I swear, to me, posting something is like sending a first child off to school. I completely freak out and spend a good five minutes hyperventilating. Am I weird?
...
Yeah, I'm weird.
Arrows: Chapter 8
Flicker
It's not the screaming wind that rouses Ralph from his nightmares. It's not the blinding flashes of lightning arcing across the sky. It's not even the ear-splitting thunder rumbling too close for comfort. It's the fact that he can't move; Ralph knows that he isn't tied up to the point where all movement was restrained, but he can't roll over. As adrenalin chases the drowsiness from the blond's brain, he becomes aware of two arms wrapped around his torso and the presence of another body. Oh, right. It was Jack's cave after all; the redhead would be sleeping here. Ralph grits his teeth in irritation and tries to squirm out of the ginger's embrace; what he wouldn't give for a knife, he'd at least be able to free himself and make Jack pay for keeping him as a toy. From somewhere deep in his mind, the beast laughs as Ralph twists his body around to survey the hunter. Jack is much closer than Ralph anticipated; in fact, the blond's nose brushes his companion's mouth as Ralph flips his body. The captive male jumps, and for a few seconds, his rationale slips. As so many times before, that is all the beast needs to claim dominance in the teen.
The bindings on the prisoner are probably what saved Jack's life; the blood thirst that the beast instills renders Ralph incapable of strategy or logic, so the blond spends a good deal of patience trying in a futile effort to free his hands. When he can't, the beast snarls and Ralph lashes out blindly in frustration; consequently, instead of landing a killing blow on Jack's throat, the blond sinks his teeth into the muscle connecting Jack's neck and shoulder. Painful, but not fatal. The hunter is awake and on top of him in milliseconds; Ralph hardly has time to blink through the red haze before his head slams against the floor and dots appear in his vision. Jack is leaning over him, a threatening snarl twisted across his features; grey light emphasizes the bolting eyes to a terrifying extent, making Jack look scarily like a starving wolf. Ralph barely registers the anger on the other's face though, blue grey eyes already glazing over at the sight of crimson trails sliding down Jack's skin. He lunges again, but this time, Jack ducks to the side and forces his forearm under the blond's chin, keeping Ralph flat against the ground.
"What," the redhead's voice is dark with irritation, "do you think you're doing?"
The captive doesn't answer, concentrating instead on trying to struggle out of the hold Jack has on him. The redhead arches one fiery eyebrow at the squirming teen underneath him, "And you call me a savage. What are you then?"
Savage. The word pierces through the thick haze of bloodlust and echoes in Ralph's consciousness. The beast is shoved back into the recesses of his mind as his humane side regains control. Feeling nausea churn his stomach, the blond goes limp under Jack. The next few minutes are spent in silence; the only things breaking the quiet are the pouring rain, the thunder, and the slowing breaths of two teenagers. When the reddish tint clouding his vision finally clears, Ralph finds that Jack is still on top of him, icy eyes searching for an answer. The ginger flicks his knife, outlining a design against Ralph's cheek, "Well?"
Ralph is tired; the beast, for some reason, drains him like nothing else is able to. Under normal circumstances, he would have stayed obstinately silent just to infuriate the hunter. But right now, he lacks the energy to resist for no particular reason, "Well what?"
Jack's eyes flash in the half light, a dangerous glint settling in the sky blue irises, "Don't play dumb with me, Ralph. Well this," the knife leaves temporarily to tap on the bruising bite mark right above the redhead's collarbone, "Quite the bloodthirsty demon you are." Seeing that Ralph no longer posed a threat, Jack removes his arm from the blond's throat but stays straddling the other male, trailing his knife down the length of Ralph's torso. The blond doesn't dare move; the knife is above his major organs and he'd rather not have holes stabbed into them. He feels the point of the blade break skin on the left side of his chest; Ralph bites down on his lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. The cold metal carves a neat design onto his body and liquid oozes out, beading along the incision; a flash of lightning illuminates Jack briefly as the redhead draws the blade away, inspecting the handiwork he's left on the prisoner.
"You attacked me. That deserves punishment, yes?" the ginger slides off of Ralph and stands up, ducking his head to avoid the ceiling of the cave, "Even more, you drew blood. What am I going to do with you?"
Ralph stays quiet at the rhetorical question; he highly doubts anything he says would make whatever Jack has in mind less torturous. The hunter smiles at Ralph's glare, before turning around and walking into the storm; he's gone for a while, the steady taptap of the rain has lulling the blond into a trance when a finger forces his chin up. Ralph finds himself staring into orbs of ice and out of both reflex and irritation, he jerks away. Jack smirks.
"Did you enjoy yourself? You did love the rain so." Beside him, Roger gives a rare smile, dark eyes suddenly too focused. Ralph's body is still drained from the earlier episode with the beast, leaving him with little patience. The blond clenches his jaw, glaring at the two hunters through flaxen strands of hair.
"What do you want?" He knows something is going to happen. Roger never looks this pleased about anything except when it came to inflicting pain. Jack's answer only intensifies the venom in Ralph's eyes.
