BASKET CASE | mike wheeler

xiii. cold blooded

THE FAMILY REUNION

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in which caleb moore loses everything he has found, and gains everything he has lost

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cold blooded | the upside down

〖 ice in my veins, never gonna run, venom on my fangs, fire on my tongue 〗

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-not edited-

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WHEN CALEB came to, he was alone in the dimly-lit gym, surrounded by the ravenous shadows of the room that jerked themselves at him and tried to entrap his ankles as he scurried out of the double doors in search of his friends, calling out blindly and wincing at the ache in his side.

There was a muffled yell from further down the hall and he let out a sigh of relief, piling all his weight onto the push bar of the double doors leading to the cafeteria and stepping inside with an irritated huff. "You assholes, I didn't know where you w-"

Caleb faltered when he finally registered his surroundings, finding a cozy, vintage-style kitchen area rather than the linoleum counters and stale cold air of the canteen he had been expecting. His heart almost jumped out of his throat when a woman in red stilettos and a floral dress twirled past him, a mixing bowl in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other, humming a quaint melody to herself.

"Uh..."

The woman looked up at him, a wide smile greeting her sharp features. Her hair was silky and honey blonde and her eyes reminded him of two shattered amber gemstones, glinting in the light of the kitchen and filling him with an overwhelming sense of familiarity.

Those were his eyes - he had spent too many days judging himself in bathroom mirrors to not recognise them.

"You're just in time for breakfast, my love!" The woman chirped, angling the bowl in her arms towards him expectantly. "Go on, take a sneaky taste before Aunt Becky gets here."

Caleb felt his head grow dizzy as he dipped a single finger into the creamy batter and popped it into his mouth, not knowing what he was doing or why he was doing it and too caught up in the malicious burst of flavour on his tastebuds to pay attention to anything else.

His mouth stung, like he had bit down on his tongue too hard, and he let out a startled gasp as he rushed over to the sink, rinsing out his mouth with the cold water sprouting from the faucet in hopes of ridding the taste of blood from his mouth, watching with wide eyes as the mouthful of rose thorns he had been holding between his lips fell into the sink. His alarm only increased when the water began to turn an ugly shade of brown, gradually becoming a sharp vermillion red. "What the fuck?!" He felt warm breath on the back of his neck and spun around quickly, accidentally hitting the bowl of the wretched batter out of the woman's hands.