From the Waist Down

Chapter 5

With my head already turned in the direction of the door, perhaps out of hope, perhaps only by coincidence, I was able to see the frame tear open. Eric Northman stood in the gaping wound of the wall, shreds of wood and metal dripping from the frame like the blood that continued to spill from my thigh. His normally pale face was ashen, and his eyes burst from their sockets, so dark and yet so blue that I could have swum in them and never reached the bottom. He didn't linger more than a second, time which he used to assess the situation. Victor was still inside me, a plug in a dry hole. His hand hung limply under the stream of my blood, the trickle of which made me weaker and closer to Gran with each minute.

Eric was fast, ridiculously fast. He crossed the room in less than a second, less than the time it took for Victor to open his mouth in reaction. I expected him to say "What are you doing here?" or "How did you escape?" like the villain in a James Bond movie. But Victor didn't say anything. The grin didn't even disappear from his face. Eric grabbed him by the throat and tore through the office, tossing him like a limp rag through the bookshelf he had used to block the door, through the door, and out into the parking lot. I could hear the faint rumble of a car.

He returned as quickly as he had left, perhaps faster. I found his face reflecting in my eyes, and I turned away. I couldn't face him. I couldn't look at him. My thoughts drifted to the little black box I'd discovered in his desk drawer. Whatever it was, I wasn't worthy of it now. I could no longer be with the Viking. I belonged to Victor now. I was his.

"Sookie," Eric almost breathed. It would have been a breath if he had functioning lungs. He lifted me from the table, but I felt limp, like a wash rag. My arms and legs lolled over his arms, useless, pathetic, and dead. Drops of something hot fell onto my cheek as the Viking tucked me against his chest and carried me out the back door.

"They're in the back," Pam said shortly. Her voice was rough, as though she'd been fighting. What could she possibly have been fighting? There was no one left. There was only me. I couldn't put up a fight, even if I wanted to do so.

"Go," Eric directed her after planting us, together, in the passenger seat of the car. He held me against him like a child's baby doll, protected and safe.

But I wasn't protected. I wasn't safe. I couldn't look at him. How could he stand to touch me?

We were either flying or speeding, but Pam pulled the car to a screeching stop after a brief five minute drive. Eric pushed the car door open and lifted me out. I looked down at the ground, feeling dizzy. The world seemed to spin on an axis, and though I'd eaten nothing all day, I threw up. The vomit didn't go far. Some of it splashed onto Eric's shirt, a plain white tee shirt dotted with drops of blood. More of it oozed down my front, my white Merlotte's shirt, almost red with my own blood. Now it was red, and a yellowish green. I was Christmas colored!

I giggled, a sound that was eerie even to me.

"Ssh," Eric whispered, adjusting me in his arms so he could hold me tighter. My cheek pressed against his chest and I could hear his heart not beating. I closed my eyes and tried to push Victor out of my head. It didn't work. His glowering eyes and clownish grin burned through my corneas, seared into my memory like a brand. My eyelids rolled open like the shades in a Goofy cartoon. Bile rushed up my throat from the depths of my stomach, burning my esophagus. I was going to be sick again, despite the lack of contents in my gut.

"Sick," I winced just before I vomited a second time, over Eric's arm and onto the pavement. The rank saliva and stomach acid drenched his shirt sleeve, his forearm, the sidewalk leading up to the house. Eric didn't flinch, but held me even closer. I heard the squeak of a door opening, Pam's movement inside as though she were lugging something heavy. Eric moved behind her, and shut the door.

I could see beige fluffy carpeting, spotlessly clean and sufficiently cozy. I don't know how I knew, maybe by the lack of windows on the wall I could see, but I was certain this was Eric's home. Together, we drifted down a dark hallway, into a back room with an ornate ceiling lamp. In the middle of it, flanked by two small side tables, there sat an enormous bed with a dark blue comforter and black sheets.

"Sookie," Eric whispered after placing me on the bed. I instinctively curled into a tight ball, despite the lingering pain that inched through me like a cancer. The Viking's large hand touched my shoulder tenderly. I flinched, but he did not draw back.

"I'm here," he said gently. "I'm here."

