If I Die By Sunrise

Survivors and Scissors

The first thing I noticed when I woke up at whatever ungodly hour it was, was my wrist no longer hurt so much anymore; the shooting pangs had numbed to just a dull throbbing. The second? I had way more to worry about than just my wrist. The pain thundered through me like a rocket launching from the earth. It felt like I just played a violent game of dodge ball and not only did I lose but my head was also the ball. It was unreal.

I swiped my hand across my forehead and immediately I felt the cool, sticky sensation of sweat, which was weird because I didn't feel hot or even cold for that matter, it was a bit of both and it was just wrong. And why was the room spinning? Last I checked the world didn't rotate that fast. Did it? Ouch. Thinking was bad, thinking hurt. I needed to stop doing that, the sooner the better.

The air was funny too, it wasn't doing much for my lungs though I dragged it in like it was all I had. Breathing did calm the dizziness in my head, but it did nothing to lessen the tremulous agony working its way down my spine. I wanted to scream, but my throat felt like I had done enough of that.

I didn't even have the strength to sit up any longer, in a second I collapsed back onto the soft sheets underneath me. Soft sheets? I didn't remember there being anything this soft on the mattress Jerry gave me or was I feeling so terrible that I imagined the itchy, thin sheets I normally slept on to feel like they were downy? And the room, was it me or did it feel bigger? This was certainly strange.

There wasn't much time for me to dwell on such thoughts and cause my head more pain because just like that I felt a familiar pang in my gut. Without hesitation I ran to the nearest receptacle and expelled the contents of my stomach.

Jerry found me like that, hunched over a nearby garbage bin puking like it was my duty.

"I'm sick." I unnecessarily explained, before succumbing once again to another terrific jerk of my insides.

The smile in his voice was chrystal clear. "I know. Any particular reason you chose my trash bin?"

"Bathroom...too...far."

"Ahhh, I see." A pause, then. "We need to talk."

"Now?" But then I remembered something he said, his trash bin. I hadn't left the room, so it couldn't be his. Wasn't it mine?

The bed, the atmosphere, the faint, to my temporarily messed up senses, but still so powerful tinge of vampire. I just had to put two and two together. I was in Jerry's room. This whole time, I slept in his bed and got sick in his garbage.

Before I could make sense of this, another powerful surge took over me and I puked again. God, I felt disgusting. And why was I in his room anyways? Too much thinking, head hurting again.

Jerry sighed and I felt the change in the atmosphere as he zipped out of the room, when he returned a second later it was to fill my hand with a glass of water and two Tylenol which I gulped down greedily.

I really hoped he changed his mind about talking, my throat was burning and it was becoming hard to move my mouth. I still hovered over the bin, clutching the sides for dear life as if it were my only protection from the wretching. But I had one burning question and I wanted, no deserved an answer. So I asked it.

"What happened to Keith?" I croaked. I didn't turn around, I was sure I'd look even less intimidating than I sounded with my watery eyes and fever red skin.

"Recovering from the very important lesson I taught him." Jerry commented, naturally as if we were talking about the game.

I gasped at the image of Keith lying there in a heap of blood and broken bones, it made me feel so bad but then I remembered my wrist and briefly I considered that it served the bastard right.