"How rude Ralph," the mockery in the redhead's voice is evident under a thin layer of sincerity, "but if you must know, Roger and I planned to have a civilised conversation with you."
Ralph gives a sharp, bitter laugh, Civilised? Them? "And if I don't want to talk to you?"
Jack sighs at this and turns to Roger with an air of regret, "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this, but will you take it from here?" The brunette grins, pushing Ralph outside the entrance into the rain, and readjusting the bindings to immobilize the prisoner. The freezing rain bites the captive's skin as Roger tests the needle sharp point of his spear against his thumb. The blond feels anticipation knot his stomach; the expression on Roger's face gives him all the information he needs. This was going to be bad.
Roger steps in front of his chief, blocking the redhead from Ralph's vision; he touches the warm wood to the blond's lower lip as Jack's disembodied voice gives Ralph his first question. Rebellion seals the captive's voice even and the point digs into the soft flesh of his mouth, slicing across in one movement. Ralph feels the hot blood pool on his lower lip and slide down the corners of his mouth; his body flinches reflexively at the pain and laughter lights up the dark grey eyes in front of him. Anger hardens his resolve to stay silent; after a while, he becomes only vaguely aware of the soft questions through a combination of frigid water and pain. Roger dices up Ralph's skin, watching the rain and blood mix into pinkish trails on the golden boy. The brunette seems delighted by his handiwork and sets his spear aside, uncoiling the whip from around his waist. The wind and rain have long worked themselves under Ralph's skin and into his core, chilling the blond to the bone and turning his lips blue. Roger's lashes barely draw a reaction from the numb figure, even as the leather tears deeper into flesh. Ralph would have blacked out from the cold and blood loss had Jack not suddenly intervened and stopped his lieutenant. A soft argument ensues, one that the blond barely registers through the stinging numbness of his entire body.
Eventually, both hunters come to a compromise and Roger disappears into the swirling mess of grey. Ralph growls at the hands dragging him back into the cave, tries futilely to swat them away, and nearly passes out again at the effort. Jack catches him and props the blond up against the rocky wall, studying the boy with a strange expression. The jarring rise in temperature dilates all of Ralph's constricted blood vessels, causing his skin to flush. Some of the oozing wounds begin to actively bleed, leaving strips of red on the slim body. The blond grits his teeth, he feels stifled in the cave, his body still attempting to adjust to the sudden rush of warmth. He starts when Jack swipes one finger across his cheek, covering it with blood, and pulls back for inspection. Blue eyes flick from the crimson liquid to Ralph before the redhead abruptly leans close and begins outlining patterns on the blond's face. Slender fingers drag long trails down from his right eye to his jaw line; there's the impression of a circle on his left cheekbone and brief strokes underneath the shape. It takes a moment for Ralph to realise through the searing haze of pain that Jack is painting him with his own blood; even though his body protests, the fair teen jerks away with an irritated sound. Jack laughs quietly, eyes gleaming.
"Shame you didn't become a hunter. Red looks good on you." Ignoring the death glare, Jack turns away, absentmindedly cutting random designs into the sandy floor of the cave. With nothing else to take his mind off of the suffocating heat and the sharp pain permeating every inch of his skin, Ralph appraises the turned profile of his old enemy, actually seeing the redhead for the first time without a mist of adrenalin clouding his vision. Surprisingly, Jack appears completely sane without the hungry, predatorial look dominating the cool irises. Doubt suddenly tugs at the blond, briefly questioning the idea of the other male being the embodiment of absolute evil. He quashes that thought as soon as it forms. No, Jack is a killer, a murderer. Ralph knows for certain that the redhead has been behind at least two deaths on the island. There is no way Jack can be redeemed.
~Kill the pig! Cut her throat! Bash her in!~
The memory hits him like a stone. Jack had started that chant hadn't he? Why is it burned into Ralph's memory like a hot coal? Nothing adds up; the memories of his first year on the island are blocked by guilt, denial, and a terrible fear. When he concentrates harder, he uncovers the thrilling residue of blood staining his hands. The pieces don't fit together into a coherent picture that tells Ralph why and how he ended up becoming Jack's prey. It helps even less in explaining the two boys lingering on his conscience and Ralph's polar reactions toward shedding blood. The oncoming headache makes the teen promptly stop; he should focus on escaping first. Maybe join up with the newcomers to destroy the reign Jack has over the island and then escape this nightmare and go home.
The pattering of feet on wet rock derails his concentration, a young boy appears at the entrance nearly dancing with fear from being out in the thunderstorm, "Roger wants you. He says Samneric knows something about something on the ship." The redhead is gone the same instant Ralph deciphers what that "something" probably was. No wonder Jack and Roger had been questioning him about ships. He had asked Jack to look for it after all. One of his father's ships is on the island; the blond's mouth quirks slightly, It looks like we're not done yet, Jack.
Two things inspired this chapter. First, water (even fresh water) on open wounds sting, you can try it if you don't believe me. Second, I hate walking into warm rooms after becoming a human popsicle because then, for a while, I roast in the heat. I think the two together would be quite torturous indeed.
Thank you for the reviews! :)