Chapter 6: ... Than to Curse the Darkness

Chapter 6:  ... Than to Curse the Darkness

"You ruined my fucking life!"

I back away from the enraged Manticore, through the emptying hallway.  I don't really have any other options.  The vaguest notion of trying to get a teacher or Lythalia to try and talk some sense into Tish passes through my mind.
"My friends won't even look at me!  I'm laughed at by fucking everyone!  My own fucking mother just kicked me out, because of you!"
Her mother?
My thought processes stop along with my legs.
Her mother?
Kicked her out because- because what?  Because I stopped her from raping me?
I open my mouth to speak, to try to say something in my defense.  No, not to do that.  To comfort her.  To say that I never meant this to happen.

She comes to a stop, watching me.  Her expression contorts in pained rage as she draws in an even larger breath.  "Don't you dare fucking pity me!"

There's a soft, whistling sound in the air, and then something hits me in the chest like a light punch.  I grab the chain of my lantern by reflex, but there's nothing to defend myself against.  She's still walking toward me from ten feet away.  When I look down to see what happened, I see them.  There must be fifty of the things.  Spines.  All of them clear; empty of the fluid they once held.

I can already feel it.  No, see it.  My arm jerks upward in a painful tensing of muscle.  The briefest pause gives way to another, more powerful spasm.  A long, low moan works its way from my voice without my intending it.  It burns.  It burns so badly in my chest.  Without warning the moaning stops as my diaphragm drops to my stomach, forcing my lungs overfull in a single, painful instant.  Just as soon as they're filled, they empty.  I scream so loudly and so suddenly that my throat aches from the force of it.  The spasm in my arm becomes an inescapable pull, and my hand, still gripping the iron chain, swings high into the air, only to come falling down.

Run.

The resonant clang, though loud, is only barely audible over the horrid, feral shout that my lungs refuse to let stop.  The force of the impact as my lantern slams into Tish drives her into the floor, stunned and confused.  The flame - now blasting out of its chamber - is twisting and turning in strange, unnatural whorls.  As soon as my lungs empty themselves of air they immediately draw in another painful gasp, only to begin the scream anew.  The force of it is enough to send out flecks of blood from my ruined throat.

Please Run.

My arm pulls back again, ignoring the feeble protests of my stunned mind.  With another downward swing, it impacts with Tish's chest, causing her to cough up a sudden spray of blood.  The spikes - when did I make it manifest spikes? - tear her flesh and bone as I swing again and again, tearing chunks of skin and meat and scattering them across the hall.  The flames sear them black before they land and leave a horrible, pitted black gouge where once there were her breasts.  There's something else there, behind the cracked and torn ribs and meat.  Something beating.  My arm lifts my lantern again, readying another strike.  That is where it will land.

Someone, please make me stop.

"Awaken, oh Shackleborn."
I am looking at a pair of brilliant blue eyes, framed by short locks of golden hair.  Behind them is a white so pure and intense that it almost hurts to look at it.  I take a deep, painless breath of the air only to be confused by how pleasant it feels.  It smells like rain, warm grass, and wildflowers.
My attention returns to the upside-down face in front of me.  Cami?  I recognize what I see, but I can't comprehend why.  My heart is trying to bash its way out of its bony prison and my lungs are trying to breathe the entire atmosphere in the next five seconds.  My body seems to be resting on something warm, with my head raised and set onto a soft, rounded surface.  It's only when I feel Cami place her hands on my cheeks that I realize that my head is on her lap.
"Hush now, you're safe."

No I'm not.  "But- where is-?"  I try to sit up, only to have her press me down again and silence my questions.
"Quiet now, you've been through a lot, and you've much more that you must face."
It's so beautiful, so peaceful compared to before.  A single thought is forced into my startled mind.
"Am I dead?"
The warm smile immediately drops into confused frown.  "No.  Why would you be dead?  You'd have to die first for that."
It feels strange that I've only met this girl once before, and yet I just thought to myself "At least it's still the same Cami."

