The Guily Ones // 2 // Eric NorthmanxOC

Tied up right now

There are moment in life, that change you. 

Sometimes, you can feel the change happening in your bones, the trajectory of your life being kicked so off course, it rattles you, like the dip in a rollercoaster. 

Sometimes it feels like a caress, sometimes like a kick in the teeth. 

This felt like a truck hitting you, rolling over you, before backing up to park on your spleen, pushing you in the pavement, face first, the grovel scarping your face. 

First the words didn't register. Than denial hit hard and heavy. "You are literally ancient." A giggle escaped me. When Eric just looked at me, his features an unusual mix of seriousness and sympathy, I laughed again. "God, I hope I don't look 950!" An imagined of a mummy putting on lipstick and concealer to brighten her dull looks popped into my head and I laughed again. 

Eric frowned, got up to come closer.

"Or maybe something got lost in translation?" I patted my pockets, searching for my phone to pull up Google Translate. When had I even used it last? Had I taken it with me to Eric's? God, I hadn't even had it in that cell he'd locked me in for days. That bastard. I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead. What the hell was I even doing here? My head throbbed.

It literally felt like chunks of my brain were missing. Important parts. Memories. Right now it felt like trying to remember a dream in the morning as the strands started to slip away. Real life was the dream, slipping out of reach. I was starting to forget who I was, who I were... 

Panicked, I looked back at Eric. He hadn't moved an inch. His expression was unchanged as he slowly shook his head. Gently—almost tenderly—he took my elbow and guided me toward the bar, urging me to sit. I obeyed, still kind of shell shocked. "Why are you doing this to me..." It was barely more than a whisper, but of course, Eric heard. He stopped in his tracks, a heavy breath he didn't need lifting his shoulders, before bending to grab the bottles from the fridge below. He poured two glasses—one bourbon, one blood.

"I am not doing anything to you. Your memories have been unraveling for a while now. A hex protecting you. Separating you..."

I listened, tried to understand, and flinched at the headache. Erics expression remained stoic. 

"Megs removed that block. Your conscious had blacked out when your memories had rushed forth all at once."

That sounded... well it sounded logical to say the least. Still, my heart kept racing, making me feel dizzy. Eric slit my drink over the table. I took a gulp, the burn helping with the anxiousness. 

"You... knew me. From before we met. " Eric continued. I swallowed another gulp. Of course I knew him before we met. He'd been my mark for years. Retribution for Tom had been my only motivation getting me out of bed for years. 

I opened my mouth, looking for an excuse or explanation, but Eric nudged my glass back up to my lips, indicating me to keep on drinking as he continued to speak. "You knew of me, from when you were a child, Ashley. Apparently you once knew I was your grandfather."

I got up, shaking my head. "No. No Eric. I don't. I didn't. I–" A memory assaulted me. A picture of Eric, all sepia tones and black and white, his hair unruly disheveled, eyes sparking with an emotion so blindingly brilliant, it knocked the air out of my lungs. A voice drifted through my head, accompanying the image. He was so handsome. I honestly had no chance but to fall for him, letting him get me into trouble. I hadn't wanted a child back then. But what a blessing it turned out to be. 

He sat me back on the barstool, refilling my glass. 

I just sat there. Shellshocked. Barely keeping the burning liquid down. It was impossible. Physically impossible.