Bloodsong

Chapter 1

I can't believe this! It's only been a month and they're acting like nothing's happened! Like everything were normal, as it's supposed to be.

I push my way through the people crowding the sidewalk; their skin feels cold to me.

Do they even love her? Do they even care?

I am wearing jeans and a jacket, despite the blazing summer heat. I know that underneath the rough fabric my skin is red and flushed. The heat born of anger is the only only thing keeping me warm these days: I've been cold lately, too cold for much of anything except anger to warm me up.

I shove another person out of my way and get shoved back. Into the road.

Tires squeal and I stand frozen, eyes wide and heart racing. It's happening all over again. But I can't see.

I can't see!

All I remember is the sound of tires locking, squealing, and a flash of red beyond the crowd.

There is a painful ripping in my gut and my heart stops beating for a minute too long. It hurts so much! So fucking much!

I clutch at my stomach and feel like I'm gonna puke my guts up, the feeling all too real again, when a horn blares and startles me back onto the sidewalk.

“Jesus, kid! What the fuck are you doing?” the driver yells as he speeds by.

I ignore him and thread my way through the crowd, still clutching my aching stomach. I feel cold and empty. I've lost her. Again. Every time I see or hear a car, I lose her all over again.

I should have been the one to die. I should have died in her place, or at least with her. I shouldn't have to live like this, not without her. I don't know how I've made it this far.

“Leila!” a voice cries.

My stomach clenches painfully and I turn around, my hands balling automatically into fists. I feel the heat stir slowly in my veins as I lock eyes with the stranger.

No one is allowed to speak that name.

His eyes are a dark forest green, I see. And he looks bewildered, and I know I put that expression there, but it isn't good enough.

No one speaks that name.

I glare at him until he frowns but he still does not look repentant.

The heat is creeping up my neck and onto my face. I'm starting to feel warm when he pushes his way eagerly though the crowd. Towards me.

I scowl and shove my fists into my pockets, turn around and stomp off.

Just who does he think he is, calling her name like that?!

I'm passing by one of the many side alleys when a hand wraps around my upper arm and I'm pulled off into the darkness.

“Leila,” that voice says.

Blind fury wells up. I want to hit him. Scream and rage. Beat the shit our of him for saying her name like that. For calling me by her name.

I'm not her. No one can replace her.

I jerk away from his grip, curl my fingers until I feel blood well in my palms, and slug him with a sharp left hook.

Fire is burning in the center of my being and it feels good.

“Don't call me that,” I growl, flexing my fingers and cracking the knuckles one by one. “I'm not her.”

As my eyes adjust to the twilight of the alley, I see that he's shocked.

And handsome.

Disgusted by the observation and what connection he may have possibly had to her, I punch him again, this time in the gut, just to feel the solid satisfaction of my fist hammering into flesh.

He doesn't stagger or fall. His breathing doesn't change. He doesn't even wince. He just takes it standing up and I want to hit him more. I hate him for being here, looking at me like I'm a dog that's just done an unexpected trick. I hate him for speaking that forbidden name and I hate him most of all for calling me by her name.

I start to see black and the world tilts dangerously. I've forgotten to breathe, but my body makes due and begins to hyperventilate without my permission. I'm already drifting, focusing at the same time.

“You're not Leila,” he says softly, after forever of staring at me. “Leila would never hurt anyone.”

“Stop. Saying. Her. Name,” I spit through clenched teeth. I'm fighting against the blackout. I don't know what will happen with no one around to catch me.

I'm still hyperventilating. So hard. So hard to keep from falling.

“You have no right to say her name. Who the hell are you?! Who the fuck gave you permission to say her name like that?!” My voice rises with every word and I lean towards him, close enough that my nose touches his chest. He's taller than he looked from far away.

“Where's Leila?” he asks, ignoring me.

I punch him again, a right hook, then a left. I slam my knee up into his groin and uppercut him in the jaw when he doubles over.

“Stop fucking saying her name! You have no right! No fucking right to say her name! What don't you understand about that, asshole?!”

“Tell me where Leila is,” he commands, voice pinched and breathy.

“Shut the fuck up! Just shut the fucking hell up! She's gone! She's never coming back!”

I want to cry. I hate this man so much that is makes me want to cry for her all over again.

Stupid dumbfuck.

The first angry tears slide down my cheeks.

“You better fucking move if you want to keep all your body parts,” I say softly, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. I haven't felt this helpless since the accident. “Move before I hurt you worse, you dumbfuck.”

“You're crying,” he says. He sounds surprised.

“Get the fuck -” breath “- away from me!” I scream the last and lash out again, hitting blind and as hard as I can. He doesn't even try to defend himself.

“Get the fuck away!” My scream turns into a sob and I feel fingers gently brush away the tears on my cheeks.

I scream again, wordless, rage filled.

There's a soft breeze, I blink away the black film, and he's gone.

I run from the alley, my feet pounding out familiar paths to the place I once called home. There I rage and scream in my room until I exhaust myself and then I curl into bed with her stuffed bear, Kumochan, squeezed tightly to my chest.

I drift to tortured sleep with her fading scent in my nose.

/Author's Notes/

BlackRage has a story entitled I'm Not Her, and it was from there that I came up with my story. Sorry for taking the title from you, Rage, but I loved it so much and it fit perfectly with this idea! I highly recommend BlackRage's I'm Not Her if you haven't read it yet. I'm subscribed to it if anyone needs the link.

Also, a note on pronunciation. Leila is pronounced Lie-luh. She was Lionel's, the narrator's, twin sister. You'll find out later how she died. It will be a graphic scene.

Comment me, please!

Muchos gracias, amigos!
- TC

Update 06/16/08: I recently changed the title from I'm Not Her to Bloodsong, as this title works just as well and will most likely draw in more readers.