As much as my body seems driven to fight or flee, I find myself growing calm and still.  The beauty of this - the calm, tranquil comfort - almost saturates the air.  I am safe here.  That's not a deduction, but rather an inarguable statement of fact.  I am safe, and I am loved.

The pieces finally start to click back into place as my mind both wakes up and calms down simultaneously.
"I'm in my room, aren't I?"
"Mhm," she happily affirms.
It all makes sense now.  "And I was having a nightmare."
"Nope!"
I stare up at her.  She smiles down at me.

"Cami?"
"Yes?"
"What do you mean by 'nope?"
This time I can actually see the change happening as her eyes soften and her expression relaxes into a warm, comforting smile.  "I foresaw that you would soon face a dire misfortune in your life, one that would forever shape you, and would make you into something broken.  You would lose your way under the weight of your own despair."  She lifts a hand from a shoulder and places it on my forehead.  "I have granted you a vision of this event that you might defy its cruelty, and in so doing fulfill a greater purpose."

Is this how it's going to be every time?  Am I just going to get dragged along through strange conversations that I have no control over?  What is this?  After a few seconds of angry flailing, my mind actually manages to form coherent thoughts again.
"Then, you're saying that what I saw could happen?"
"What you saw will happen, unless you act to defy this fate."
Everything - all of the blood and the horror of that vision - is actually something that will happen?  Can happen?  What I did- would have done, rather, is all possible?  That such a horrific loss of control is even possible is just-

"Why?  No, how?"
She closes her eyes and shakes her head, "Truthfully, I understand only part of it.  How you ignored the lust that she sought to afflict you with is beyond my ken."
My mind rebels as the idea that that is somehow relevant right now.  "No, I mean, why?  Why would I," I start to ask before my voice gives out.  My mouth hangs open as my throat refuses to to even voice what it was that I saw.
She places a finger over my lips as her other hand takes to stroking my hair.  "It would not have been your fault, kind Val, but the effects of her poison would have separated your conscious and subconscious mind, and placed the whole of your body into the hands of the latter."

My conscious thoughts go silent, but understanding comes all the same.  It's slow and painful to rise to the surface of my waking mind, but the conclusion is inevitable.  I can barely speak with the bile building in my throat and the tension of my chest.
"Then, you're saying that I'm- that when I don't force myself not to, that I'm just," I search for a word - something that fully conveys the depth and breadth of what I saw.  I can't find it.  I don't know a word for something so malignant.
I don't want to cry in front of her, but my body seems intent on defying my will again tonight.
"Does this mean that I want to do that?"

There's a shift of my perspective as she moves, and I feel warmth and pressure on my forehead as she plants a chaste kiss on my forehead.  When she lifts herself back up her smile has broadened further.
"This, oh shackleborn, this is how it was that you saw me that day."
I don't understand.
She laughs, and I'm reminded of the sound of wind chimes.  "What instincts do you think that you possess?  Do you believe your kindness to be a reflex, rather than your own will?"  There is so much sweetness, so much kindness in her eyes.  "You would have been attacked, that your instinct would be to fight back rather than flee shows only that you have a brave soul."

The words themselves are warm and soothing.  Combined with the strange aura of comfort that I'm resting in, they force the last of the tension from my body, leaving me utterly spent.  My eyes are tired and my chest aches.  Still, there's a lightness everywhere, like I could simply float off of my bed.  I feel absolved.

"Hey!"
The playful shout right in front of my stirs me from my comfortable reverie.  "Yes?"
"You also have a TV!  Like, in your room!  All to yourself!"
I open my eyes again to see the angel smiling excitedly in front of me.  She looks like she's about to start bouncing at any moment.
"Cami?"
"What?"
"What time is it?"
She unfurls her wings, immediately clearing away the sense of ethereal calm and returning my awareness to my room.  We both turn to look at my clock.
2:03
"Two A.M."

"Cami?"
"What?"
"Do you sleep?"
"Nope!"

