The End

Chapter 6

            I awoke with a start when something began moving beside me. My eyes opened slowly, still heavy with sleep. As I moved to roll over, an arm grabbed me, pulling me back to where I had been previously located. His fingers spread across my naked waist, lightly tracing the outline of my hipbone. Trying to pull away once more, Duke groaned sleepily.

            Before I could get any further, he was on top of me. His eyes drooped with sleep, his smile lazy and honest. Still not awake, he pushed his lips to mine. Seconds later, as though he realized what he was doing, he pulled himself away, nestling himself into my nearly nonexistent chest.

            Working to regain full consciousness, he brought his eyes to mine, looking almost scared. My heart was thundering in my chest, meeting the powerful pulse that could be felt in his. I smiled, which he returned, relief spreading across his face.

            Glancing across the dark room to the glowing alarm clock on the table, I inwardly regretted it. 11:00, he would need to leave soon.

            Groaning once again, he rolled off of me, standing up. I followed suit.

            Looking at the book bags sitting neatly in the corner, he laughed.

            “We didn’t get any work done.”

            “I guess that means you can’t leave,” I said lightly, though secretly I hoped he wouldn’t.

            “I’m not going anywhere.”

            We both had mutually agreed that it was too late to work, and planned on just discussing the project. Honestly, I was glad, as it meant he would have to come over at least once more to complete it. As we settled, his stomach growled uncomfortably. He winced, trying to silence the rumbling by wrapping his arms around himself. Awkwardly he apologized, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.

            As I had no need to keep anything edible in the house, we dressed and drove across town, finding a tiny dinner that was not exactly welcoming, but open.

            After Duke and I were seated, his order taken, and the food served, he looked at me apologetically.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “For what?”

            “For eating,” he sighed around a bite of the greasy, stringy glob on his plate.

            “Just because I’m not human doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be,” I answered. “To be honest, I find this interesting. Dr. Stephens never let me watch,” I confided.

            “Why?”

            “He wanted me to remember that I wasn’t like him, or anyone. He thought by isolating me from everyone, I would develop into the thing he wanted me to be,” I responded. “I hate that bastard,” I whispered.

            Duke nearly choked. The rest of the meal was silent.

                                                *                        *                        *

            “How does it feel?” I asked after he had sufficiently filled himself.

            “What?”

            “Hunger.”

            “Well,” he began, “I suppose it feels the same way your hunger does,” he paused, “I mean, you feel hollow and shaky, and weak. Yours is obviously more drastic, but I assume it feels the same.”

            Some of his description sounded similar, like the hollow weakness, but I guess the extreme anxiousness may have been unique to me, as well as the gnawing terror of explosion. I can only assume the feeling of fullness, of completion, of relief were universal, as Duke looked fully replenished and satisfied.

            “I want to watch you,” he whispered, interrupting my thoughts.

            “Watch what?”

            “Take it.” He avoided the word that set me apart form every one else, the word his father was responsible for—Sub-D.

            I nodded slowly, thinking over the consequences of my actions to come. Judging my reaction, he stood, signaling the waitress and hurriedly paying the bill. The ride to the house was silent, his grip like a vice on the steering wheel, my conscience battling with itself over what I was about to do.

            Arriving, he quickly restored the car to its original position on the curb, helping me inside. Once in the door, I walked into the kitchen, moving to the one cabinet that stood occupied. The door creaked wearily in protest as it swung forward, the sound causing me to rethink my decision. Did I really want to do this? Duke sat on the couch surveying my every move. As if picking up on my hesitation, he looked reassuringly, reminding me I could stop whenever I wanted to. I continued, removing the bag of viles, along with a new syringe, both rattling as I crept across the floor.

Cautiously, I moved into the living room, where he sat waiting, ready to watch me destroy my body, one injection at a time. Knowing what my “eating” sometimes entailed, I silently slipped my shirt over my head once again. My pants and sneakers were hurriedly forgotten in a heap on the floor as I began to think about what came next. Everything in the room was absent, apart from the silent killer that sat at my feet. Duke was gone. I was completely alone. My survival instinct had taken over.

I began growing impatient with the tedious task of filling the hypodermic, even the hissing sound of extra air being released frustrating me. I needed it now. Willing my fingers to bend, I pinched as much skin as I could gather. Gathering the strength I needed, I pushed the needle through, breaking the skin.

Duke watched closely as I emptied the liquid into me. Before I could warn him, the dizzying side effects took over, pulling me away from reality. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, my abdomen clenching, my vision swirling. My chest tightened, heart threatening to burst. With my body writhing and my mind spinning, I knew I made it. One more day. I would live for one more day.

Slowly, I regained myself, growing aware of Duke watching me, sitting on the edge of the couch. Prying my drooping eyes apart, I found him, looking terrified. His knuckles were white, his eyes wide, mouth slightly agape.

As I struggled to sit, he rushed to my side, helping me to the couch. Rather than lying beside me as he did earlier, he sat rigidly, watching as my chest heaved, pulse visible between the nearly transparent skin. As time passed, he began to relax, scooting back on the couch, his hand traveling to rest on my knee.

I can’t believe what I had just done. Any chance of being friends with him flew out the window. He knew too much to begin with, now, he had actually watched me, and I had scared him away.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured with all of the strength I could muster.

“For what?”

“For making you watch that.”

Oddly, though, he smirked. It slowly grew into a smile, seconds later bringing forth a chuckle. Suddenly a laugh resonated in the silent space, echoing as my ears tried to filter what they had just heard.

“You’re sorry for making me watch that?” he asked rhetorically. “To be honest, that was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I should be the one apologizing. My father is part of the reason you have to do that,” he said quietly.

“Duke, it’s not your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Neither do you.”

He lay down behind me, his muscular arms wrapping around my waist, removing me from everything I’d spent my life trying to hide from. He knew what I was, and accepted me anyway.

“Thank you for letting me watch that,” he whispered, his voice heavy. “That must’ve been difficult, but thanks.”

“Stay with me.”

“Always.”