Sweet Surrender [MxM]

Chapter 15

Varian woke to the sound of his alarm clock going off and sat up, thrashing around with his covers for a bit before untangling his legs and sliding off the bed. Stumbling over to his alarm clock across the room he hit the "off" button and sighed, running a hand over his face.

He was tired, and had never been so ungraceful in his entire life.

"I need to feed," he groaned softly to himself. He did. He'd gone a couple days now without feeding and his reflexes and body were showing signs of the need for food. On the bright side, at least the school gave food that he didn't have to pay for.

Striding over to his closet, Varian opened the door and glanced around. He really didn't care much about wardrobe at the moment. Reaching in, he snatched one of his favorite gray checkerboard plaid shirts and a black V-neck T-shirt to go under it again. All that was left was a faded pair of worn out bluejeans.

Holding the clothes he'd picked out securely to his chest, he walked into his bathroom and yawned. Oh yeah, definitely needed blood. Turning the shower on to the coldest it could get, he stripped out of his pajamas and jumped into the shower. Hissing at the cold downpour, he tried his best not to bite his lip and grabbed the soap.

Lathering up the scrubber, he did a quick scrub down, wanting out of the shower as quickly as possible. Stepping fully into the spray, he shrunk back, feeling his body shiver. It felt good to know he was alive, as much as he hated being cold.

Pouring shampoo into his hands he worked it into his hair and scrubbed fiercely. Out. He wanted out. Teeth chattering, he rinsed out his hair as quickly as possible and did the same to the conditioner. Why did it take so long to do his hair?

Snarling to himself, he finally got out the last of the conditioner and shut off the shower. Steeping out of it, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before picking up a brush and starting at the ends of his hair and working his way up. The brush snagged and caught, and he grimaced in pain as he wrenched it out of his hair. Grabbing the snarl, he worked his fingers through it, pulling out the knot one bit at a time before starting again. Almost instantly his brush got caught again.

"Fine!" he snapped, throwing the brush against the wall. Instantly he heard the irritating sound of plastic snapping. Wonderful. He'd broken his brush. Not the first time.

Pulling open the top left drawer under his sink, he pulled out another brush and began to brush out the loosened snarl. Once again, his hair snagged, clinging tightly to the bristles and weaving into a knot with itself in a nice clump. Removing the brush, Varian set it down before yanking open the medicine cabinet and withdrawing a pair of scissors. He grabbed his hair at the base of his neck and used the scissors to cut below his clenched fist.

Varian smiled to himself as he heard the sound of sharp blades sliding against each other, cutting through his hair easily. He felt the weight leave his head as fistfuls of hair slipped down and fell lightly to the bathroom floor. Satisfied, Varian turned around to see the pile of his dark brown hair. Or what used to be his hair.

"Good," he said before turning back to the mirror and using the the scissors to smooth out rough areas and getting rid of the shagginess. When he was done, his hair was much shorter than it used to be. It ran down just below to the nape of his neck where the ends curled inward. Smaller tufts of hair curled at his temple, like the two strands at the base of his widow's peak. Running his fingers through it, Varian turned his head, admiring his handiwork before deciding enough was enough.

Drying off, he dressed and grabbed his pajamas to throw into the washer. Opening the door to his bathroom he glanced into Venerra's room to see she wasn't in there. Good. She was already up.

"Are you dressed yet Venerra?" he asked, padding down the hall and into the kitchen. Surprisingly, she wasn't at the table. Going into the laundry room, Varian tossed his clothes in before deciding to see where she might be.

"Venerra?" he asked, glancing into the living room. She wasn't on any of the couches or loveseat. He furrowed his brow, before pausing when he heard a sound coming from her bathroom.

Quickly he made his way over to it to peer into the open doorway. Venerra sat on the floor, holding her stomach. Her face was white like a sheets, and she was shivering.

Going to her, Varian knelt down and touched her cheek. "Venerra? Are you sick?" he asked, watching her meet his gaze.

"My tummy..." she whispered before Varian watched her swallow quickly. Grabbing her, he whisked her over to the toilet where he helped her kneel and she bent over and threw up. Grabbing her hair, he pulled it back away from her face as her tiny little body convulsed and she held her palms flat on the floor as she brought up anything in her stomach.

"Oh Venerra," Varian whispered gently, rubbing her back and patting it gently. Of all days for her to get sick.

She gasped for air before she sat back and began sobbing. "I-I'm sor-ry," she cried, wiping at her eyes.