There's a loud crack as my door explodes inward, and a bolt of blue-grey fur with a pink T-shirt lands in the center of my room on all fours.  Cara sniffs madly around the room, brow tense in concentration, as though trying to figure something out.  Can she not see the Angel on my bed?
Cami looks at her with a darkening expression before gazing back at me.  The moonlight shines through my window onto her, and for a brief second I can barely make out a difference between it and her.  Then, just as quickly, she's gone.

Cara stands up and starts to circle the room, looking at everything and sniffing the air.  "Hey, you all right?"
I sit up in my bed, "Yeah, I'm fine."
She walks right up to me and starts sniffing my head and neck.  The closeness would be horribly uncomfortable if it wasn't also something she did every few days or so.  When she pulls back she still looks confused.  Then, finally, her shoulders and tail drop as her ears flatten against her head.  She looks up at me, trying to look as small as possible, "Hey, uh, sorry about breaking your door.  I could've sworn I heard a girl in here."
I rub her head.  "Hey, don't worry about it.  It was probably just a dream you were having.  I'm glad you're looking out for me."
I don't like lying to her.  I do like seeing her ears perk back up and her tail wag.  The latter preference always seems to win out in these situations.

I hear a shout down the hall.  "Hey kiddo, you uh, you gettin' abducted?"
"Conked her on the head!"
"Attaboy!"
We both snicker at the response.

---

It's hard going to back to sleep without my door.  It's not for lack of being tired, either.  I'm exhausted, but I just know that if I go to sleep like this that I'm waking up to whatever random, disturbed thing Lythalia can come up with.  I briefly see a vision of myself pulling away the sheets in the morning to find a sock placed somewhere, and I immediately bolt upright, not tired at all anymore.

The window still slightly cools the air a few inches from its surface.  It's a lovely night out.  To be followed by a horrifying day.

No, there's a dozen solutions to this.  I just have to pick one.  I stare out of the window where Cami disappeared.  I wonder when I'll see her again.  The night's beautiful, though.  Half-moon, not a cloud in the sky.  The whole world is a deep blue, punctuated with street lamps.

Reflecting the light of one of those lamps is a pair of golden eyes, their owner sitting in the middle of the road.  The cat is slowly flicking its tails back and forth.  I stare back at her.  I have a mamono appearing as a cat outside my house, watching me.  I am being stalked at three in the morning.

I get on my shoes.  I'm fairly certain I'm out the door without raising too many alarms.

She starts to walk up to me as I approach, but I turn and start heading down the street.  It's only a few seconds before she's caught up to me, staring upward with that blank expression.  I don't really know if cats can emote with their faces.  I walk her back to her house.  It's only two blocks down, so it's hardly much effort.

I'm suddenly forced to wonder if its proximity is in any way coincidental.  Dammit.  I need to fix this.  I slow down as we turn onto the cul-de-sac.  "Why are you still following me?"
I suddenly hear footsteps to my side.  "I made it through the blizzard fine."
I almost trip.  She didn't have a heater, she didn't have anything.  Did she weather the entire storm just with fur alone?  Is she sick?  Why didn't I-
No, dammit, I'm not doing this.  I'm using this.  I'm ending this right here.  I stop and turn to face her, "Who cares?"
She looks down.  So do I.  My flame is a tiny, seething ember laying flat on the floor of its chamber.
She looks back up at me, her expression a mixture of pain and joy, "You do."

I'm not angry.  I'm just frustrated.  I turn and start walking back to her house.  "What were you doing?"
"What was that light coming from your room?"
"I like to call it fire."
There's a puff of air, "No, the other one."
"I have a television, too."
I can tell from her voice that she's annoyed now, "No, the light that filled your room an hour ago.  What was it?"
"Oh, that."  I pause for effect.  "It's called a light bulb."
There's a silence that I assume is her giving up on that line of questioning.

We're both silent as we get to her house.  I stop at the front porch.  She opens the door and walks in.
She walks back to the door, staring at me.  "Well, won't you come inside?"
"No."  My voice is cold and flat.
She takes another step onto the threshold, brow furrowed.  "Why not?"
"Why would I?"
She looks away, obviously bothered.  There's a temptation to just tell her that I'm in a sour mood, or to tell her- I don't know, any of a dozen other comforting excuses, but I can't.  Not now.  If I'm nice to her now then she's just going to keep doing this, and I can't have that on my head.  I don't want her life to be my fault or my responsibility.
Finally she looks down and grabs the hem of her oversized shirt in a tightfisted grip.  She pulls it up a fraction of an inch, "Because I want you to."

