03

[03]

 

“What the hell are you doing?” I growled, hunched up on the dingy sofa. Emory was across from me, packing a rucksack with various books, papers and pens. He glanced up at me, then zipped up his bag.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked innocently. I raised my eyebrows.

 

“You are not going to school. In this climate?” I almost choked out. I was appalled at his wishes to be normal. Emory shrugged and picked up his bag. I stood up quickly, towering above him.

 

“We need to remain hidden!” I screeched at him angrily.

 

“We need to remain normal!”

 

“How the hell are we going to do that? A human has escaped. With knowledge of us!” I protested. There was silence for a moment. Not a movement, not a heartbeat for seconds. “You know Rafe is going to come.”

 

Emory looked away from me, his face full of guilt. He huffed and looked sourly at me. “You talk to him. You’re the eldest. I’m going to school.”

 

I opened my mouth to shout but decided it was a waste of my breath to persuade him to take some blame. The pathetic little Sanguinarian couldn’t own up to such anything anymore – and this was important. I wasn’t going to lie; I was as much to blame, being the one to let Emory distract me but I wasn’t the cause.

 

I couldn’t be bothered to change out of my night clothes. Not that I slept – vampires don’t. But if someone comes a knocking at 6AM you don’t want to draw attention to yourself by being fully dressed. My night outfit consisted of black and red female boxers and a red top; subtle but sexy. I did however decide to sort out my hair. It was still wild and untamed like last night.

 

-

 

There was a quiet knock on the door. I started to worry. Rafe didn’t seem as angry as I thought he’d be. In less than a second I was by the door and unlocked it slowly. I heard Rafe grind his teeth together, irritated by my lack of speed. I yanked it forward and turned immediately, not seeing his face. I zoomed to the kitchen and stood beside the oven.

 

Rafe’s real name was Irvin Kosmas. However, he hated that name, believing Rafe was a much cool and superior name for a much cooler and superior vampire. He’s made himself to be the top dog in the vampire world. He believed it was his duty to keep us in order. So when something – or someone – threatened our existence, he was on the case.

 

Rafe strolled into the kitchen nice and calmly, settling himself behind the table, at the opposite end of the room to me. I liked the protection in his act – Rafe could be quite violent if agitated. Rafe crossed his arms and glared a little at me. He looked like a lion in the African sun, on the lookout for possible threats. And now he’d found one.

 

“It’s reached my ears,” Rafe began his voice smooth, deep and very, very British, “that a human has knowledge of our existence. A human who – please correct me if I’m wrong – you and your brother let escape last night.”

 

Rafe gave me an expectant look but was not happy. Rafe knew it was true and I was not going to deny it in a hurry. Lying was worse than actually committing the crime. “Well Miss Brooklyn, what do you have to say?”

 

I looked out the window for a moment, wondering where the myths of light sensitivity in vampires came from. I sighed before answering him. “Yes, it’s true. I was going to bite Dylan but Emory got in the way.”

 

Rafe raised his eyebrows but did not say a word. He was slightly surprised by the fact I was not protecting my brother. I cleared my throat and continued. “So we fought. Emory gets into a trance when blood comes upon his sweet lips. One girl was not enough for him, regrettably. And whilst we fought, Dylan ran.”

 

Rafe shook his head, touching his hair softly. “Oh Brooklyn. Brook, what are we to do with you?”

 

I suddenly felt a pang of compassion, of guilt. Rafe couldn’t make you feel so powerless, so sad and pitiful of yourself. It was his psychic ability. I shook my head, fighting the overwhelming feeling forced into my skull.

 

“NO!” I screamed. I knew Rafe was going to try to kill me. He was already attempting to make me feel I deserved it; make me think I wanted death. I slammed my fists against the oven, “Stop it!”

 

“Brooklyn, please. We can contain the male, force him to conform, but you …” Rafe started, his eyes a little sad, a little unhappy but there was resentment, pain. “You have to be lost. I have to comply. I hate to do this, you know I do.”

 

“Shut up Rafe! I’m not dying today and don’t you dare even try.” I cried, gritting my teeth together. “I’m not dying.”

 

Rafe raised an eyebrow at my words. My hands felt for the cooker knobs, a plan forming in my brain. I edged my way away from the cooker, sniffing. My tears were cold and imaginary. I knew I wasn’t going to die. The hissing from the cooker appeased me greatly.

 

“What’s that hissing sound?” Rafe asked suspiciously. I shrugged innocently. I was glad my acting skills had improved in my years.

 

“Probably just the pipes. You know these creep old apartments.” I answered, looking down. “Look, if I must be dealt with, please let me feed first. I didn’t get a chance last night.”

 

Rafe gazed at me warily, trying to find something wrong with my request. There wasn’t and he nodded once. I nodded back. “Would you mind if I grabbed a change of clothes? It’s not easy grabbing a meal in night clothes.”

 

“Oh really? I heard some men find it so attractive.” Rafe smiled now, being sarcastic. You would have thought it so uncharacteristic for such an evil figure, but it really suited Rafe quite well. I rushed away from him, into my room, changing into something comfortable and warm before grabbing a box of matches. I sat down on my bed and thought. Did I really need to do this? Did I have too? Emory was sure to slaughter me. Nevertheless, it was the only way to ensure our safety.

 

I struck a match and watched it burn slowly. I blew it out and struck another. It took me another minute or two to calm myself enough.

 

“Brook?” Rafe called from the other room.

 

“Just a minute.” I answered, picking up the matches. I grabbed some paper and ripped it up, forcing the scrunched up paper into a glass jar. I dropped a light match into it and put the lid on. I then ran to the kitchen and Rafe saw the fire in my hand.

 

“Brook …?” he said slowly. He could see what I was going to do. He shook his head and my eyes filled with tears.

 

“Please don’t.” I begged before throwing my jar at the cooker.

 

The kitchen exploded, flames everyone. I could smell Rafe’s skin burning, his shrill scream loud above the roar of flames. The was black smoke and the fire orange and it marbleized strangely in front of my eyes. I turned away.

The End

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