Hybrid High

Damon POV

Brushing my hands on my jeans, I pick up the tray and carefully put it into the preheated oven. Glancing over the clock, I sigh, cracking my knuckles. It's been half an hour since the shower turned on. Something in my stomach hasn't been sitting right since it did. Like my wolf is itching at me to go check on her. I can't help but want to listen to the feeling, knowing it's never been wrong before.

I wash my hands of the remaining cookie dough and dry them with a paper towel.

Finally giving in to my urges, I make my way to the bedroom. I go to knock on the door but hear her speaking quietly, probably on the phone. I guess my wolf is wrong. It makes me uneasy but I ignore the feeling and return downstairs. I don't want to invade her privacy.

However, twenty more minutes pass and I'm taking the cookies out of the oven. Something is continuing to itch at my skin.

Not long later I find myself back knocking on the bedroom door. When I don't hear anything except the shower running, I enter. As soon as I do, I find that water is covering a good portion of the wooden floor. My stomach drops, my heart beginning to race as I hurtle towards the bathroom door, knocking hurriedly and trying the handle.

"Amaya?!" I don't get any sort of answer. "Amaya!"

Still nothing. Taking a few steps back, I run at the door shoulder first. It bounces back, so I kick it. It still doesn't open. I race towards my chest, throwing the blankets off it and haul it open. Heart racing a million miles an hour, I rummage around the inside of the chest. When I can't see the axe, pistols, assault rifles, chemicals, bullets and all sorts of shit goes flying. I reach the bottom of the chest quickly and still see no axe. It's supposed to be in here! Without thinking, I load a round into one of my pistols and rush back to the door, shooting the handle. The handle drops off and the bullet ricochets into the wall. Tossing the gun aside, I fling the door open. My heart leaps out of my chest when I see Amaya in the overflowing bathtub. I make my way over, careful not to slip, and turn off the faucets. My clothing, along with my shoes, become drenched as I reach right into the bright red water and pick her up, hauling her out and onto the floor, right beside the empty pill bottle. I only have two, and she would have only taken one. I tear off my shirt and wrap it around her profusely bleeding arm, unsure about what to do about the other. So I simply hold it tightly, my hand covering the slice. I cradle her in my lap as I shove the fingers of my other hand as far down her throat as they'll go. I shake her, my own body shaking from the cold, and stay still as she vomits all over my legs and the floor.

"Amaya? Can you hear me? Amaya?" She coughs and vomits again, not nearly lucid enough to talk to me. When her head lulls backwards I shake her again. My stomach aches, tears beginning to come down my face. I can't lose her.

"You're not gonna fucking die. Not a fucking chance. Stay awake, Amaya!"

I shove my fingers down her throat and she vomits again. As she's retching, I begin to hear sirens. Relief bubbles inside me and I almost laugh. She called them. She wants the pain to end. She doesn't want to die.

Aya POV

Beeping wakes me up. I know what it is before even having to open my eyes. Tears slip as my eyes open and I let out a shaky breath as I look towards the window, only to see Damon sitting beside the bed once more. He's awake this time, staring at me in that way he stares. He looks even worse than the last time we were here. I guess I do too. His hair is a mess, his face is dark and blank, and his eyes dull. He smells, of vomit, not cookies and cologne. His clothing is damp and wrinkled. I go to turn to the side and stop when pain flairs through my stomach. I can't help the gasp that escapes me.

Damon speaks, his voice rough and quiet, "They had to pump your stomach. They couldn't give you any more drugs."

A glance down at myself allows me to see the bandages wrapped tightly around my arms, stained a dull red.

"Why didn't you let me die?"

He scoffs at me, his eyes turning that dark basil, "How can you expect me to let you? After being friends for so long, being so close. After that kiss. I'm so fucking glad I got to you in time. I could barely think. I thought I lost you. You took so many and you cut so deep, it took so long for the doctors to stabilize you and . . . I . ." He looks so lost, so sad. Worried, almost.

"I can't take it anymore, Damon. I want to go out on my own terms, not anyone else's."

He leans forward in his chair, "Tell me who it is. Tell me and I can end it, I can get you out of whatever it is and you can stay with me until it blows over."

"I can't. I've tried to tell people before. It never went my way, it never ends. There's no point, Damon."

He grasps my hand, his own hand unusually cold, and whispers to me, "I can't protect you if I don't know what it's from, Aya. Is it people at work? Is it . . Is it gang-related?" Not wanting to talk myself out of it, I force myself to quite quickly rip my hand away from his. His eyes flash.

