another breath, the sound of a faint exhale caught my attention. From the moment I opened my eyes, a part of my mind had already registered I was not alone, but the subtle announcement of their presence still managed to make me uneasy.
Before I knew it, the muscles in my legs had abruptly launched me out of the wobbly bed I'd been laying on. In an eighth of a second, my body found itself crouching by the furthermost corner of the room. My throat let out a low, rumbling growl as I refocused on the face of a pale, blonde man.
He was no older than 25, but carried himself with the grace of someone much older than him. He slowly raised his opened hands to show he wasn't planning to attack, but something in my head was convincing me otherwise.
"I mean you no harm, Edward."
He must be terrified.
Although his voice was calm, my instincts still kept me on the defensive. I quickly scanned the small room for the first time, scoping potential routes for escape. Thanks to my sudden jump out of the cot and onto the other end of the room, I was now cornered. My body tensed at the advantage this stranger had over me.
Hands still raised, he cautiously took a small step in my direction.
"I know this must all be very disorienting, but I promise I am not here to hurt you. I can help."
I hope he understands I'm not a threat. How can I convince him?
The man's voice lingered in my head. I couldn't understand why I could still hear him when he had clearly finished speaking. The words, though unspoken, still had the same sincerity as the ones he said out loud. He took another slow, deliberate step toward me.
He's still wary. He may not trust me immediately, but I'll try my best to make him less tense.
I caught everything he said, yet his lips were not moving again. Was I endowing him with more positive qualities than he truly merited? I shook my head to get his voice out of my thoughts– I must be going insane. My eyes fixed themselves onto the man's face once more. There was an air of protective concern in his expression, almost as if he were looking out for me. But why should he even care about a complete stranger?
"Who are you?" I asked. It caught me by surprise to hear myself speak. I knew I was talking, yet the smooth voice I heard felt disconcertingly different from what I thought I once sounded like.
"I'm Dr. Cullen, but please feel free to just call me Carlisle," he said. Taking another measured step toward me, he knelt down to my level. "You and your mother were in my care during your stay at the hospital. The Spanish influenza left the two of you extremely sick."
The flu, my mother, Dr. Cullen… it was difficult to clearly piece all of the details, but I could faintly recollect images of the doctor and my mother's face. My mother.
"She didn't make it…" I mused, more to myself than to Carlisle.
"Yes," he hesitated. "She passed away. I'm very sorry." The sorrow in his tone was palpable. Almost as if he somehow felt responsible for not being able to save her.
"Thank you," I responded automatically. From what I could remember, her loss was very painful, but I had too many unanswered questions to delve further into the already blurred memories. More importantly, the burn in my throat returned with a pulsing intensity. The discomfort was growing and I didn't know how to tame it.
Suddenly, it was all I could think about. My hand rushed to clutch my throat in a foolish attempt to extinguish the flames. The movement was so quick it frightened me. Carlisle immediately took note of my expression, completely unfazed by my mercurial actions.
"You must be thirsty," he said. He blurred in and out of the room, returning with a tall, dark, metallic cup in his hands. "Here, this should help."
I picked up on the rich and tangy smell coming from the cup he handed me. Although the aroma was not the most appealing, it still managed to flare my thirst. Desperate to stop the burn, I inhaled the drink without questioning what it was.
The liquid made my body radiate with heat. Not the excruciating type of heat from the fires, but rather an exhilarating kind. The burn subsided momentarily before attacking my throat again. I needed more of the liquid. Now.
It was difficult to take stock of my emotions when all I could think about was my immediate desire to quench the raging thirst. I was so overwhelmed by the feeling that I didn't even notice my hands had crushed the cup into a deformed lump of metal. Shocked, I dropped the contorted cup onto the ground. It briefly bounced on the wooden floorboards before rattling and landing at the base of my feet. My eyes shifted from the cup to the floor which was now covered in small splatters of a bold, red liquid.
The abstract painting laid before me was horrifying. The crimson drink turned the floor into what looked like the aftermath of a massacre– one that I was responsible for. The imagery immediately took me out of my frenzy. I was disgusted with myself.
My gaze returned to look at the disfigured metallic cup. "H-how did I do that?" I asked in disbelief.
How do I explain this without scaring him?
My muscles tensed again. "Should I be scared?" I whispered.
The question appeared to throw him off for a brief second. Strange, Carlisle remarked.
I turned my head to look up at him. "When your mother asked me to save you, I did the only thing I knew I could do to make sure of that." He took a slight pause, contemplating his next words.
"What I am, what you and I both are, is different," he emphasized.
"The reason the influenza did not kill you is because I–" Carlisle broke off again, worry tainting his smooth features. "I turned you into a vampire."
Vampire? I scrutinized his face, trying to find some sort of indication of a joke, but his expression was completely earnest.
The boy probably thinks I'm insane.
He struggled to elaborate on the statement, unsure of my next reaction.
"I don't understand," I replied.
"I am sure you've noticed that you been feeling strange recently. There are things you can see, smell, hear and taste that you likely have never experienced before."
My head jerked up and down in a fast nod.
Carlisle chuckled at my movements. "It takes some time to adjust, but these abilities are a part of who we are." He noted my still-terrified expression– my focus had gone back to the mess I'd made on the floor. "The newfound strength is among one of those capabilities. And don't worry about the cup, I wasn't very fond of it to begin with," he teased.
I wanted to laugh, but the horror mixed in with the pulsing thirst inside me made it impossible to react accordingly. It was so easy for him to maintain his composure around the chaos I'd created. I couldn't understand how or why he was doing it.
"The thirst you're feeling can be very uncomfortable and overwhelming at first. That's why I gave you some blood to help with the burn, but we'll need to hunt soon to make it more manageable."
Hunting, blood, the heightened senses… was I supposed to believe all of this was real? Vampires belonged in novels and old wives' tales. And they most certainly did not look like the peaceful man standing in front of me. It felt contradictory to accept any of this, but I didn't have any other plausible ideas to answer my own questions, let alone my behavior.
"I know none of this makes sense at the moment, but if you'll allow me, I can show you what I mean." He extended one of his hands to help me up from my defensive crouch. Amidst all my fears and confusions, there was a certainty in Carlisle's actions that made my situation somehow feel less disastrous. I couldn't tell whether the fate of my future was intended to be tragic or not, but at that very moment, it felt right to simply accept the optimistic promise of this stranger's friendly gesture.
Thank you to everyone for the kind words! I've been having a lot of fun writing these chapters– MS Edward was super melodramatic and I'm guessing he wasn't any different back in the 1900s. I'll be exploring more of Edward and Carlisle's beginnings and some bonding moments over the next couple of chapters.
Cheers,
itstheflourescents