Wolfblood ━ TWILIGHT (being rewritten)

03

The weekend had passed all too quickly, yet all too slowly. The minutes seemed to drag on, each tick of the clock on the room in the living room echoed, yet time sped by too fast for it to seem real. Each sound, her mother's footsteps, her father's breathing, the soft electrical whirr of the powerlines and the electricity traversing circuits and wires, it was all too loud, they'd have her eyes darting about her darkened bedroom anxiously. It stopped her from sleeping on Saturday, she'd refused to eat at all on Sunday, the girl was unwilling to leave her bedroom, even when her mother came in and sat with her for an hour.

Fae had told her, what else could she do but tell her? Warn her, warn her father. Ensure them that any conclusions they may have drawn were wrong. Dark blue eyes had swirled with confusion at first, although it had changed into anger and fear. Fae had described the monster's scent, what had happened. How she had ran and cried and felt her life begin to slip from her fingertips. She had cried after, sitting in the darkness.

Her arms and ribs and neck had darkened into swirling patterns of dark red, purple and blue bruises. Her mother had gently rubbed an ointment into them, sat a pack of painkillers and a water bottle and gently kissed her forehead. That night Fae would swallow down sleeping pills that made her throat feel slimy and push her earbuds in and curl up in a nest of blankets with her music blaring and stare at stupid pictures and sad jokes, if only to ease any anxiety building up like water behind a dam wall. Sleep however was not a gradual fade to black, no, instead it struck Fae over the head like a baseball bat. Her limbs felt too heavy to move, even to turn off her phone and music.

The small speck of sunlight that managed to rear it's ugly head through the crack in the curtains awoke her before her alarm did. Blinding and golden, Fae awoke to the light's calling, tangled in the cord of her headphones and her phone a little less than half-charged. She felt bleary eyed and sort of refreshed, though wanted desperately to go back to sleep as she rolled over and fumbled blindly for the charger at her bedside. Less than an hour and a half later, she would find herself being loaded into the backseat of her parent's car and driven down the winding, rainy roads to Forks High School, Washington.

Brown eyes darted to the doors of the school. Up the steps from what seemed like a private parking lot solely for students. There was a section on the road for the bright yellow school busses to pull up, Fae gasped at the sight of it. How was it real? The thought a canary yellow school bus was somehow the normal bus was inherently comical. Her hands twisted in her lap, however, tensed and the veins steadily darkening as she smelt it. The Fork's smell. Sickly sweet and overwhelming. Honey and roses and blood.

Cold fear, anger, hatred. The stench of teenagers, sweat, shared anxiety, perfumes and deodorants, or worse a lack of them. The smell of the beast mingled with them all. It was strong, several of them too, if she was picking them up right. Why would they be here? At a public high school? Maybe looking for meals to groom and take, maybe to snatch a kid running desperately late for class. Fae's hands had begun to shake. She looked in the rearview mirror, she met her mother's gaze. Fae shook her head.

Marie took her hand. Warmth, "You'll be alright. It's dead, like you said. It can't hurt you."

But the others can. Can't you smell them? She wanted to argue, brown eyes pleading and hands buried in her hair, barely containing her shout. They're here. I can feel it. I can smell it. I can sense it. Mama, I'm scared. Dad, don't make me go. I can't, I don't want to. Yet she didn't. She didn't argue. Fae Smith sat for a moment, silent and still, or as still as she could given her hands couldn't stop shaking.