CHAPTER 2-Fast Forward

____ 15 years later___

BLOOM'S P.O.V

I stare at the girl's familiar body hanging down from chains, blood slowly running and draining from various parts of her body from head to toe. I stand there in the woods, I feel petrified but also aware, aware of how this isn't real, this can't be real. Flies buzz and wait for her to become a freshly dead corpse. Their black bodies are fighting for a spot on the most gruesome of parts. Holes or deep gashes seem to be filled with black buzzing heads. The girl twists her hips ruggedly to try to keep herself from becoming an all-you-can-eat buffet for flies. The girl's head snaps up, her body going limp and the flies seemed to stick to her flesh. Her black hair covers most of her pale and dirty face but I can see the pain. I can also see tears streaming down her angled face. A face that holds no fear, but instead simple expectation, acceptance. The sun shines through the trees behind her making it seem as if she was a tormented angel waiting in light for peace.

She has no visible intention of shielding herself. In fact, her body seems to arch at the sun's warmth, almost in a desperate attempt to feel what must be so rare. My body knows what would happen next, it always had to get worse; it can never just stop there. I feel my body cry out and mixed emotions swirl through my very soul. This girl will always be the vision of my mother, but this stranger isn't her; I don't know her but she had a sense of my mother and I want so badly to resent it. The girl's stare holds hope and happiness that I find comfort in, though this scene will never drain from my mind. She stares at me with a sort of unrecognized familiarity and even with it she holds kindness. Right as I begin to share the hope, her blue eyes widen with fear and in turn I'm filled with panic that continues to hold me immobile. Then, suddenly, it changes to a different nightmare, more of a dream. She is there in the cardboard box in rags, her face is so dirty and ratchet she almost looked green.

I have an omniscient view, seeing myself as a child going over to the girl with icy blue eyes and speaking to her with no response. Young me fades, the playground fades, it became just me and the young stranger in the darkness. She turned her head toward me and her body seemed to creak, images of the girl in chains flash over my vision in crimson red. She screams, "Run!"

A deep male voice yells with fury "Breelena-Marie!" Fear quaked my body, the chained girl in red turns her back to me, the little girl from the playground begins to cry, the wind seems to rush past me in fury and then, it all is black.

I woke to darkness. I am awake surely, but I find myself unable to move. I know this feeling. Calm down it's only sleep paralysis. Just breathe. I stay stuck in my heavy body until, at some point, my pale cream ceiling comes to view. Its rough texture mocks my vision. Yet still her face, whose existence has haunted my torturous dreams, is painted into my conscious mind. I sigh and get up to change out of the blood stained clothes from last night.

I hold no fear of the monsters under my bed or the mental, drunken fuck down stairs. That said, having nightmares where I look for dreams is my worst fear, one I've faced every night for the past three months.

I look hideous, I think, why in God's name am I trying? After a moment, I decide that I'm not trying, I'm not trying at all today. I don't do my make up this morning, there wouldn't be a point. I stand and stare at my own dull reflection in my cheap mirror. My voluminous brown hair is nothing special, my oval face and light brown eyes are anything but spontaneous, I was completely average in my looks but, I guess that's why me and Liz get along - my mind is so much more entertaining. Liz says if people would simply give me a chance to shine they would be jealous. But because of what she is, she is a skilled liar, and lying she certainly is to think that highly of me. Liz can see right past all the fake smiles and lipstick. We're polar opposites but we hold an unspoken bond and an unspoken disdain for one another.

I walk loudly down the stairs knowing the fat bastard wouldn't wake up anytime soon. I feel prickles in my skin with every step. I refuse to feed my fear, I am loud and unafraid. He has taken everything from me, he will not be allowed to see my fear.

The lighting is dull and the gross kitchen colors piss me off. Brown and eggshell...like seriously, how old can you be? As I walk past the little kitchen entrance I spot my father lying on the kitchen floor. His balding spot is the only clean part about him. He lies in only a shirt and the same boxers he wore for three weeks now. Stains from booze on our counter create designs on his disgusting flannel, disgusting old man. My blood on his hands is the only colorful part on his paleness, pathetic drunk. I feel a weight in my chest and decide it's best to leave. I walk out of the prison (aka my house) leaving my drunken father passed out on the kitchen floor.

I scurry to the rusted old black truck mom had left me, I don't have a driving permit even though I'm fifteen- I can't afford it yet. I mean, it's so expensive. It cost 300$ to take the class at the school! Of course I could ask my father to drive me... only I hate him and a bird would be a better driver.

As soon as I have my license I'm out of that house. A house filled with horrible memories of an alcoholic dad always screaming and yelling. I'd get arrested for something I'm sure- I haven't thought much into the real planning yet. I would most likely stay with Liz; I stay at her place most of the time anyway.

I put my hands on the firm steering wheel, feeling my tension start to fade. Someday, my fantasy of safety will be real. I just have to wait a bit longer. It always seems great leaving the driveway I can only dream of what it will feel like when I never have to come back.

I'm going to Liz's house for a few days maybe longer while dads most likely at the bar or doing something stupid. My dad claims he's going on a "business trip" I mean honestly, he gets his money to pay like half our rent from drugs. We're in some pretty bad debt but look at the bright side: I'm alive, breathing air, and the sun isn't imploding. So I think we're doing okay today.