I turn and leave.  That is, I try to.  There's the softest thump as a tiny weight hits my back and grabs around my waist.
"Please stop."  I can hear the strain in her voice.  As much as I don't want to, I do.  I could move, but at the same time, I can't.
It takes some time for her to calm down enough to really talk again.  "Why do you keep walking away?"
I take a deep, cleansing breath.  The night air is cold and dry, and that mixture burns the back of my throat slightly.  "Because I want to."
"Don't you want something else?  Love?"  There's a pause before she asks much more quietly, "Pleasure?"
"I think I'd like to have those things, yeah."
"Then-"
"In that order."

It takes her a moment to let go of me.  I don't want to turn around, though.  She's still a cat; there's no reason to take away her pride.  Instead I take a step down onto the first step and sit down.  I just realized that I can help us both out here.
"What do you know about Manticores?"
There's no response for a minute, before I feel her take the seat next to me.  I spare a glance and see that she's wiped away the tears and is wearing an oddly serious expression.  And then she begins to talk.
"They're primary thaumavores with features of bats, red lions, and sharks for their upper bodies.  They have unique tails with both draconic and scorpion traits, bearing spines which can be both retracted and launch with force.  Their-"
"Stop."
She pauses and stares at me, as though I'm getting in the way of about ten more minutes of more detailed study.  Unfortunately, that'll have to wait.  I just know she'll skip over anything relevant and keep going onward.

Primary thaumavores, I remember, refers to the mamono who need spirit energy just to survive.  I try to think back to the time when I was eight and watching Will Tigh the Arcane Guy explaining these things with funny sound effects and dinky props.
But that doesn't make sense, though.  Her existence isn't inherently impossible, is it?  It's not like she's undead and just getting up in the morning is an act opposed by the precepts of physics.
"Why primary?  Shouldn't they be secondary thaumavores because they aren't inherently opposed by natural law?"
She grimaces slightly before tilting her head in acquiescence, "They aren't, and they can technically survive without it, but their ability to fly, produce venom, and reproduce are all inherently unnatural, and without spirit energy their wings, tail, and reproductive organs won't form properly."

Interesting, but useless to me.
"Tell me about their venom."
There's something I can't place about the way she looks at me when I say that.  Is it doubt?  Or pity?
"I don't really understand the chemical part of it, just that it's thick with demonic energy."
That can't be right.  She watches my expression, "Well, it's inherently impossible, you know.  Men who've been envenomed can produce a constant stream of semen without rest or a refractory period.  That's biologically impossible."
Okay, I guess that makes sense, then.
"But hey."  She stops for a moment before seeming to collect herself.  "I know you probably won't listen to me, and you'll say something like 'I won't abandon a friend,' or something, but if you know someone who's on Tail you should really leave it to a professional.  I hear that a lot of men trafficking rings get guys addicted to the stuff, then cut off the supply and take them when they're desperate."

I stare at her for a while.

I scratch the back of her ears.

---

My heart doubles its pace when I finally see her in third break.  I thought it'd been working overtime before now, but that was just a warmup for when I actually saw her walking down the hallway.  I check my hoody, making sure it's fine.  I take the proper position in the middle of the hallway.  It's fine.  I've got this.  Now if only my heart would stop what it's doing and let me hear what's going on.

"You ruined my fucking life!"

There it is, my cue.  I take a few steps back, eying the hallway as everyone inside either moves into a classroom or presses against the walls.  I have to make sure I act exactly as I did before, and in that the fear and nervousness are actually amazingly helpful.

"My friends won't even look at me!  I'm laughed at by fucking everyone!  My own fucking mother just kicked me out, because of you!"

