Chapter 8: Give Me Novacaine
Shelby spent much of the next day alone, oddly enough. After Paul's emotional episode the night before – which he'd refused to explain to her – they had fallen asleep. But when she woke up, Marko had told her that Paul said he needed some time alone. As much as she hated the idea of him suffering in silence, she decided to respect his wishes. She figured she didn't have too much to worry about, as long as he came back to her relatively soon. After all, she trusted him to not do anything rash. She knew that, whatever his problem was, he would fill her in once he was ready. All she had to do was give him time…
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"Do you think he's okay in there?" She questioned, her voice hollow, "It's been two days." Paul hadn't come out of his room yet, and Shelby was beginning to worry.
Dwayne put a hand on her shoulder, comfortingly, "I'm sure he is. Don't worry about him; he can take care of himself."
Marko nodded in agreement, but Shelby shook her head, "No. No – you guys didn't… see him that night. He was… I've never seen him like that before… So broken and fragile –,"
"Shelbs, we know, okay? We know what Paul's like when he's upset," Marko shrugged, "He broods on his own for a while, but he always gets over it. He moves on."
She look down at her hands, "I just… I don't know what to do. I want to be there for him, but he won't let me… Letting him wallow in misery by himself is not the right thing to do. He shouldn't beat himself up over whatever's bothering him. I should be with him right now."
Both boys look sympathetic, and then Dwayne said, "I can go check on him, if you want."
Shelby nodded, slowly, "Can you ask him if he wants to see me?"
"Of course. I'll be right back." And, in a flash, he was gone.
By the time he returned, she had bitten her fingernails down to nubs from anxiety. "So, what did he say?"
The look on Dwayne's face was stony, and he replied, "Not much, to be honest –,"
"But you were gone for, like, ten minutes!" Marko interrupted, agitated.
"I know that, but he hardly said one word to me, man." Dwayne said, turning to Shelby, "I asked if he wanted to see you, and all he did was shake his head. The only thing I could get out of him was a 'hey' when I first walked in there… I don't know what to think, but something is definitely not right."
She stood up, "Then I have to see him. I can't… I can't let him do this to himself."
Marko grabbed her arm, stilling her, "No, you really shouldn't do that. I'm serious. When Paul's upset, we leave him alone. That's just what we do. He will get over whatever this is, I fucking know he will."
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After waking up alone for the third day in a row, Shelby passed over worrying and into the realm of panic. She paced back and forth for at least three straight hours, trying to piece together what was going on. The boys did their best to calm her down – even David took pity on her – telling her not to stress out and to "relax" or "breathe" or "chill".
"I can't!" She ended up yelling at them, "I fucking can't just sit down and act like something isn't wrong with the guy I love. I'm sorry, but I can't."
"Well, try to, then." David advised, warily, "Your pacing is giving me one helluva headache."
"Why can't I go in and talk to him? Why? He needs me –,"
"Yeah? Well, evidently, he doesn't – or he would have asked to see you." He pointed out, "So… calm your tits for a while, alright?"
Shelby was taken aback by that comment, "Dude – what the hell? 'Calm your tits'?"
He shrugged, taking a long drag from the cigarette in his hand, "Stop obsessing over this. Your fuck buddy will be fine; he always is."
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"Four fucking days." Her voice was tired – her whole body was – and she was verging on dejected now. "Four. Does – does he even realize what worrying about him is doing to me? I can't… eat, I can't fucking sleep, I can't stop thinking about him…" She laughed, humorlessly, tears brimming in her eyes, "I just… miss him. I really fucking miss him."
Marko moved in to wrap his arms around her, while she started to cry, "I know you do, sis, I know. I'm so sorry – I don't know why he's doing this or what's running through his head. I wish there was something I could do."
She shook from the sobs that racked her body, holding on to him for support and feeling more thankful to him that ever. "The last t-time you tried to t-talk to h-him, he w-wouldn't even l-let you in the r-room?"
He nodded, patting her on the back, "Yeah. He told me to fuck off. He's my friend, you know? He's my best fucking friend, and I don't know what to do to help him. I'm a waste of space – I'm flat-out useless… but I never thought there'd be a time when I wouldn't be able to think of some way to help him."
"I know h-how you f-feel," she whispered, not nearly ready to pull out of the hug yet, "But this – whatever he's g-going through – isn't your fault." After a moment of silence, she added, "Tomorrow, if he still hasn't come out, I'm going to see him. I don't care if he tells me to go away, I will see him."
Marko seemed to approve of this choice, "I think that's a good idea. He probably needs to see you."
"Thanks for this hug," she smiled, half-heartedly, still not pulling away, "You're the best."
"Don't mention it. You're family – this is what families do for each other, right?"
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When day five arrived, she waited a few hours to see what would happen. Of course, nothing did, so she decided it was time for her intervention. Though David and Dwayne urged her not to, Marko encouraged her; he even walked her to the room for moral support. As she lifted her hand to the door, she gestured for Marko to go, took a deep breath, and knocked twice.
A beat. And then: "Fuck off, Marko." His voice alarmed her. It sounded different; unlike him.
"Uh… It's not Marko. It's me." She was hyper-aware of how hard she was shaking, but tried to ignore it. "Can I come in?"
There was no answer, but when she tried the doorknob, she found it was unlocked, and pushed the door open slowly. The room was pitch dark, but – being a vampire and all – she could see everything. The place was a fucking pigsty; the bed covers were ripped and strewn all over the floor; the wallpaper peeling; the drawers and shelves hanging open. Paul was curled up in a ball on the floor next to the bed, his arms wrapped tight around his knees. If that wasn't enough to increase her worry, the look on his face was. He was… smiling. When she listened, she could make out the faint sound of his laughter; manic and breathy. Like how you laugh when you're uncomfortable or nervous.