I get so mad thinking of my dad though, it all kind of reminded me of when I cut an oath in my arm, it bled and scarred: I promise to never come back ... someday. I remember etching the three little dots, pissed at how many times I had to reposition the knife. I also remember being a little shocked of how ashamed I felt. I meant what I carved, I still do but I was ashamed because even then as the 'freak' I wanted to fit in. I didn't need to cut and I didn't crave the pain. I only craved to fit into the category of the freak as I could never escape the title. I know now though how stupid it was- the labeling, trying to fit in even if it was at the lowest rank. I realized I liked being me better, I may suck at a lot of stuff and maybe I'm a loser but at least I can be me. I was angry at myself for letting him push me to harm myself. As if that bastard doesn't do his 'job' well enough. I sighed and decided to stop thinking about it- what good would it do me? None.

I take out my knife and start the car with it seeing as dad always had the keys. It doesn't take me long to backup out the driveway; I find myself halfway down the first street before putting my seatbelt on or adjusting the left side mirror. I drive through town looking at all the busy shops. Saturdays sure are busy around here. I see a familiar face being whispered about by the crowds. Liz's brother, Jake walking down the sidewalk with shame on his face. He is attractive. He's lean, buff, and his muscles are never unimpressive. He is very strong and has a face that makes girls question if he is actually a god disguised a man. Although the eldest of his family, Jake still looks young, his bronze hair is short and his manly posture intimidates any opponent. I think, the thing that brought his angelic face and smoldering honey-brown eyes together was the confidence that would almost always radiate around him. He is respectable and moralistic; he is the essence of safety. I don't know if that is merely because of what he is and their natural instinct to protect but it was attractive to everyone but me. Jake, to me, is like my brother. I couldn't lust over his broad shoulders if I tried, which I haven't in the slightest.

I start to chuckle because right now there is no sign of confidence. He is striding down the sidewalk in a size 6 women's yellow floral sun dress ripped in numerous places up the seams. I instantly pity him, but also acknowledge the humiliating advantage I hold over him as I pull over next to him and say, in my best impression of a southern country boy's accent, "You need a lift, ma'am?"

I chuckle and hop out of the truck before he can answer. I move quickly to allow him to scurry into my previous spot. I chuckle again and smirk as I feel the stare of strangers. I feel the greatest urge to give them all the bird. Instead, I pull myself up into the passenger seat. Jake, in the driver's seat, gruffly says his thanks. He hardly waits for the door to click shut putting on his seatbelt before speeding off. Jake drives much faster than me (plus he's legal) either way, I like the rush.

I smirk into the side mirror, "So, fun night?"

He gripped the steering wheel as I seen his knuckles turn white I knew I shouldn't have brought it up and instantly regret it. I cringe into myself, sometimes I just forget that life's not like the movies. He went off. "Oh yeah, so fucking fun Bloom! So fucking fun! I just love that my natural instincts tell me to kill my family, it's so fun that I didn't get locked up last night and almost killed my loved ones, yeah, one real fucking good time."

His grave voice makes me more ashamed of how ignorant I am. I'm a human - I can't possibly attempt to grasp the struggles of being a natural born werewolf in a family of blood drinking vampires.

"I'm sorry Jake, I didn't mean to say that, it just, I just wasn't considering the reality of the situation. I'm sorry." He stayed silent for a moment before speaking, "No, no I'm sorry, I just…it's sick what I almost do to them and what I do to people who just died… I mean it's just so wrong."

" On a hopeful note, uh, did you and Trent find a new way to, ya know, confuse the scent?"

"No. No, we didn't." He shakes his head but I know he's not really mad at me, more mad at what he is, and what he has to do. His face pinches up fighting a battle in his mind, sighing and speaking, slowly getting angrier as disgust coats his hard tone.

" No, the car broke down to close to midnight and so I left the car and made a sprint for the cellar but I didn't make it in time to get chained up and I transformed…I was heading for the main house, unable to deny my instincts, I kept screaming in my mind, trying to will myself to stop. I couldn't do it, I couldn't even slow myself. I hate what I am, I'm caged in my own body every night, there isn't hope Bloom. Someday, I'll be forced to watch myself destroy my family. I'm not strong enough...there isn't any hope anymore. Lucky, last night, Trent came when he did, I could see the house. I could see Liz and Baron from the windows…Bloom I almost killed them…Trent came from the east dragging the dead woman's body, how he managed to unbury her from her grave and get it past me in time I don't know but he did. He led me far enough away that I would undoubtedly change back before I could reach the family scent of death again. I was left in a field in the middle of nowhere and when I did transform back this morning I saw what I did to the corpse…I mean that could have been Liz or Baron…. Bloom, her head wasn't even connected to her body anymore. She was barely a corpse anymore. But I had no clothes so here I am disrespecting the dead, almost killing my family, and stripped a corpse of its burial clothing. I just, it's so fucking sick!"

"Hey...at least your instincts can be muffled by the scent of death. It sounds like...well not that great a bright side but...If your instincts were specific to ya know vampires then the dead body wouldn't be able to stop you from…" I had attempted to picture the scene as he described but the girls body from my dream crept into my head instead. It impacts me as if I know her. I don't and I don't know how it got in my head or how to make it leave. I am painfully imagining scars that don't look even a week old, under those are gashes that have barely scabbed over. The lifeless body moving as if it is nothing, the bugs digging into her side but it's all just from my imagination, that is something tormenting that I only see in horror films and in my dreams.

"I'm sorry Jake, but it's okay, I talked to Liz this morning, she and Baron are okay, you guys just need to be more…careful. Jake, it's not your fault that you are what you are, I know that sometimes what has to be done is against your morals. I can not tell you how comforting it is to know you don't enjoy it, but Jake what's done is done. No one existing besides you has suffered, you're only killing yourself. It's okay, its better than you going after your existing family, cut yourself some slack."

"Thanks Bloom." His tone was softer but not because he forgave himself, Jake would never forgive himself, for anything. He accepts nothing below perfection when it comes to himself, I fear this will continue to haunt him.