Barely An Angel (Completed)

22~ Vampiric Instincts

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry," I apologized, my voice shaky. Dad assured me it was okay before he rushed to the bathroom to clean up. Mom groaned, stretching and sitting up from the couch.

"What...what happened? You look terrible," she began to laugh, before she was cut off by a yawn. I rolled my eyes, ignoring her, before I hurried to the upstairs bathroom near my room to clean myself up.

When I caught a glance of myself in the mirror, my first instinct was to look away. I barely recognized myself; my skin looked lifeless and pale - paler than usual anyway - and my cheeks were gaunt. My eyes were black, but flashes of gold fought to be seen through the darkness. It was as if a tempest raged in them: the glinting gold was the sunlight that pierced through the veil of black storm clouds.

My DNA was quite literally at war with itself, that much was clear. It was probably worsened by the recent appearance of my father, as an angel's power grows in the presence of other angels. He was most definitely having that effect on me now: my angel side was fighting for dominance, no longer weakened by the heightened vampiric instincts that came with being a blackeye.

Tearing my gaze away from my reflection, I turned on the sink and rinsed off my face with the cool tap water. I dried off with a nearby towel, and stood up straight to glance one more time at myself in the mirror. My mom was right; I did look terrible. I sighed heavily as I turned off the bathroom light and headed straight for my room. I didn't even feel well enough to call out goodnight to my parents before I went to sleep.

Once I was in my room, I immediately went to my bed and threw myself on top of it, not even bothering to cover myself with my blankets. For the longest time, I just couldn't fall asleep. I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. At one point, shortly after I had gone to my room, I heard my father go back out into the living room and ask my mom where I went. She responded with, "Upstairs. But, if I were you, I'd leave her be. From what you two told me tonight, she's had quite a long day and needs her rest. So do you, come on."

After that, her voice faded as her and Dad went deeper into the house, towards her room. And then all was quiet again, and I had nothing but the sound of my breathing to lull me to sleep. Which, thankfully, it eventually did just that, and I finally drifted off into a slumber. It wasn't entirely peaceful, but it was rest nonetheless.

***

"Are you going to school today, honey?" My mom's voice sounded from my bedroom doorway. I rolled over in my bed, meeting her gaze with my tired eyes and raising an eyebrow, as if to say, What do you think? She grimaced. "I already knew what you were going to say, but I thought I should ask anyway. Well, your father and I will be downstairs, whenever you're ready to greet the day and come say good morning," she singsonged in a soft voice, before tip-toeing out of my room and quietly closing the door behind her.

I groaned, sitting up and throwing off what blankets I had apparently pulled over myself in my sleep. I clumsily reached for my sangyris lotion and groggily applied it over every inch of exposed skin, face included. Once I was satisfied, I mustered all my energy to pull myself out of bed and throw on a sweatshirt that was slung over a nearby chair.

Sleeping did nothing for me; I still felt quite nauseous and was only slightly more rested. I trudged downstairs, pulling my hood over my head and trying to cover as much of my face as possible.

I made my way to our fridge, rummaging through it until I found a can of nyris that I had put in there what felt like an eternity ago. After I opened it, I guzzled it as fast as I possibly could, crushing the can with one hand and tossing it in the trash only seconds after. This earned me concerned glances from both my parents, who sat across the kitchen at the island; a glass of blood in front of my mom and a bowl of cereal in front of my dad.

"Hon, why did you...just drink nyris?" Mom asked, confusion lacing her voice.

"I don't know," I mumbled. And that was the truth. All I did know was that it definitely took the edge off my nausea for some strange reason. My dad just stared at me, mouth open in surprise.

Leaning towards Mom, he whispered, "Is that normal? For blackeyes to drink nyris like that?"

"I can hear you," I declared, pointing at my ears. He ignored me, waiting for Mom's response.

"No, it's not normal...in fact, any other blackeye would've been on the floor with convulsions by now," she replied, surveying me with concern. "Are you okay, sweetie?"

I groaned, rolling my eyes. "I'm not any other blackeye, now am I?" I questioned. "And honestly, I don't know what okay means anymore."

Mom and Dad traded glances, before Dad voiced exactly what I had been thinking last night: "You know, I think with me being here, her angel side is becoming stronger...It's almost like it's trying to overpower not just the blackeye in her, but her whole vampire side. I'd guess that the vampire DNA is definitely giving the angel a run for its money, too."

I looked pointedly at them, narrowing my eyes. "Yeah, thanks for that, you two. You know, why couldn't you have just, I don't know, followed the rules? None of us would even be in this mess if you had," I spat.

Mom, wounded, stood up from her spot at the island. "Ramona, I would never expect you to say something like that. Yes, we've made mistakes. But without those mistakes, we wouldn't be a family today." With that, she grabbed the half-full glass in front of her and headed towards the basement stairs.

I tried, feebly, to reach out to her as she passed. "No, mom, I didn't mean it," I murmured, barely audible.

"Let her go," Dad huffed. "Young lady, I can't believe you'd say such things, and to your own mother. You know the stress she went through for what her and I did, you witnessed the pain she experienced, and yet you still wish to make her feel guilty. Ramonalta-,"

"It's Ramona!" I cried. "Stop calling me that stupid name. And for the record, I wasn't trying to make her feel guilty. I hurt too, you know. Do you have any idea what it's like, growing up knowing you might never meet your father as a consequence of just existing, on top of watching Mom suffer because of it?" He opened his mouth to say something, but I held up my hand. "Save it. I can't do this right now," I scoffed, twisting on my heel and starting up the stairs.

I paused in my tracks, though, at the sound of knocking on our front door.

~

Who do you guys think is knocking? Leave your thoughts in the comments, and don't forget to vote if you enjoyed! Oh, and here's a Barely An Angel fun fact: chapter 22 was the very last chapter in the first draft of this book, but in this version, we're far from being done ;) Till next week,

~R.J. ♡