"I don't want your help, Damon. I want you to leave," I tell him, as cruelly as I can manage. He sits there, still as stone for a few seconds. I can almost see the thoughts flying through his head. Abruptly, he stands, the chair scraping against the linoleum rather loudly. He looks at me for a moment, looking for something on my face. His lips twitch as if he wants to say something. Knowing how angry he gets, I'd guess something that's not exactly nice. But he says nothing. He just picks up his jacket and leaves the room. It's better this way.

*_*_*_*

Quickly, I drop my phone into my vanity drawer and look to the door in time to see Don pop his head in.

"Your regular is here. Move your ass."

Telling him I'll be out in a second, I wait for him to leave before looking back into the large mirror in front of me. Last I saw Joshua . . he's sure to be angry with me for running out like that. That boy couldn't write an intelligible sentence for the life of him but he can sure as hell hold a grudge.

I inhale deeply, exhaling the same, preparing myself for whatever hell he's about to unleash on me. I prepare for him to see my healing pussy, for what he'll say about it, or further do to it. When I enter his room he's sitting on the end of the bed, leg bouncing incessantly.

He sighs, "Finally. I thought I'd have to find you at school again. Didn't want to do that. Strip." Staying silent, I do as he says. I strip down to my bra and panties and a shiver works its way up my spine as I stand there, trying to avoid his intense gaze. Arms crossed over my chest and tears welling in my eyes, I stare directly in front of me. He circles me like a vulture, his eyes finding every crack, scar, and crevice. Every burn, bruise, and cut. Amber expressed to me, however hesitantly, that she needed more money from me. For Lily. Don takes most of her money, as he does all of us. So I can't die. I stop working and Lily has no financial support. I couldn't ask Amber to treat Lily as her own, promise her my financial help, and then burden her with my death. I can't willingly die. I can't leave her with all the responsibility and stress. Lily is my child and Amber may as well be my sister.

He laughs when he sees my stomach, and Maxwell's name carved into it. He doesn't even say anything. He just laughs. He comes to a stop in front of me, now sneering into my face. His hand whips out to grip my jaw, his fingers digging into my cheeks. I can already feel the bruises he's leaving. He yanks my head left and right, up and down, observing everything he can.

"You could be useful for other things as well, I guess. You'd never get looked at twice." Letting go of my face, he gently tugs on a strand of my hair, thinking quietly to himself as I shiver from the cold air conditioning.

"You're gonna do something for me. Well, a few something's actually."

He moves behind me, his hand resting against my throat as his erect member pushes up against my backside. He grinds against me, his other hand feeling up the front of me.

"You," he whispers, squeezing my breast, "my girl. You are going to carry and deliver some products for me."

Oh, Goddess Hecate. No. No, no, no. Not this too. Goddess no.

"No," I tell him. Goddess, oh Goddess . . . I never really ask you for anything. Don't let him do this to me Please let me get out of this somehow. I don't want to get involved with drugs, not ever.

His hand tightens around my neck and there is no doubt in my mind that his fingers will leave more bruises.

"I don't believe you've got a choice, girl. So, you're going to hold it for me. I sure as hell can't be found with it on me."

He leans down, his breath smelling like cheap beer, and nips at my earlobe. His lips touch my neck, his slimy horrible lips. So different to Damon's. He pushes my head to the side, kissing further down my neck as his hand leaves me chest to toy with the hem of my underwear. He suddenly slaps my stomach and I have to bit my lip to keep quiet. That carving is not yet healed.

"Get on the bed," he instructs me, stepping away. I do as he says, lying on the cold, neon bedsheets. However, as I predicted, he gets one look at my pvssy when he undresses me and springs off the bed, a look of disgust on his face. I know why. I've taken a mirror down there. I'm not sure how I'm still able to even pee. It's a mess. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fuck properly again, without pain. And I'm not sure whether that's a blessing or a curse.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! What did you do to yourself?!" I don't move. I stay staring at the ceiling.

"Fuck. You messed that taint up. Ugly fucking bitch. No one's ever gonna be game enough to touch that nasty ass shit."

My vision swims as tears spill over my cheeks. I want to keep telling myself it isn't that bad. That if I did end up living a full life, I'd be able to live with it and work with it without a problem. I've been fucking delusional. What have I been thinking is going to happen?! That everything will take an amazing turn and I'd get out with Lily and live a happy life . . I'm delusional, so goddamn delusional. What is wrong with me . . Life isn't some fairytale, I'm not going to get saved by some guy with a white horse or a sleek black car. There are no roses in my life, and forget the pot of gold, I don't even have a rainbow.

