My Possessive Creator (Book II)

(1) Like a Honeymoon

(1) Like a Honeymoon

“I think I stained the car seat,” I sighed to Xavier as I clenched my wound tightly.

“You’ll be fine, we’re almost there.” He tapped nervously on the steering wheel, casting glances all around us as if we were being stalked.

In the hours we’ve spent in the car, he has done nothing but mumble nervously and looked all around us for anyone that might come at us. I’ve been trying to keep calm and quiet so that I wouldn’t cause a panic in the car. My wound was much large than his, so I would use the blanket in the back seat and dab the blood up as it drip. It was useless. It hurt terribly, and smelled like rusty metal that burned my nose.

I ripped off a piece of the blanket and began tending to Xavier’s gash as he drove. The seats were sticky and slick from all the blood we’ve lost, and that made the ride incredibly unbearable. This was my fault, of course, and I think that was one of the reasons I didn’t say much. I killed the witch out of jealousy because she slept with my creator a while back. It was a silly reason to kill someone over.

We made a sharp turn, throwing me into Xavier roughly. I don’t normally wear my seatbelt because he is usually a reasonable drive, and plus being the living dead doesn’t really require you to wear one. My wound was still bleeding, even though hours have gone by since the incident. The sun was beginning to peak over the forest close to us, causing me to panic. Did Xavier really know where we were going? I dug my nails into the seat of the car out of anticipation. We swerved again, causing me to hit the car door this time, but I didn’t dare complain because the look in my creator’s eyes was scaring me. He didn’t look like he was hopeful.

“Xavier—“ I began to ask whether we were close or not.

“Lucy, cover the windows with the blanket the best you can. We’re almost there,” he interrupted.

I did as he said. The sun began to burn my fingers as I tried my best to keep the blanket up long enough for us to get there. Xavier was painfully quiet as we ran stop sings, nearly hit a dog, and came within inches of hitting another car head-on. My fingers were smoking as I held the blanket tighter to the windows, biting my tongue so that I wouldn’t scream. I knew that one little slip and the blanket will fall down, burning us both to ashes. I didn’t know where we were, but Xavier must have because he reached for something in the glove box and then let out a sigh as if he had been holding his breath.

“Let go of the blanket, we’re in the garage,” he told me, still griping tightly to the steering wheel.

I did so cautiously, as if I didn’t believe it. Sure enough, we were in a dark garage that smelled of gasoline and bleach. I slumped against the seat and looked down at my fingers. They were burned to the bone. I couldn’t believe it; I could actually see my bones. The pain was excruciating for a long time until they just went numb. “I think I’ll need some blood soon,” I muttered as I hid my hands so that I wouldn’t startle him.

“There should be some in the fridge in the kitchen. It should still be good.” He remained sitting in the car, his hands on the steering wheel as he was still driving.

With my foot, I opened the door and got out of the car, my fingers looking like they needed to be amputated. When I was sure Xavier wasn’t looking, I used my hands to open the door, making a slight yelp when the metal doorknob rubbed against the burns roughly. He didn’t hear me, thankfully. The car was still running. He definitely wasn’t thinking straight.

When I entered the house, I was startled by the looks of it. It wasn’t a place that Xavier would normally stay at. The ceiling was huge, with a large crystal chandelier sparkling above me. I looked down to see that my feet were standing on large tiles that were perfectly white, clean looking, and very smooth. The palm of my hand brushed the chocolate brown walls, noticing how there was gold stenciling all over. As I continued staring in awe of the house, I realized that we never had nice houses. We moved a lot and usually stayed in nasty houses that belonged to some middle-aged person.