[center [size10 [font "arial" All he could remember was being parched and feeling insanely contradictory. It felt as if his entire body had been set aflame and at the same time as if he'd been dunked into an ice bath. He felt as if his throat had been coated in gravely sand, but he wasn't the slightest interested in a beverage. His stomach rumbled, yet he felt nauseous, the thought of food sickening.
He could hardly see straight, his vision warping things together, and doubling others. Sweat dripped from his forehead in buckets, his arms barely managing to hold his body up. He wasn't entirely sure where he was or what he was doing however long before he woke. It was concerning feeling this disoriented and unable to shine a light on his current situation.
He grabbed the bark of the tree, choking on a gasp in his throat, as the pain in his nails intensified. What felt like electrical currents ran through them as he pulled himself upright. He could not remember a time where he felt this weak as he wobbled unsteadily on his legs. Sagging his weight into the tree behind him, he looked down at his body, and a frown creased between his brows.
Who the hell torn up his clothes? Whose blood was he covered in?
Lifting up his arm, he watched as they trembled, and lowered them slowly. Running his hands up them individually, then across the span of his chest. There weren't any cuts or injuries that he could find by touch alone. So did all this blood belong to him? Grimacing as he pulled the fabric from off of his skin. Squelching wetly as it fell to the floor at his feet.
Why had he woke alone in a forest covered in blood? What was he doing before he woke up here? Why couldn't he remember anything?
What happened to him?
All he had were unanswerable questions. Standing against the tree would not help him, especially not in such unbearably cold weather. He wasn't sure where he was going, not knowing where he was didn't help the cause, and he was already poor with directions. Plus, he wouldn't get very far feeling as though he was on the brink of death. Fumbling over his own feet, the twigs that lay across the forest floor, the trunks of trees rooted deeply into the floor. He was pissed.
He couldn't have been far from the city, he could hear cars driving in the distance, and people busying themselves in their homes. A fact that would have concerned him if his mind didn't feel as if it was blanketed in a thick coat of fog.
In the distance ahead of him, he could see a dim light, a porch light he assumed. He hoped that whoever lived there was woke. The moon shone high above him, without his cellphone, and watch missing. Well, it was obvious that there was no way he could accurately get the time. His feet began to move more fluidly, approaching this new destination with gusto.
He lightly rapped his knuckles against the wooden door, scrunching his face as the blood smudged against the grooved surface. "[+salmon Hello, can I help you?]" A woman called out to him softly through the small crack. "[+teal Yes, I need help, I think I was attacked.]" That opened the door completely as she took in his appearance as a whole. A multitude of expressions twisted her features as she decided on her next move.
"[+salmon Come in. Quickly now!]" She dragged him inside with relative ease, stepping past him to look outside, then closing and locking the door. "[+teal Is there any water? So thirsty.]" She handed him a glass of tap water which he swallowed down greedily. She was obviously in the middle of making a meal, with there being dishes scattered all around, and the smell of food in the oven. The smell alone was making his nausea worse and he bit back a groan as he wrapped an arm around his midsection.
The woman, whose name he hadn't learned yet, placed a damp cloth on his forehead. She then pushed another in the hand that rested on top of the table. "[+salmon Are you in pain?]" He simply nodded, dragging the rag across his face, wiping away the grime. Handing it back to her as she held the dirtied rag under the faucet and wrung the water from it.
And that was when he smelt it.
She barely pricked the tip of her finger on the knife in the sink. The blood that welled on the prick on her finger, soaking into the rag she handed back to him. He mouth flooded instantly with saliva as ran the rag across his lips. His tongue snaking out as if on instinct to get a taste. Only then did he notice that his teeth hurt something fierce. Oh shit. His stomach lurched, his chest heaved painfully, and he whimpered softly. Someone left him for dead... except he didn't die. Not exactly.
If he felt like shit before it couldn't compare to how he felt now.
An inhumane sound tore itself from his throat as his eyes stung with unshed tears. Grief flooded his system as the realization of his humanity being stolen from him. Despair at the knowledge, a guaranteed fact, that he would kill this woman. At being powerless to stop himself even as she screamed and pleaded. He sobbed violently, shaking and trembling as choked down her blood.
He was going to be sick.
She wasn't moving, she wasn't breathing, she was lifeless beneath him.
"[+teal Oh my god.]"
What did he just do? He knew what he done. How could he have done that? Why couldn't he stop? Well, he did in fact try, only he hadn't succeeded. Not if the all the bites that were littered across her body had anything to say for themselves.
He lifted her in his arms, his strength having retuned to him, and carried her to the room filled with her scent. He laid her in her bed, covering her with the blanket, and fixing her hair. The only thing that stayed consistent throughout this was the shaky limbs. Everything shook as he did his best to display her as apologetically as he could.
And he fled.
And unbeknownst to him, the anklet he wore, that had his name inscribed one of the charms, and a message on the only other... was left behind.
'[i Antonio]'
'[i Every angel is terrifying.]'