The Hirt

Chapter Twenty-One

20

Heather sat down on the chair as Felix pulled on a pair of rubber gloves.

“I must say,” Felix smirked.  “I’m impressed with your decision.  I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Heather said faintly.  Felix flashed her a brilliant smile, then proceeded to tie a band around her bicep so tight that it made her wince.

God, I want to punch his face so hard, the voice snapped.

He’s a nice guy!  He’s even kind of cute, you know, in a gothic, mysterious way.

If I had hands, I’d slap you right now.  Heather closed her eyes.  She suddenly understood what it felt like to be schizophrenic.  Were all Mordans like this?  It was enough to drive even the sanest person mad.

Heather felt the needle pierce her skin and hit her vein, and she cringed.  Thick, red liquid flowed out of her arm and into a clear container.

The Kidellians’ll be here, the voice murmured.  They’ll save me.

Heather involuntarily glanced at the door, but no one was there to save her.  There was nothing to save her from.  She wasn’t in any danger.

After a few moments, dizziness overtook Heather.  “Jesus, Felix.  Isn’t that enough?”  She’d had her blood drawn before, but no one had ever taken this much.

“Almost!” Felix trilled.  Black spots danced in front of her eyes.  For a moment, she thought she saw the air shimmer, but she blamed it on her blurry vision.  The acidic taste of bile crept into her mouth.  Her thoughts became a jumbled mess, intertwining with those of the voice.  Was Lykos really the good guy?  Or was it Damien?  She couldn’t remember.  A boy with golden eyes.  He was good, right?  Or were they green eyes?  Her arm throbbed where the needle was still sticking in her skin, slowly draining her body.  She gripped the arm rest, trying to form words.

“Felix . . .” she murmured.  “Stop.”

He completely ignored her.  “Perfect,” Felix muttered under his breath.  “Perfect, perfect.” 

Heather could physically feel herself getting weaker and weaker by the second.  Her breathing was shallow and her heart beat loudly in her ears.

This is it, she and the voice thought simultaneously.  After all this effort, this is how I will die.  Heather laughed humorlessly to herself.  What a pathetic way to go.  She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Felix disappearing from her peripheral vision.  She did notice, however, when someone painfully yanked the needle out of her arm.

“Ow!” Heather yelped, seconds after it was ripped out, because her reflexes were incredibly slow.

“Oh, God,” a British-accented voice said somewhere off to Heather’s right, but she couldn’t tell how near or far he was.  “You’re completely loony, aren’t you?”  Suddenly, a face filled Heather’s field of vision.  He was cute:  curly blonde hair, sparkling green eyes, tan skin.  Despite Heather’s current state of mind and the fact that his eyebrows were all scrunched together in what seemed to be worry, she could still recognize that he was attractive.  She had a nagging feeling that she knew him, but couldn’t put her finger on it.  The boy snapped once in front of her face, making Heather lurch backwards in surprise.  “Focus.  What’s your name?  Can you tell me your name?”

Heather leaned forward, an extremely serious expression on her face.  “Pickles,” she whispered in the boy’s ear.  The boy shook his head, suppressing a smile.