Lena Whittemore

Sunday (continued)

Blood. Blood.  Lots of blood. Screaming. Shrill crying of pure torture. That's what's happening to me right now.

Al shattered the glass behind me and it cut my exposed arms and legs. He's so angry it's scaring me. I've never made someone this angry before. I feel like I'm going to die because of how much pain I'm in. I'm probably exaggerating, it's all just glass in my flesh, which is pretty bad.

He pulls away and turns back to human Al. Brown eyes, free of hair face, human teeth, regular hands.

He looks at me with such sorrow. Sorry, I bet that's what he's going to say. Well, he can save it because I won't forgive him for anything.

I look down at my bleeding arm. There's so much blood.

I take out a big chunk of glass and warm liquid runs down my cheeks.

"Stay right here," he says.

"It's not like I'd attempt to walk right now," I spat at him.

He leave the bathroom but then comes back a couple minutes later with a big first aid kit. I'd do this myself, but I don't know how, so he takes out the glass and cleans my wounds, then wraps them in bandages. They hurt like hell, but I can endure pain.

He tries to help me off the sink, but I push him away.

"I don't need your help," I say and go into the bedroom.

I sit on the floor under the window and try not to look at him.

"I know you won't forgive me but-"

"You're right, I won't," I cut him off.

"I just lost my temper, I didn't mean to hurt you," he says.

He walks toward me, but I put my hand up.

"Don't come any closer," I say, 'I'm warning you."

He stops and takes a breath. "I'm sorry Lena," he says.

"I don't exactly want to be with someone who is capable of murdering me," I snap.

His apologetic eyes turn to ones of sorrow and grief. He puts a hand over his heart. He looks like he's in pain, but then shakes it off.

"You say that now, but I'm still not giving up," he says and walks out of the room.

I sit there for a couple minutes, but then I start to get tired. I get into the bed and wrap myself in the blankets. I close my eyes and try to feel a connection to Ryan, but I get nothing, only a weird windy sound.

I soon fall asleep, only thinking about how I'm going to escape.

But, when I wake up, I feel warmth next to me. I turn and see Al sleeping on the other side of the bed.

I don't want to be close to him, I need to get away. Wait a minute, this is a good time to escape.

I slow down my breathing and slip slowly out of bed. He stirs and groans but then relaxes. I tip toe out of them room without him waking up and make my way downstairs to the foyer. I start to hyperventilate when I get closer to the door, but will myself to calm down. I wrap my hand around the door and twist it slowly, then pull it open.

I look behind me and see only the darkness of the house. Nothing is out of place or suspicious, so I step outside and close the door behind me. I look around and only see the darkness of the night, so I jog toward the trees.

I'm still wearing his boxers and button up shirt. I feel so dirty, because I haven't had a shower in probably two days. I hear leaves crunching behind me and start running, my heart hammering against my ribcage.