break; a.v. [ hiatus | rewriting ]

chapter xi

It wasn't an hour later, Apollo was clutching his stomach with one hand, and using his other hand to support him as he attempted to throw up the blood he had consumed. Unshed tears brimmed his eyes, never to escape their immortal marble casket. Dry heaving, he sobbed, while silently begging whatever sick twisted God allowed him to become whatever he had become, but his questions weren't answered. Instead Darry, who had been cast with keeping him safe, paced anxiously around the room. He hadn't allowed her to touch him. Any time she tried her hand cracked at the contact.

"You're going to be okay." She tried again, moving to sit down against the wall, near him.

"Get away from me, you monster." He hissed through tears. Darry's eyes were cast down in shame. Listening to his voice crack made her heart quiver. She blamed herself for his pain. Perhaps if she hadn't had intervened he would be in heaven with their sister, and their parents. Maybe he wouldn't be in pain if she had just not let him be turned. It was obvious he was in a lot of pain, and she wished she could take it all away from him. To make it where he didn't have to drink blood. To allow him freedom. They may not be higher on the food chain then humans, but they were limited by so much more as well.

He saw them again. Apollo saw the cold dead eyes of the alcoholic begging for his life. He couldn't bear it. To see the pain and fear in the other man's eyes. What if that would've cleaned up the man's act? What if all he needed was a good scare? He had taken the life of a son, a husband, maybe a brother. These people wouldn't even get a body, or they might and it will be hideous and they'll be forced to have a closed casket. The guilt ate him. His stomach twisted with horror as he tried yet again to bring the man's blood up again, but all he could do was spit out the venom watery in his mouth at the thought of blood.

His vision blurred at the edges as more face appeared around him, but he was too tired to try and fight them off. Let them take him he deserved it.

Their long sharp claws dragged across his skin leaving behind beautiful cracks as his skin turned into a mosaic of broken glass. He could faintly hear his name being called out and hands touching his face, but his cheeks splintered under the gentle caress. The shadowy victims howled at him, begging to know why his life was more important than theirs? Why they were the ones who had to die? What they did to deserve their fate? Some were crying, others whispers, and some were screaming and begging to be spared. They were the hardest because they didn't seem to fully understand that they were dead; they were still reliving their last moments on this wretched planet.

Just like last time when the ghosts appeared, after so long of the claws scratching and the feelings of his skin flaking it, he felt detached. He could no longer feel the sharp claws raking down his skin, head their grating voices cry out. All he could hear were his own thoughts.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry," Even in his own mind, his voice was soft and filled with unshed tears.

Again, just like last time, the feeling was the icy-hot racing beneath his damaged skin. Whatever had brought it on had to be hidden beneath the ghosts clawing at him. Slowly the wounds were stitching themselves up only to be rebroken under the vicious claws of his revengeful victims. The spider lines from previously had been replaced with these as they branched their way across his entire body. Each one throbbing with pain. It was inescapable, but he didn't deserve to escape. The pain slowly ebbed away, as did the sounds and the faces.

The darkness was nice. The icy-warmth was the only thing he could feel and it was so peaceful. He could almost pretend he wasn't a monster. Like he didn't steal father's and mother from their children. Like he didn't kill numerous amounts people. That he didn't need to kill or else he would die.

Maybe, he wondered, he should. Maybe that would be best for the world. Perhaps if there was one one less vampire killing humans they would be better off. Maybe he would be the vampire that ate the person who would cure cancer, or find aliens, or find a way to end world hunger, or solve world peace. That's it. He decided. Whenever this was over he would have to end himself. That idea had passed through Apollo's head many times before then. He had decided long before then his preferred method would be a single gunshot to the back of his head, if someone he didn't care for would find him, but if someone he loved were to the one to find him it would a sleeping pill overdose.

The icy-hot feeling spread. It was in the crook of his neck. Wrapped around his torso, and wrapped gently around his legs. He wanted to be further enveloped. If he were to put his plan into action he might as well relish the feeling. He didn't know when he could feel it next. He was going to bask in its glory. It was the feeling of sitting by the fire with a good book in your lap while sipping hot cocoa. It was when you have the notes for your classes organized and you are fully prepared for the exam. It's the fuzzy feeling of your first kiss. Of the simple touch of lips. Of the pure adrenaline, and happiness, and fear rushing through your veins. It was the feeling of immense happiness. He wished he could feel this everyday for the rest of his life.