Rabid For Her Revenge

Sarakiel left me to my own devices. Eight days passed and we never crossed paths. Everything I had requested had showed up in my room within three days and so I had no real need to see Sarakiel.

I explored the mansion, wandering the halls until I had a mental map created in my head. Knowing your surroundings was very important should a quick escape route be needed or a trap to be laid.

Meals were delivered directly to my room and I found myself becoming a hermit that never left my room after day four. Sometimes I found myself staring at the door and forgetting that it opened from my side. Then I would remember and go over to the door just to open and close it over and over again, trying to comprehend how it was possible.

Just like I was doing now, I usually contented myself with staring out my window, sitting in the chair for hours without interruption. Only the sound of the door opening, and closing would disrupt the silence but even then, I wouldn’t turn. I wouldn’t speak as a new tray of food was left and the old one was removed.

I was happy to see I was gaining weight, with three meals a day, no mercury injections and no…no fetus, my body could finally use the food to rebuild itself.

My hand absently crept under the fabric of my shirt and brushed across my stomach, feeling the burn scars and high ridges of the letters inscribed on my flesh. The memory of what I had done instantly made my hands feel wet, slick with my own blood like they had been that day. The burning pain returned like new.

My throat constricted, but tears were not what came. Instead, I found myself lurching to the side as my stomach twisted and I vomited on the floor. My body was relentless as it expelled my lunch and continued to heave even after nothing more came out. I rolled off the chair onto my knees, the white carpet beneath my legs softening the blow of my hard landing. My hands braced my body up, my palms flat on the hardwood floor.

The dry heaving only lasted a few seconds before silver liquid bubbled up from my lips. I puked up my blood, the taste of it was a mix of copper and bitterness. My arms were shaking violently, one elbow collapsing entirely and bringing me closer to the ground.

At the worst possible time, the door opened and I heard a gasp as the female who came in baring my tray for dinner beheld the sorry state I was in.

I was able to hold down my vomiting for just long enough to growl out the words. “Get. Out.”

Another mouthful of blood followed after I had uttered the words.

There was no sign of movement, so I turned my head and snarled at the female, “I said get the fuck out!” I let my canines show as I glared murderously at her.

The female dropped the tray of food and dashed out of the door, not even bothering to close it behind her which only made me groan before I coughed up more silver.

I did not want anyone to see me like this. I didn’t want pity and I didn’t want questions which is exactly what I would get if anyone saw me right now.

I tried to control my actions, commanding my body to cease its actions immediately. Not surprisingly it didn’t listen to me and the next time I coughed spots of black came up in the silver.

My other elbow promptly collapsed inward and I was forced onto my forearms, just stopping myself from face-planting into a pool of my own vomit and blood.

Footsteps sounded down the hall as they neared. There was a brief pause at my door before they continued into my room, the sound softened as they walked across the rug over to me, stopping a few feet away.

“How do I help you?” A low voice that was most definitely male asked me.

Although I hated that a male was seeing me like this at least it wasn’t Sarakiel. “I don’t need your help,” I hissed.

“The fact that you’re a quivering mess would disagree with that statement.”

I growled lowly but halfway through it I started coughing having choked on my own tongue. “Would you like to see why they call me a feral?” I managed to get the strangled words out after I stopped my hacking fit.

“You don’t scare me one bit,” the male drawled.

I was finally able to crank my neck to the side so that I could get a good look at the male. He was vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn’t be bothered to try and figure out who he was when his relaxed stance, his hands in his pockets, and a nonchalant look plastered across his face infuriated me.

“Why don’t you come closer and repeat that?” I asked hoarsely.

The male stared at me, not moving, and I smirked.

Whether I had provoked it out of him, or I had merely been too hasty in my assumption that he would not come closer, I didn’t know, but I watched as he slowly drew his hands out of his black slacks and took three steps towards me then crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he very deliberately said, “You don’t scare me.”

I tried with all my might to rise up, to force my arms to lift my body but I was unable to. Once again, I was simply a mind trapped in a body that did not obey my commands.

It was too much like the mercury effects and it rattled something within me.

My anger snapped and the boiling hot rage dissipated into empty coldness. I was numb inside, a defense mechanism I had developed to cope. My alter ego that slipped into place whenever Myrin raped me or the mercury was too much with whatever torture Myrin also inflicted.

It was like the day I had killed Myrin.

I was not entirely human anymore, I was something more primal, something that didn’t listen to reason but instinct.

My fingers curled, my claws out and digging deep gouges into the wood as they scraped across its surface. Something pushed deep within me, trying to break free but not having enough energy to do so.

I knew it was the feral part itching to break free. Maintaining some semblance of sanity was exhausting itself. I had to think about my choices, weigh the benefits against the consequences. It would be so much easier to just allow primal instinct to take over my consciousness and go completely feral. I couldn’t though, I had plans, I had revenge to carry out and I wanted to be aware for every second of it. I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing down the bile and blood that threatened to spill forth.

With a surge of will I pushed myself up, twisting to the male so fast he didn’t have a chance to dodge as I launched myself on top of him.

