The Goth and His Psycho.

The Goth and His Psycho: [Chapter Twelve]

  It was dark, well, that was putting it loosely. No, really, it was black. So black he couldn’t see anything, even though he lifted his hand to wiggle his fingers in front of his face. 

  His heart pounded in his chest, and he could feel sweat gliding down the nape of his neck, he stumbled forward blindly, reaching forward desperately in hope to find purchase on anything that could tell him where he was. 

  Then he heard it, the growling. He stopped dead, eyes bulging as he turned, slowly, begging whatever it was to be imagined, not real. God, please. 

  But no, there it was. Whatever it was. 

  It was hunched over, humanoid but with a few defining qualities that rendered it something other than human. 

  First, the arms were long and muscled, toned, but pale too, so pale that it lit the darkness that he’d been stumbling through. Then there was the claws, long and sharp and black. Like a wolves, or a werewolf. 

  Second, the blood, it was everywhere, welling from injuries in its own skin, deep and jagged and ugly, spurting blood down the pale body. 

  Third, were the teeth. Worse than the claws, he was reminded of a vampire, because it was only the canine teeth that were pointed like fine knives. Small droplets of blood dripped from the points. 

  That’s when Alex noticed the green eyes. Not green actually, emerald. So bright they were glowing, like cats eyes when a light is trained onto them. And as Alex noticed the green, his gaze travelled upwards to the hair, blond. Long and wild and golden, like sunlight captured in long strands. 

  “Bree?” he choked. 

  The monster opened its mouth and snarled.

  Alex woke with a gasp that rattled his body. He sat bolt upright, sweat coating his entire body and sticking the sheets to his skin. 

  He stayed where he was for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to steady his heart, fearing he’d have a heart attack if he didn’t slow its frantic beating. 

  When he was sure he wouldn’t start crying or yelling, he turned his head to make sure he hadn’t woken Bree, but when his eyes found the place she’d been when he’d fallen asleep, he found it empty.

  His hands reached out to feel and confirm there was no sleeping body. He frowned. 

  That’s when he heard the hiss and looked up, to see a crack of light falling onto the floor across the room. The bathroom light was on. She was only using the bathroom, he told himself, shaking off the stupidly scared thoughts. 

  He wondered if he should just lay down and wait for her to get back into bed. Maybe she was just going to the toilet, at least, that is what he thought, until he heard the hiss that escaped her lips. A hiss of pain.

  Alex found himself standing too quickly and wavered on his feet as the blood rushed up to his head. When he was sure he wasn’t going to fall, he lurched his way through the darkness, eager to get to her and find out what the hell was going on. 

  When he pushed open the door, it took everything in him not to cry out. 

  Bree was stood, shirt off and pale skin gleaming in the harsh lights overhead, but the fact that she was exposed to him wasn’t what bothered Alex at all. It was the fact she had a razor pressed to her chest, dragging  it slowly down her skin. 

  “Bree!” he gasped. She looked up at him, and he realised then she was crying, the tears washed down her cheeks and neck and chest. “Stop!” he exclaimed, he lunged forward and grabbed her wrist, yanking it back from her own skin.