***

In the middle of Eric's living room, supported atop brown leather sofas, Bill Compton and Sam Merlotte lay unconscious. Bill's shoulder was healing, as was the fist-sized crack to his temporal lobe. His pale skin was almost bright white, and his lips were chapped and raw. If he were not already dead, he would appear close enough to the pearly gates to warrant concern. However, Pam knelt beside Sam Merlotte, her arm poised over the supe's open mouth. His naked human body was motionless, pale, and clammy. A hole gaped in his abdomen, blood dribbling out of it continuously.

***

"Let's get you cleaned up," Eric murmured. He left me for a moment on the bed, and I realized I was shivering. Don't leave me, a voice whimpered in the back of my head. Please don't leave me alone. I could hear a faucet turn on, water splashing into a basin. Eric was back in a second, his arms draping around me like soft cloth, one of Gran's quilts.

"I'm right here, Sookie." Eric spoke quietly, as though he'd read my thoughts. "I won't leave you."

He lifted me from the bed, still curled into a fetal position, my knees drawn up to my chest. Blood followed behind us in a trail, a trail of drops that stained the white tile. He took me to a chair sitting beside the bathtub, a gorgeous porcelain tub built into the wall of an enormous bathroom. Eric knelt on the floor and touched my knee, just barely, his fingertips hardly contacting the skin.

"Don't!" I yelped suddenly, slamming my thighs together like the covers of a hardback book.

"My lover, you're bleeding. It hasn't stopped since I found you. Please Sookie, let me see."

"It won't stop. He said it wouldn't ever stop." I was shaking now, so violently that my teeth started to chatter. I was still going to die tonight. Maybe that would be better for everyone.

"I need to see it," Eric frowned. He looked up at me from where he sat. His eyes were rimmed dark red, as though he'd been crying. It was such a strange sight that I relented.

I parted my legs, just enough to let Eric see the wound. It was a hole, a hole in my flesh, deep and gory with my blood. I stared from the wound to the vampire's face, and he seemed troubled. He felt troubled. His emotions swam into me from all sides, and I knew he was conflicted. There were decisions to make, decisions that would surely frighten me. That was the last thing in the world he wanted. He'd already let so much go terribly wrong.

"Take my blood, Sookie," he said at last, getting to his feet. He turned off the faucet on the tub, and took my hand, standing over me.

"No," I said, so softly that I wasn't sure I'd actually spoken aloud.

"We only have two options, my lover. I can lick the wound, and it will close. Or I can give you my blood."

"No," I said again, no louder than before.

"I won't let you bleed to death," Eric hissed.

"I want to die."

I dropped my eyes to the floor, to avoid his gaze. It was true. Eric didn't know. He had no idea. I belonged to Victor. I was claimed. I was his. If this wound didn't kill me, I would remain his until the day that I did die. If I could speed up the process, I could make this whole night disappear like a dream. Eric's hands touched my shoulders, but I didn't dare look at him.

"Sookie, please," Eric pleaded with me. I watched as a drop of blood descended from above and hit the floor. I lifted my eyes to see if he'd already opened a wound in his arm. He hadn't. Instead, a trail of the life giving force had fallen from the corner of his eye and dropped onto the porcelain. "Take it. Please."

I couldn't stand to see him cry. Men weren't supposed to cry, and Eric Northman, in particular, was not supposed to cry. I ripped his arm toward me with a force I didn't know I had. I bit into his skin, feeling blood under my papery tongue. I took only a few drops, not enough to do much more than clot the wound. Then I pushed his arm away. Though I wasn't looking, I knew he lifted his cut to his mouth and licked it to seal the flesh. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to my skull, a gesture of thanks that flowed through me from the spot he'd kissed. He stood in silence for a moment.

"Come," he murmured. "The bath will help."

Eric helped me shed the remainder of my clothing: my stained Merlotte's tee shirt, my black tennis shoes, my white cotton panties and white cotton bra. I stared straight ahead so I wouldn't be tempted to look down at the mess Victor had made. The Viking lifted me from the floor and placed me carefully in the bath. He joined me a moment later, and though he was naked, I was glad to have him close by. He told me he wouldn't leave me, and I knew he meant it.