Varian pulled her back into his arms and held her gently, stroking her face and pulling back sweaty locks of her hair. He could feel her shivering in his arms and he picked her up, grabbing a bucket and brought her out to the living room. Carefully he set her down on the loveseat and pulled a blanket over her, tucking her in. She shivered and snuggled under it, still pale.

Placing the bucket on her lap, he smiled when she clutched it near her.

"You don't have to be sorry," he said. "You can't help it when you get sick."

Venerra sniffed and wiped under nose. "I don't want you to stay."

Varian paused. "You can't get me sick, and the virus won't be spread by me."

"No, go to school."

Varian blinked for a moment, surprised by her perception and knowledge. "Alright, I'll go, but first let me take your temperature."

Venerra nodded before she got her sick expression again. She clutched the bucket and threw up again. Varian felt his heart constrict watching her suffer. He remembered what it was like to throw up. One of the least pleasant experiences he'd ever had.

When she finished he took the bucket from her and quickly went into the kitchen to rinse it out and wash it. Turning off the tap, he snatched the thermometer and headed back into the living room where Venerra sat back and closed her eyes.

Setting the bucket down next to her, he pressed the small blue button on the thermometer and waited for the beep to show that the screen was on. Walking around the loveseat he perched on the end of it and leaned over. "I need you to open your mouth and let me take your temperature," he said.

Venerra silently complied, letting him place it under her tongue. "Hold it there, and don't mess with it, I'll be right back."

Getting it up, he strode into the kitchen and grabbed the phone before dialing the only number he knew would be available. Pacing back and forth, he pressed it to his ear and tapped his fingers against the plastic of the phone. It rang three times before he was met with the sound of somebody picking up the line.

"Hello?" came the voice of a sleepy Helen.

"Helen, it's Varian. I have a favor to ask of you."

He heard her practically jump out of bed before she responded. "Getting dressed now, what is it?" she asked, sounding alert.

"Venerra has the stomach flu and doesn't want me to stay home to watch her. Are-"

"Say no more, I'm on my way. I'll be there in two minutes tops."

Before he could say anymore, the other line clicked off and Varian sighed before putting the phone back on it's charger. The sound of the thermometer beeping reminded him he needed to check it. Rushing into the living room he knelt and took the thermometer from Venerra who smacked her lips in distaste.

"One hundred and one," Varian said, reading the number. Setting it down, he grabbed another blanket and piled it on the one Venerra was under.

"Cold," Venerra whispered, shivering.

Varian swallowed and fought back the urge to lash out at something. His sister was sick and he couldn't cure it.

"The front door opened and Helen strolled in carrying a couple bags. Varian immediately went to meet her and grab the bags from her, but she shooed him away. "Don't think, I brought 'em, I can take care of 'em," she said, setting them down on the kitchen island and pulling out a couple things.

A bottle of Sprite, some Saltines, and children's aspirin. "To settle her stomach," Helen said, gesturing to the Sprite and Saltines. "And reduce the fever I'm assuming she has if she's truly got the stomach flu."

"One hundred and one," Varian said.

Helen nodded and turned her dark eyes to him. Varian was surprised by how completely dark they were. But what surprised him the most was herself in general. For a woman who claimed to be thirty four, she had an ancient air about her. Even her hair, honey gold like like Jecklynn's seemed to make her feel older, despite the youthful cut.

"Helen?" he asked.

"Yes?" she replied, pulling out a white paper bag and handing it to him.

Varian took it and smiled, knowing exactly what was in it. "When did you meet your husband?"

Helen smiled in memory. "I met Ron when I was sixteen."

"Where is he now if you don't mind me asking?"

"He died a long time ago. Heart attack," she answered.

Varian frowned. "I'm sorry you lost him."

"We had three beautiful daughters together. I couldn't ask for a better gift," she said, smiling sadly. "Now get to school, and eat up. You're looking rather peckish."

"Thank you," Varian said, grabbing the white bag and his back pack parked on the kitchen table waiting to go. Before he left he went into the living room one last time and kissed Venerra's forehead. She lay fast asleep under the blankets he'd put on her.

"See you when I come back," he whispered before heading out the door and running around to his truck. Getting in, he slid into the seat and buckled his seat belt after closing the door. It was going to be a long day, but on the bright side, the school year was nearing it's close, and Varian was all too happy to be able to devote himself to the farm fully.

"A few more weeks to go," he said to himself as he pulled out of his driveway.