I don't need to act anymore.  I remember this part.  I remember how disturbing the very idea was to me - is to me.  She kicked out her own daughter because I defended myself.  I open my mouth.  I want to comfort her; I want to tell her that I never wanted that to happen.  I want to tell her that her mother's an insane whore who should be beaten over the head with a spiky-assed lantern.

She comes to a stop, watching me.  Her expression contorts in pained rage as she draws in an even larger breath.  "Don't you dare fucking pity me!"

There's a soft, whistling sound in the air, and then something hits me in the chest like a light punch.  I grab the chain of my lantern by reflex, but there's nothing to defend myself against.  She's still walking toward me from ten feet away.  When I look down to see what happened, I see them.  There must be fifty of the things.  Spines.  All of them clear; empty of the fluid they once held.

She slows her pace now, taking another step every five seconds or so.  She wipes a line of drool from her chin as she obviously begins to succumb to her lust.  "This time, you're mine.  I'm not letting you go 'til you're nothing but a drooling, broken, dehydrated cock."

The second she comes within five feet of me I take two sudden steps forward, raising my lantern high into the air and letting out a feral roar.  It does exactly what I thought it would.
She startles, raising her hands to protect her head and falling backward with a cry of alarm.
And then I stand there, over her, letting the image sink in.  Then, when I'm good and ready, I let my arm drop.  Her arms, which had begun to slowly lower, jump back up to protect herself before she finally lets them drop.  Her mouth hangs open.  Her eyes are wide.
She shakes her head for a moment.  "But, how?"
I grab one of the spines, pulling it out and slowly moving it between my fingers.  Then I flick it at her, "I guess this works on the weak-willed, doesn't it?"

She shakes her head again in disbelief.  Her mouth works, but no words come out.  I take another step to loom over her.  I pull out another spine with every other word, dropping them on her lap, "Listen.  This won't.  Work on.  Someone like.  Me.
"I'm bigger.  I'm stronger.  I'm better."
"Than you."
I pull out the last of them all at once, and toss them onto her like a shower of confetti.

There's a pause as everyone seems to just take in what happened.  She just sits there, staring downward at the pile of spines that's scattered around her.  Then she looks back up at me.  Her face is completely red.  As is her neck.  All of her.  There's a wet slap as a dollop of fluid escapes her tail and hits the linoleum floor.  She pants and her chest heaves, trying to get enough oxygen to sustain her lust.

Oh, hells.
No.
Dammit.
Dammit.  Dammit.  Dammit.

I turn and make my escape.  I can deal with the missed classes.  I can handle the questions later.  Just no.  I'm not doing this.  I'm not dealing with this.  I am done.  I am completely done with everything involved with this, and everyone who wants to give me shit for this can just line up and lay a claim for any square inch of my ass that they want to kiss.

My language doesn't seem to improve with stress.

---

Mom doesn't question why I'm home early.  I guess I've built up enough trust with her that she just assumes that I have my reasons.  I'm still stuck with her trying to figure out if there's something wrong, or if I'm unhappy.
"You aren't being bullied, are you?"
"No, I think most of them think of me as more of a bully."
She pulls me close on her chair to better ruffle my hair.  "Aww, now why would," she stops when she presses against my chest.  She leans in slightly and knocks on it, producing two solid thumps.
"I should go change."  I try to get myself up but she's having none of that.
She immediately pulls down the zipper on my hoody, revealing the half-inch of leather pads stacked over my chest.

I takes the next twenty minutes to convince her that I'm really not being bullied.

---

Dad arrives shortly before my sisters, though mom doesn't explain what she found.  I'm guessing she will later, and by then maybe I'll have the slightest inclination to talk about what happened.  For now, though, I'm just grateful.

Then my sisters arrive, and I'm not.

"Why, Letitia, is that you," my mother croons.  "My, it's been what, two years?  Oh, how you've grown!"
My mother continues to dote on her as she tries her level best to look at anything except me.
She only gives a short, fake-sounding, "Thanks, Misses Beckford."
Before mom can continue her mothering Lythalia pipes up.  "Mom, I need to ask you something."

"Tish's mom kicked her out yesterday, so would it be all right for her to stay here for a little while?"