"Paul?" She said, quietly, "Are you… okay?"
That made him laugh harder, unsteadily, "You have no fucking idea how okay I am, sassy. I'm fucking fantastic. I lost the feeling in my legs twenty minutes ago and then I saw stars."
What is he talking about? "Wow – that, um… that sounds great – but what's going on? We – I – haven't seen you in days." She knelt down beside him, "Why are you hiding from us?" When she got closer, he recoiled, burying his face in his knees and trembling. He wasn't laughing anymore – he seemed terrified. "Baby, talk to me. Please talk to me. Let me help you."
"I don't need help!" He shouted, suddenly, his voice muffled slightly by his knees. "Go away. Or the monster will get you."
Her eyebrows furrowed, "Monster? What monster?"
His insane laughter started up again, soft but chilling, "Me, princess."
"You're not a monster. You're not. You can't possibly –,"
"I am, I am, I am," he choked out through his giggles, "I'm a monster out of a story book, I'm a horror movie villain, I'm a sparkly teenage dream – whatever."
"Why – because you're a vampire?" She was trying so hard to understand what was wrong. He was so fucking out of it.
"And bingo was his name-o." The laughter was uncontrollable now – it sounded like it was paining him.
Shelby sighed, "So? Just because you're a vampire doesn't mean you're a monster. I'm not a monster, am I?"
"No," he rasped, "You're a whore."
He may as well have slapped her across the face, because that's what it felt like. She sat in stunned silence for a moment, before stuttering out, "Wh-what? Paul… What?"
His laugh was scornful that time – it went through her like a blade. "Don't pretend you aren't. You're a whore because you fucking asked for this. God… fuck you for wanting this."
"You mean because I asked you to turn me?" She was so tired of this; she was nowhere nearer to figuring out his problem, "Because I asked to become one of you?"
"I didn't want this for you, but you begged me for it." He sounded agonized and she wished that she could see his face. "So you're a fucking whore. And I let you into my life and decided to love you because I'm a moron and I don't deserve you because I'm shit." His laughter turned into desperate sobbing and it made her heart ache. She reached out, but he would not let her touch him. As soon as it had started he fell silent, then whispered, "Do you want to know the things I've done, sassy?" The tone of his voice chilled her to the bone, and she gulped as he murmured, "I've watched people beg for their lives before spilling their blood and fucking wallowing in it. I've slaughtered men and women alike out of sheer boredom – just because I could."
"Paul, stop it." He was scaring her.
He laughed shortly, his voice quivering as he continued, "I once tied a man down and made him watch while I ripped his daughter to shreds. And I fucking laughed when her blood splattered onto his face. I've done terrible fucking things, baby – and you know what? I enjoyed every single second of it."
"Stop it," she begged, shaking her head and holding back tears, while he chuckled madly. "Don't say shit like that. We've all done things we regret – it's okay. You've changed. You're good now."
He full on guffawed at that, his entire body shaking. "Stop fucking talking about me like you know me. You don't. You don't. So don't fucking act like you understand, because you don't. You can't."
He choked on his own laughter, coughing and gasping, while she racked her brain for what she should do. He was still curled up in a ball, and he seemed so tiny and break-able. Tears fell down her cheeks at the sight. She loved him so much… "Paul, please, please tell me what's wrong. I'm tired of this."
"I can't," he whimpered, tears shining on what little she could see of his face, "I can't talk to you – it hurts too much. Hurts me…"
"Sit up for me – that's all you have to do. Just sit up so I can see you, okay?" She asked, gently.
Paul hesitated for a moment, before nodding and doing what he was told, straightening up with his back against the bed. When he glanced up at her, she felt worse for him than ever. He looked exhausted – and his eyes were bloodshot. When she moved in closer – he didn't protest, thank god – she saw a sheen of sweat on his face, and put a hand to his forehead. "You're burning up. What the fuck is wrong? Tell me now."
As she stroked his cheeks, he shrugged, "I opened up my present and there was a surprise inside just for me. But I used it all up and now it's gone," he burst out laughing, tired and worn-out, "But I had fun."
"What are you talking about? What present? Show me." She grabbed his arms in her urgency and looked down to see a series of scars on both of his wrists. Some were healed – for the most part – but others look fresh and bloody. She gasped, "Oh my god, Paul – what have you fucking done to yourself? Jesus –," He reached into one of the open drawers near them and pulled out a small, clear, empty baggy. As he handed it to her, she asked, "What was in this?"
Paul rolled his eyes and shrugged again, "It's white, it's powder-y, it makes you feel fucking awesome…"
When that past puzzle piece finally slid into place in her mind, she growled, "Cocaine? So, what – you fucking do drugs now? And what's with the hack jobs on your wrists? Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that what you –?"
"No!" He looked and sounded delirious at that point, "It was only punishment."
She was so far beyond frustrated by now; she wanted to shake him. "Punishment for what?"
But she never got to find out the answer to her question, because the next thing she knew, someone had grabbed her from behind, stuffing some cloth into her mouth to stifle her screams. She saw Paul struggling with another person who held him with a knife pressed against his throat. Even so, he was still chuckling to himself - she could see tiny beads of crimson blood appear as he fought and laughed. And then something very heavy collided with her skull, and blackness swallowed her whole.
A/N: Sorry for the major cliffhanger, guys :P It had to be done. I AM SO EXCITED FOR CHAPTER 9. I don't know about you guys – but I am psyched. It's going to be a bit of a bitch to write, but I'm always up for a challenge here and there ;D Hope you guys enjoyed this fucker of a chapter – I'll update as soon as I can :)