Beneath The Mistletoe

3

Chris Winters was barely Chris Winters anymore. His blemish-free complexion had turned a pallid grey, streaked with black, spidering veins. But that was the least of it. In the hour and a half Holly had watched his body writhe on the floor of Aunt Gem's living room, he'd managed to tear off his coat, rip open his sleeves -- she could see bulges, growing in the crooks of his arms, like golf balls, swelling under his skin. There were bulges on the backs of his hands, and clusters of them on his neck, more dotting his once perfectly defined jaw. They pulsed with every heart beat, eager to burst. How long before they did?

Chris Winters lay still, finally, his breathing labored.

"Holly," he rasped.

She pulled her knees to her chest, holding her breath.

"I know you're still there, Holly."

How? When the change began, she told him to leave, demanded it, but it was too late for that. The transformation was too painful, too consuming for him to get it together and walk out the door. He was too busy rolling around on the floorboards. So Holly decided she would leave. She grabbed what few belongings she had, threw them in her duffle bag and made for the door, Chris Winters crying her name through gritted teeth. She had no intention of sticking around for what would happen when the change was over. No intention of being here when the new Chris Winters woke up hungry for blood. She got all the way to the door, her hand on the knob, before she stopped. The change had come on Chris Winters so suddenly. So quickly. So painfully. How long would it last? And would he lose his mind gradually, or all at once? She had to know what to expect. Had to be ready. 

Because the change was still coming for her.

So she sat in the hallway, on the stairs, out of Chris's sight, and watched.

"Water." His voice was so thin, barely there. Like smoke.

Holly didn't move. Stay away. That was what everyone said about the Changed. Every news report, every health bulletin, every special announcement from the government. Stay away.

"Holly," he groaned again. "Some water. Please."

She glanced at her pack, beside her on the stairs. She had a water bottle. She could spare some, if she were honest with herself. With the snow, water wasn't hard to get. But still, it was work to sanitize. And even still, what would be the point of wasting any on him? His thirst for water would change to blood soon enough.

"Holly," Chris Winter's tried, his voice pleading, "I'm still me."

"For now."

"I could say the same for you," he snapped.

She swallowed. 

She watched him curl into a ball, arms clutched around his stomach. "I'm sorry," he grunted. "My throat just really hurts. Please."

With a sigh, she fished out the water bottle and walked into the living room, placing it down on the hardwood just out of Chris's reach. He grabbed for it and Holly stepped back, watching him warily as he guzzled what she was sure was most of the bottle.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, for her sake more than his.

He wiped his mouth, panting between gulps. "I feel like I'm being turned inside out."

"So that's a yes."

He glared at her sideways. "Yeah, that's a yes."

She tried to pretend that didn't frighten her. But it did. It was frightening enough to face the idea that she would become someone else, some monster version of herself. That she'd have to go through pain while it happened -- it seemed like some cruel joke. A punishment. Though she wasn't sure what she was being punished for.