The Liverly

XIII

We work until Aliyah wilts, and her eyes flutter as she forces herself to keep them open. She sits upright and shakes her head vigorously and yells loudly. I startle and stare at her, eyes wide. "You okay?" I ask.

She nods and returns to drawing, but her strokes slow down with each second as the exhaustion hits. A knock on the doorframe announces the arrival of Tyrell who scoops his sister up and carries her out of the room despite mumbled protests. I gather her supplies and follow after him to his room. He sets her on the bed and pulls the blanket over her and takes her drawing materials form my hand, mouthing "Thank you."

Heading back to my room, the spot on my neck begins burning again, with added sharp pain. I grit my teeth, hand pressed against the spot as though pressure will make it feel better. I make it into the room and close the door before looking around. The pain spikes, and I grunt, doubling over. There's only one reason I can think of why my neck hurts, and it's because of that damn vampire. I glare at the pictures of him on the wall which mock my pain, staring unfeeling at me.

I grab my drawing pad and flip through it, almost ripping out a few of the pages in my haste to get to my older drawings. So many sketches of the Liverly and vampires litter the back of the book. I rip one out slowly and stare at the sketch. I wonder how I would think of the Liverly if we hadn't been attacked. I probably wouldn't give a crap about the place. I crumble the picture up, trying not to wince as I destroy all my hard work, but the feelings of relief and anger that sweep through me removes all guilt I feel at destroying these pictures. I rip out the next picture, one of him, and rip it in two, then those pieces are ripped again, and I fling the pieces. They fly barely an inch from my face and float to the ground like dirty doe feathers. I tear out the rest of the pictures of anything dealing with that day, that part of my life, and destroy them, leaving a pile of paper shreds behind me as I throw the pad aside and run to the bedroom

Rummaging through the drawers in my dresser, I pul out a stack of older drawings I stashed there until I figured out what to do with them. More of the man. Always that brooding, hungry look. I find one of him where he looks haughty, as if he's mocking me, and growl as I rip it into tiny pieces and fling it away from me. I keep searching through the drawers, ripping apart each and every one that reminds me of that place and what happened. Papers float around me like large snowflakes and cover the floor so it crinkles where I step. I don't care if I'm destroying those pictures. I should have done it years ago.

The burning in my neck intensifies as I move, probably agitated by my jerky movements or maybe I'm becoming a vampire after all this time. Now wouldn't that suck?

I don't rest until every picture that reminds me of my past is ripped into as many pieces as I can manage and litter the floor like filthy snowflakes. I sink to the carpeting, exhausted by the long day and destroying all the pictures. The pain in my neck faded to a dull ache, and as long as I ignore it, it doesn't bother me.

Sleep finds me amid the pieces of my past.