He was pinned under me, one knee digging into his throat, the other on the ground while I angled my claws at his face. “Such a pretty face,” I mused, my voice not entirely my own. I cocked my head, my sheared white hair falling into my eyes. I dug my knee in deeper to his throat and brought a claw to his cheek, tracing the bones there. “Myrin was pretty too,” I said watching my claws draw a line of red down his face. The concept of red blood was foreign to me now. I dragged my eyes away from my handiwork and met amber eyes. “Did you see what I did to him?”

The male beneath me was strangely calm despite the circumstances and nodded once in answer to my question.

I switched the angle of my head and dragged my claw under his eye creating a cut that looked like a seven. “He liked to use my body as his canvas of pain, so I used his in return.” I clicked my tongue. “It was a shame I didn’t have more time with him. There were so many things I wanted to try.” I lifted my claw away from his eyes and placed it beneath his ear, splitting open his skin as I pulled it down to his shoulder. From there I started to slowly carve a circle into his neck. “My pain was a story to him, and in return for my stories he would tell me one of his own.” I finished the first circle and began to make a second bloody ring on his neck. “Sometimes it would simply be a story about the way he treated other females, or how he decided to craft his latest mercury concoction.” I dug my claw in deeper, getting a slight grunt from the male below me. “If you tell me a story, I will tell you one.”

I stopped halfway through my circle and looked up at the male. His amber eyes were eerily calm, but I saw the curiosity in them and grinned wickedly when he nodded in agreement.

I settled back on his chest, removing most of the pressure from my knee and waited for him to start. He cleared his throat or attempted to as best as he could with my knee in the way. “Once upon a time,” he started off earning a chuckle from me at his generic beginning, “there was a young male who thought he would secure his place at the top. He was strong and he knew it, letting his ego blind him. He was given his ranking, not surprised to be admitted to the top percent. And for a long while he simply waited for a vacancy that he could take. But,” his amber eyes lifted away from me, “he was impatient and so he decided to challenge another for their place.” His eyes came back to mine. “The male was stupid though, he thought he’d easily take out the weakest. He naturally assumed the weakest one to be the male who did not involve himself with others, who stayed out of conflict and never allowed himself to be provoked. The stupid young male mistook that as a sign of weakness, not strength and when he issued the challenge, he found out the hard way how wrong he was.” He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath and then opening them again to continue on with his story. “He was beaten very badly, humiliated. To add insult to injury the other male offered him a position beneath him as Two. At the time, the young stupid male scoffed at the offer and left. The next time he challenged someone he was not so naive and this time he won, securing his position as One.”

I cocked my head in interest.

“And for a while the male ruled but he was miserable. He hated constantly dealing with the others, having to observe and find out for himself who needed to be put in line. He grew tired of it and upon remembering a long ago offer he took a risk and vacated his position and went back to the male who had beat him years past. Instead of being turned away, the young stupid male found a place with the other male. Despite his expectations, the stupid young male was not treated as lesser, but as an equal to the One.”

When he finished his story, I merely leaned forward again so I wouldn’t have to reach far as I brushed a claw across his neck, not cutting the skin this time. “How interesting,” I mused, “A One trading his title for the position of Two. I’ve never heard of such a thing, what a story indeed.” This knowledge I would keep, information like this had its uses and I’d be sure not to forget it.

“My story,” I began, “is about a strong headed ignorant girl who thought she knew what hardship was.” My voice was low as I set to work on my third circle on his neck, the previous two already stopped bleeding. The cuts I made were shallow and would heal without any scarring. “She thought she was very smart, she thought she would outsmart them all, but they caught her. And even though she had finally been caught,” I said, “she still did not worry. She did not worry as they forced her into a line of other poached animals to be freely given away to bigger animals who couldn’t be bothered to hunt for themselves.”

I clicked my tongue as the fabric of his dark blue button up shirt got in the way of my artwork. Grasping the material in my hands I pulled it apart, sending the buttons flying. I pulled the fabric back and off his shoulders exposing more blank canvas. I continued my circles, knowing exactly where each one belonged. “She did not fear when she was approached and laughed at. No, the ignorant girl was too caught up in her anger to focus on what was important.”

Once I had finished my ten circles on the right side of his neck I moved to the left side and layered ring after ring on his skin. “But the next time she was brought before them, she knew better. She was different, she understood how foolish she had been, and she did not make the same mistake as before. So, as they laughed at her, as they spat on her and insulted her, she did not get angry.” I did not look up at him even once through my story, my attention focused wholly on my claw painting with blood. “This time she memorized their faces, she filed away every insult and offense that was committed. And one day every face that is on that list will get what is owed to them.” I finished my last circle another eleven circles marring his otherwise unblemished skin.

I smiled down at my painting on his skin, recognizing the design and pattern of the bloody rings all too well. I slid off the male then, rising to my feet. Without any hesitation I pulled the over sized t-shirt over my head, left in nothing but a set of matching nude color underwear. I stretched the shirt around my abdomen, concealing the rest of my scars so all he could see were the ones that decorated my own neck and shoulders.

Looking down at the male, it was plain to see that the circles I had carved mirrored the bites on my own body.

For once I was not disgusted by them.

I had found a new way to tell stories.

Scars.