Drawing Blood

Chapter Twenty-eight

It was a disturbing disclosure. Definitely not the type a sane, rational person would admit to. But, this was an unusual situation. Not a sane, rational one. Stefan was not a normal person. Neither was I, for that matter. And anyone who thought otherwise, would be wrong.

His blunt confession hung in the air, like an axe waiting to fall, and I thought to myself; how could he be so calm, so composed? He had spoken that sentence, clearly thinking I would accept it, not question it; even adding a term of endearment on the end. Perhaps that was a custom in Sweden, I told myself. Perhaps he was being kind. But I was so utterly confounded by his words, so utterly shocked, that I almost dropped my glass into my lap. For a few seconds, I wondered if I should have run from the room, go and hide in one of the top bedrooms, have a panic attack. But I didn't. Instead, I thought: we were just actors on a stage, that was all. This wasn't real. The show would soon be over, and we would bow to the audience when it was finished, shake hands with the director, pat ourselves on the back for a job well done; then retire to our dressing rooms, and resume our normal lives. I waited, and my pulse quietened, my nerves becoming steely again. I remembered what Adam had said, about this being my new normal; and I was brave as I leant into him, to whisper closely in his ear. "Did he just say he killed her?"

"You mustn't be afraid," Adam responded, equally as quiet. He did sense my discomfort and fear though, because he gave my thigh a reassuring squeeze. I wondered exactly what he had meant. Of course, I was going to be afraid. Technically, I was sitting in a room with two murderers. Technically. And even though I knew none of them would hurt me, one of them had just so casually knocked the wind from my sails by admitting he had killed his wife, someone he loved, that I didn't know how to behave. It was then, with some caution, that I decided I would take an extended sip of my drink, thinking it was best to empty the glass, rather than have it remain full. If there were any more surprises, I was bound to act on my clumsy impulse, and spill it. "But, why would you do that?" I said.

"Johanna wasn't a human when he ended her life. She was a werewolf. She'd been turned by a gang who wanted their revenge on Stefan," answered Adam.

"Turned?"

"Bitten, and then left to live," Stefan clarified. He sighed, deeply. "It's a sad story, really. I left Johanna on her own one day, and they came for her. Looking back, I should have paid more attention to the signs. They're lured me out, you see..." He drew another cigarette from his packet, lighting it. Once more, a cloud of smoke wisped around him until it settled into a long, thin line, rising upwards, towards the ceiling. It hid his expression from me briefly, and I wondered if he had done it deliberately; to stop me seeing any pain he carried. He was unable to disguise the pain in his voice, though. "Ignoring her pleas, they bit her within seconds," he went on. "Of course, I can only imagine she pleaded for her life; I honestly don't know. They thought she would kill me, you see; that was their intention. They must have been furious when she didn't rise to the task." He chuckled then, and I swallowed; my hand going to my throat. I knew why I had done it. Consciously, I did it to protect myself.

"Now, come on Rose," Stefan warned, seeing this, "You must remember that the monsters you are dealing with are evil, and they will do everything they can to destroy anything good. My Johanna was stronger than them. She had the last laugh."

It was like I had withdrawn from the room, in mind only; my body remaining behind as a shell. Dissociation, at it's best. I was imagining how Johanna had felt, how terrified she must have been faced with such horror, ambushed in the cruellest way possible. She would have been beautiful and determined, refusing to back down as they tore into her, punished her; laughing as they did so, thinking it was clever. Much to my dismay, that horrifying scene would linger with me for most of the evening; a compulsive fantasy that only an equally compulsive mind would keep repeating. It would only lose its power once Adam and I were alone again, and I was safe in his arms. I would gain some relief, then. I would lock the thought away in a box, never to be opened. For the moment, though, I would remain its unsuspecting host, keeping a watchful eye on it as though it was an eerie shadow that splayed across the wall during the midnight hours.