"Get your bitch ass up. Get dressed." I obey, rubbing the tears off my face in the process. From the corner of my eye, I see him pull a little baggie from his jeans. Focusing on the baggie lets me see the white rock-like powder inside.

Goddess . . .

"This isn't your normal everyday stuff either. It's hybrid and fucking amazing apparently." He takes a few steps closer to me and tucks the baggie into my bra before grabbing three more out of his pockets and stuffing them in there as well.

"Now," he says, stepping away again, "You're going to hold onto those, bring them to school every day, and I'll get them when I need them. And when they're all gone, you'll get more. If I tell you to give them to anyone, you'll do so. Capeesh?" I nod, quickly and quietly. The sooner I can get all this done and over with the better. Joshua pulls yet another baggie out of his jeans, holding it up in front of my face.

"Now, you and me. Gotta try it before you sell it, right?"

My heart stops. Panic slices into my skin and courses through my veins. My head becomes light and my legs shaky.

"No," I tell him, my voice strong in spite of my fear. His smirk disappears and he yanks my hair hard enough to tip my head back. I can't stop the cry that comes out of me.

He sneers, "Don't make me force you."

I bare my teeth at him, "I'm not fucking taking it." He doesn't even know what it is. He said so himself. It's a hybrid drug. He hasn't tried it yet. He bares his teeth back at me and for the first time, I see every one of his teeth. Including the retractable fangs. I haven't seen those since . . . Panic. Raw panic almost makes me puke right then and there.

He smiles suddenly, and then it turns into a smirk, "Took you long enough. I sniffed you out before I even met you, witch." He opens his mouth, allowing me to watch his fangs slide down from his gums. How have I never seen them until now? How could I not have known?! He can't feed off me. If he feeds off me . . Goddess Hecate, help me. Fucking help me for once! If a nightwalker bites a witch . . . It has happened only a few times in history. Not enough is known about them to know what it will do to me. I can't let him feed off me, but I can't take the drug either. Both will likely kill me.

"You can either take it, or I can force you to take it."

I can't stop my lips from wobbling or tears from welling, "No."

His smirk widens, "Your loss, my gain." Every one of my hairs stands on end for a split second before his teeth sink into my shoulder. Pain, like white-hot fire, erupts. It flairs from my shoulder, throughout my body, sweeping a fire so hot that it's cold into every muscle and bone. He pulls away relatively quickly, eyes bright red and blood coating his mouth. The pain leaves the second his mouth does.

"God, you taste so fucking good. Clearly, you don't eat much. You're so pure. Fuck, if only there were more of you." He bits me again, on my other shoulder, and as he does he kicks my knees. I almost scream as I fall onto them, him keeping an iron grip on my hair. He releases me once more and gets to his knees in front of me, smirking. His lips and teeth are coated with red.

"Y'know, I'm pretty versed on what my bite does to a witch, a Salem witch in particular. Would you like to know?"

Tears streaming, I don't answer him, but I want to shake my head. I don't want to know, I don't ever want to know. I want to rewind time and take that damn drug.

Joshua lifts my arm and bites into my wrist. Involuntarily, my fingers splay, I lose control of them as they move and twitch of their own accord. I watch as a vein in my arm pops to the surface, bulging and pulsing. His adams apple bobs as he swallows, drinking what little life I have left.

When he lets go, he laughs, licking his lips.

"I'll tell you." His tongue runs over his teeth, smearing more red across them. He drops my arm and I let it just drop. I'm cold. I'm getting so cold.

"You die," he laughs, "Very briefly and not instantly, but you do. Then you come back and lucky you, you don't have to feed to survive. I mean, if you don't you'll go insane but you won't die again. Not ever. Of course, you were already immortal, weren't you?" I spit in his face. Fuck him. Fuck however he knows this stuff, fuck him. Growling, he wipes his face and glares at me, grasping my wrist tightly, showing me the long slice on my arm, not yet healed.

"I heard about this stupid incident. How, poor you, decided to end it all. It didn't work. A human wouldn't have survived it. Loverboy knows it too. Why try if you knew you'd survive, that's what I'm curious about."

Why try . . . I try because despite what he thinks, he doesn't know anything. Witches have an extended lifespan, hundreds to thousands of years, but they do not possess immortality. I would have died if the ambulance had taken just a little bit longer or if Damon hadn't found me so soon. It's harder for me to die, not impossible.

I go to spit in his face again but before I can, his teeth are back in my neck. It immobilises me. When he pulls away again, he's smiling wide. He opens the baggie still in his hand and pours a large portion of the substance into my open wounds, directly into my bloodstream. A scream rips out of me as I thrash against him. But it's no use. It doesn't work. It never does.