My head pounds as hard as my chest, the trees whizzing by outside creating a sort of loathing anticipation. I silently pleaded for the car to go faster, to break the speedometer with uncharted speeds.
I lay in the backseat, my back to the leather as my hair dangles over the edge. I tremble under the frigid air spewing from the vent, my body covered in minimal clothing. The men in the front don't speak, the tension rising is the product of fear. Every so often, the man in the passenger seat peers over his shoulder, his eyes momentarily connecting with mine before shuddering away. He wants to speak, but he's too afraid to let a single word slip.
Time passes like this, slow and boring, the journey seemingly never ending. The engine is loud, pulsating with every touch of the gas pedal.
"What did you mean by death? When Achard told you about Signore Bianchi and the vial, you said 'death', what did you mean? What will happen to him?" The man's concern does not stem from care for Vincenzo, but rather a fear of the unknown.
He readjusts in his seat, positioning himself to stare straight at me. He scrutinizes my body, desperately waiting for an answer to calm his jumbled nerves.
Desperately, he adds, "What kind of... thing... are you?"
I gaze at him blankly, not knowing the answer he so perilously wants to know.
"I-I don't know," I say, struggling to sit up just as the driver accelerates on the freeway.
"How can you not know? It makes no sense!" The man quickly retorts, running his hand through his hair.
"I don't know," I answered again, sitting up with my arms wrapped around my body for warmth. The man notices and swiftly removes his coat and gives it to me, silently hoping the gesture would get me to open up.
"Fine, answer this then: what will happen to Enzo if he takes the vial?"
"Death," I reply, careful to not waste words in my struggling voice.
The man seemingly gives up. He slightly raises his hand in frustration and heaves out a defeated sigh. He turns around again, plastering his eyes on the stretched road in front of us. The other man peers over at him, mimicking the same frustration in his almond irises.
"Your kind can't handle my poison till it is your time," I whisper lightly, remembering the voice.
Slowly, piece by piece, fragments come together from the depths of the unknown in my mind. They fit together like puzzle pieces long lost in a storage box. The strange voice, the white room, the warning.
"Wait, what did you say?"
"I'm not a 'who' but rather a 'what.'"
"We can't understand you," says the driver, his once abrasive tone now begging for clarification.
"I'm just like you."
"For heaven's sake, stop your mumbling!"
"I am a poison. My blood is a venom that kills because I am not like you. I am stuck." I speak as if I'm a riddler, my mind thinking in nothing but
poetic verses that must be deciphered for meaning by the listener. I can't think coherently, I can't say directly what I mean, my brain is running on nothing but adrenaline.
"What do you mean you are stuck?"
"I think I don't belong here."
The driver mutters a soft, "you think" under his breath. I can hear his heartbeat in his chest, his veins popping from his arms like mountains from the land. He grips the steering wheel with strain. His eyes are focused on the road, but deep down inside he's just as annoyed as his colleague sitting beside him.
"Beatrice, what will happen if Enzo takes the vial? Your blood is altered, we changed it, fermented it. What will happen?" The man tries to hide his fear, but it still shines clear through his face.
"I don't know. You've created something the human condition cannot handle, you took something that doesn't belong to you and changed it for greed," it feels as if I'm no longer in control of my own voice, but rather under the control of a compelling nature that uses my body as a host. The words I speak aren't mine.
"We didn't know what we were doing. We were given orders to fulfill."
"You created a new kind of death. If he takes that vial, he will change."
"Change? Change how?"
"He will no longer be human."
YOU ARE READING
Pretty Poison
Romance[COMPLETED] The question has always been about love. What is it? What does it feel like? Where does it come from? For her, this question lingers like an unanswered prayer. For him it was the same; blessed with a family of riches yet abse...
