5. Newcomers.
Last night's meeting was cut off suddenly. I didn't get to hear the rest of the Queens' history. I couldn't remember anything regarding James's presentation. I wonder what had really happened last night.
Here I am, staring at the blood-red ceiling for the longest hour of my life. But it could just be mere seconds. Feeling at lost and more tired than I had ever felt before in my entire teenage life. Hades, what the hell... Everything seemed red. Hell might be full of reds. If by the lexicon had been passed from generation to another, should Hell be red? Surrounded by all those eternal fire, flame and all those crap... Will it?
But the colour red sent a wave of shiver down my spine. The colour red also reminded me of something else entirely. The solid colour plastering themselves in this boxed space? How would it be like, if the solid blood-painted colour became un-solid...? Liquefied, dripping down from some warm, delicate tissues of veins...
An unexpected growl rumbled in my chest and I could feel how my muscles tightened up, the animalistic instinct trying to conquer the rational side of my mind, the venom feeling all acidic at the back of my tongue. This has been an on-going problem that had occurred to me lately. I hadn't told anyone about it for fear of more rejection. I know my family wouldn't do that to me but... better be cautious than regretting it later, isn't it?
I have been more and more tired, at home, I tend to doze off at odd times and places, my need for blood had risen alarmingly and that wild part of me, instead of gentling down, it rebelled against the term tame.
I rolled to lie on my stomach, face down and trying to vent the unknown source of frustration that was building inside of me by having a muffled scream to the fluffy French-made pillow.
What's the matter with me?
"Morning, oh Queen Junior." James greeted me from his sacred cooking place.
"That's one effed up nick name." I muttered as I pulled a chair to sit on.
"Touchy." He replied, carefreely.
I shrugged and took a man-handled newspaper from the table. There were crinkles at the middle end of each pages which made me think that it was indeed man-handled.
"Somebody angry while reading the paper?"
"You?"
"No, egg head. Aside from me." I said as I scanned through the columns quickly.
"Should be Fran. She was a bit weird this morning. Maybe had a little tiff with your dad." He said non-chalantly as he flipped the fluffy buttermilk pancakes onto a plate with another pile of pancakes on it.
My eyes went from the pile onto James's strong hand, to his forearm and suddenly to the whole profile of him standing there, doing his thing by the stove. Everything with utter perfection, from the flick of wrist to his intent eyes.
Back to his arms. I know I didn't have any fetish over arms or something but just thinking about it makes me... yearn. Yeah. Yearn. But for what, I didn't know.
I just remembered that beautiful feel of being protected, warm. Those rock-hard arm, well, his whole body actually, had felt really good against mine. I wouldn't have forgotten.
My eyes then lingered from the whole package, solely to his jet-black hair. Slowly, I looked at his temple, to his cheekbones, his nose and lastly to those beautiful soft pink lips. If that had burned me from the inside, my eyes suddenly caught the vein on the side of his neck. I saw it, loud and clear, merging from his marbled white skin. The sight of it burned me inside out, carrying out that miserable hunger I had since this morning. That was definitely crazy considering James was one of my kind.
