The OUTCASTS- The Beginning (Completed)

Chapter 31

I sat there in the middle of the woods, my best friend dying in my arms.

I heard a car pulling up. I yelled again, I knew the best way to grab someone's attention would be to stand up and run up to them. But I didn't want to leave George alone. So, I sat there and yelled. I saw lights coming toward us. I waved my free arm. The car neared and eventually stopped a few feet away from us. Using my hand to shadow my eyes from the harsh light, I tried to see what car it was. The lights shut off revealing the front of the car, it was a car a knew very well. The front doors opened, and my parents stepped out. My mom looked shocked, and they ran toward us.

"What happened?" my mom asked, looking at George.

"He was stabbed," I sniffed.

She took his pulse. "He's..." my dad started.

"He's alive, but barely," she said.

"We need to get him to a hospital. He doesn't have much time left. We can call the Sherriff on our way there," she said.

They got him into the back seat of the carry-on. I joined him, his head rested on my lap. As my dad drove onto the highway, speeding, my mom called the Sherriff and explained what she knew. He said he'd check out the bunker again and send a deputy to the hospital. We were halfway to the town when George's pulse started getting slower. It was difficult to take it. He was a lot paler too.

Not like the previous night, then he a bit of paleness.

Now he had no color whatsoever.

"He's not going to make it," I whispered. My mom reassured me that we were almost there.

I knew that she was saying that to me to calm me down. It didn't help. His breathing was very slow and barely audible. I could I save his life? He needed blood. A crazy stupid idea came into my head. One that wouldn't only make my parents mad, but George would never forgive me. I asked my mom for the switch blade we always kept in the glove compartment. When she asked me why, I just said that I wanted to cut his shirt open to get a good look at what we're dealing with. She hesitantly handed me the knife. I snatched it and flipped it open. I first went to my wrist, but that was dumb. Never cut your wrist. So, I cut my palm instead, I hissed at the pain. The car swerved. My dad looked in the rear-view mirror and my mom twisted in her seat. They smelled my blood.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she exclaimed.

"Saving my best friend," I snapped back.

"By feeding him?" my dad roared. "You can die," "Thanks mom and dad. But if I lose him there will be no point in living, knowing I could save him," I said and stuck my palm into his mouth. At first it did nothing. He didn't stir or drink he just laid there. I thought I was too late. Then I felt him suck the blood it was so small I thought it was me then his fangs grew, and I felt them scrape my palm as he drank. I knew the small cut wasn't enough. He had drunk enough blood to move. He slowly opened his eyes. They widened as he realized what was happening.

He pulled away, "What are you doing?" he gasped. Still too weak to talk properly.

"Saving your life dumb ass. Now drink," I held my wrist out for him to drink.

I grabbed his head and forced him to look at me, "We both know it's not enough. You need more. There is no way I'm losing you too. Now drink, before I make you. We both know that you're not strong enough to fight me," I gave him a pointed look. He gave me a half-hearted glare then looked at my wrist, he looked like he wanted to bite it, but he turned his head away again.

"George," I said gently, he looked at me.

"It's ok," I smiled, telling him I trusted him. It wasn't only that he didn't want to drink from me, but that he was worried he was going to kill me.

I would rather die than live without him. Of course, I wasn't going to tell him that. I just kept smiling. His wound hadn't closed, so he was still bleeding out. He blinked hard as his body began to go into shock. "George, drink. I'll be fine. You're going into shock again," I said holding out my wrist. Making a fist so the veins stuck out. He blinked hard, taking my arm hesitantly.

My mom gave me a disapproving look. It wasn't the first time; it wouldn't be the last.

George looked at me than staired at my arm again. He bit into it before he could pass out. Because he knew that I would force him to drink.

I bit my lip to hold back a yelp when his fangs pierced my skin. He drank deeply, I ignored the pain, instead I focused on him. I stroked his hair. His grip tightened the more he drank. After a while I noticed his wound stopped bleeding. I laid back, letting him drink.

"George, that's enough," my mom warned in a sweet voice.

I knew he was taking too much. But I didn't fight him, I didn't force him to stop. If it meant that he was going to live, I would let him drain me.

The world seemed to blur around me. I heard my parents yell, and George's fangs tore my wrist and he pulled away. "Anna?" my dad's voice echoed. I felt hand touch my shoulder and face. Until I fell into darkness.