13 - Loving cure
The sun stabs me in the face, a sharp blade of light slicing through the window. What time is it? Or better... what day is it?
The last thing I remember is Clare and Brianne dragging me up the stairs to my apartment, barely conscious. Then—nothing. Now, every breath takes effort. The pain has dulled slightly but remains excruciating.
Gin, that bastard... One day, I'll get my revenge, even if it kills me! I try to move my fingers and toes, but nothing responds. My body has mutinied, ignoring every command. Tendons and muscles must still be shredded. Isabelle's blood baptism should've sped up my recovery. Yet... nothing.
How did I end up like this? My crystal is class A. Gin's is class A+, but the gap shouldn't be this huge. How is he so much stronger?
«Finally, you're awake, Ren.» Brianne's voice comes from the doorway, a blend of relief and concern. She's wearing a kitchen apron. «I was so worried... you didn't move or respond for almost ten hours. How do you feel?»
«I've been better...» My voice is a whisper, but at least I can talk. Small victory.
«You haven't eaten all day, so I made you something soft and easy to chew. Just stay still.»
And where would I even go? I'd love to move, but my body disagrees. Staying still is all I can manage right now.
Brianne enters moments later, holding a steaming bowl. The aroma fills the room, wrapping around me like a warm hug. She pulls up a chair next to my bed, spoon in hand.
With gentle hands, she adjusts the pillow and helps me sit up slightly. I feel like a decrepit old man, fully reliant on his caretaker.
«It's chicken and vegetable soup,» she says, carefully filling the spoon. Her voice is soft, a little shy, and her cheeks flush pink. «I hope it's okay...»
With a Herculean effort, I open my mouth. The moment Brianne slides the spoon in and the hot soup glides down my throat, my brain short-circuits. Pure heaven! It's a symphony of flavors—a perfect blend of chicken, vegetables, and... something magical I can't identify. I've never liked soup, but this is a masterpiece. My taste buds—well, the ones still working—are having a full-blown party.
«Do you like it?» she asks, her uncertain gaze meeting mine, her cheeks flushing even more. «I'm not very good in the kitchen, so I'd understand if it's not great...»
I look at her like she's just performed a miracle. «Are you kidding? This is the best thing I've ever eaten! You're an amazing cook!»
Brianne's eyes widen briefly before her face lights up with joy. «I'm so glad you think so!»
The trouble starts instantly. As soon as the soup hits my stomach, searing pain erupts, like wildfire ripping through every fiber of my body. Agonized, muffled screams escape as the burning sensation engulfs me. It feels like the soup didn't reach my intestines—which might not even exist anymore—but spread through every inch of me. Damn!
Brianne jumps to her feet, panic etched on her face. She paces nervously, hands trembling, glancing around desperately. «What do I do? What do I do?» she mutters, as if the room might offer a solution. Then, she freezes. «Wait... this might work!» she exclaims, her voice suddenly firm with determination.
She leans closer, bending to meet my eyes. «Ren, can you sharpen your canines?» Her voice shakes, but there's a glimmer of hope. «I'm sure drinking my blood will speed up your recovery!»
Easier said than done. With pain tearing me apart and my body in ruins, it's a miracle I'm still conscious—let alone able to use my powers.
I don't even have the strength to respond. My agonized screams and moans say it all: no, I can't.
«Since you can't drink my blood on your own, there's only one solution,» Brianne says, gently sitting on top of me with surreal delicacy, careful not to apply even the slightest pressure. Thank God, because even a little weight would probably make me explode in pain.
I stare at her, confused and terrified, as she brings her right index finger to her left wrist.
A hair-thin blade of wind forms instantly from her finger, slicing open the veins on her wrist. Fresh, red blood gushes out.
Brianne... what are you doing? Have you lost your mind? I want to scream, but pain locks my mouth, leaving me to stare helplessly.
Then she does something even crazier. She licks her wrist, gathering blood on the tip of her tongue. Her intense gaze makes it feel like a ritual. Finally, she leans closer, careful not to crush me, and... her tongue slips into my mouth.
Is this... really a kiss? Maybe, if you're prone to self-pity and daydreams like me. There's no way Brianne actually wants to kiss me. A meteorite hitting my head is more likely than catching the attention of someone out of my league. Still, let me dream: I'll call this my first kiss. Though I'd have preferred something a bit more romantic—and less... bloody.
Yet, this pseudo-kiss does what Gin couldn't: it delivers the final blow to my heart. I swear I can feel it bursting like an overinflated balloon.
Her tongue pushes deep, reaching my throat, spreading blood in my mouth like a knife spreading jam. She doesn't stop. She licks her wrist, gathers more blood, and pours it back into my mouth repeatedly with eerie precision. This goes on for ten long minutes—ten minutes torn between humiliation, gratitude, and the urge to faint.
«Ren, I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore...» Brianne murmurs, breathless and exhausted. Her skin is so pale that even her tan can't mask the ashen tones, and her usually bright eyes look tired and dull.
I have no idea how much blood that crazy girl gave to help me. But her madness seems to have paid off. My voice is clearer, my breathing steadier, and—surprise!—I can move my fingers and toes. Even better, the pain that consumed me is fading rapidly as my body slowly comes back to life.
Despite feeling better, I can't help but scold her: «Never do that again!» My voice is firm, but it holds more concern than anger.
Brianne stares at me for a moment before shaking her head stubbornly. «I promised nothing bad would happen to you, and it won't,» she retorts, her voice trembling from exhaustion but full of determination.
«Gin was wrong in how he made you understand things, but he's right in some ways. What happened last night was a huge mistake! We know the Black Jackets have radars to detect Crystalbringers, but if they haven't appeared yet, it's probably because those devices have limited range. I don't even want to think about what would've happened if that man—rather than being Gin's henchman—was connected to the Crystalbringers...»
Her expression grows serious and somber. «The blame for last night's mistake is mine, Ren. I sent you and Elaine on patrol, thinking you were ready, but I was wrong. I'm sorry for burdening you with a responsibility you weren't prepared for. Please forgive me.»
Her words hit me harder than Gin's power ever could. The disappointment in her eyes feels like a boulder on my chest. It's my fault, yet she's taking responsibility for my mistakes. And that... hurts more than any physical wound.
An amused voice comes from the hallway, and my heart skips a beat. «Looks like my boy has become quite the womanizer. I'm proud of you.» It's my father! I forgot that at this hour, he wakes up to prepare for his night shift at the factory.
Brianne, still on top of me, rolls off the bed like a cannonball. Her face is a mix of shock and utter embarrassment—both hilarious and mortifying.
«Dad...» I murmur, trying to keep a serious expression, but a mischievous smile creeps onto my face. My father has no clue what really happened here. To him, it's just a boy and an attractive older girl tangled up together. Honestly, I'm glad he sees it that way. It's always satisfying to show your dad certain "achievements," even if it's all a misunderstanding.
«Next time, remember to close the bedroom door,» he says with a teasing smile. Before leaving, he addresses Brianne, who's taken refuge under the bed, as invisible as a ninja. «I'm Arthur Volkom. Nice to meet you, shy girl.»
His tone is playful, and I can't help but imagine how mortifying this must be for her. I doubt she'll forget this day anytime soon...