11.1.2 Contridiction

"Nevermind." You find yourself hastily replying before quickly hanging up the call.

Your heart is pounding in your chest as the sound of the receiver clicking echoes around you. The reason for your sudden distrust and unease is unknown yet urgent. Perhaps you've been too honest with the Doctor as of late, after all, you barely know the man. You trust your instincts to steer you in the best direction, and right now that direction seems to be pushing you away from the mysterious physician. This trust in yourself only momentarily wavering when you realize what you must now do. Sighing deeply, you steel your nerves before heading towards the bathroom. Glancing at your reflection for what feels like the first time in days, you're somewhat taken aback by the image before you. A gaunt face covered by pale, cold skin reflects back, with only the slightest of a red hue cutting through at the high points of your cheeks. Tired, sunken eyes stare back sending a slight shiver down your spine. Is this what everyone else sees when they look at you? It's no wonder the whole town appears to view at you with an odd mix of contempt and pity.

Dismissing these thoughts, you hastily grab a pair of tweezers from a drawer before quickly turning on your heel and heading for the kitchen. Though it's not exactly your drink of choice, you're thankful for the half full bottle of whiskey that's sitting in the cabinet. Up until late you'd made it a point to keep some on hand for whenever Luke came to visit. The stress of his job, until the recent promotion, pushed him to drink more than you'd like. Sighing in exasperating, you loudly slam the bottle on the countertop, frustrated at your increasingly wandering thoughts. A moment later, a harsh burn seers your throat as the drink makes its way down. Ignoring the pain, you **** yourself to take another long gulp. Tears well in the corners of your eyes as you lower the bottle somewhat shakily. Sighing again, you find yourself satisfied with your level of inebriation. You need to be focused enough to work steadily while also having enough liquor to dull some of your senses. Holding the tweezers firmly, you slowly sink to the floor. Staring at your arm, you use what little liquid courage has built up and set to work.

Gritting your teeth, you try to ignore the deep, dull pain that accompanies the stitches being pulled free. You struggle to keep your grip on the smooth tweezers as blood seeps around your fingers. Wincing in sharp pain, you tighten your grip again before freeing the last of the offending threads. Panting, you feel your face growing flushed from the pain and efforts of your exertion. You can feel beads of sweat begin running down along your neck before sliding between your flushed bosom. Absent-mindedly, you tug at the collar of your shirt. It seems as if the material is flimsier than you had assumed, seeing how it instantly rips between your fingers. Blood smears across your newly exposed skin. It's sharp, metallic odor quickly envelopes your senses. Biting your lip, you feel your gaze drawn to the ribbons of blood running down your arm.

"What a waste." You find yourself thinking as some of the blood splatters against the cold linoleum.

Shaking your head, you quickly dismiss the intrusive thought. The only thing being wasted right now is time. Still, you hadn't considered how messy this process would be and it's likely not a good idea to leave your wound exposed. Looking around, you're left with little options to accomplish this. Finally, your eyes wander to the torn remnants of your shirt. Accepting that the garment is beyond repair, you rip off some of the excess. It's not entirely easy wrapping it around your arm one handed but eventually you manage. The only thing you can't seem to figure, is how to fasten the knot. Growing increasingly frustrated, you let out a low growl before leaning your head down and grabbing part of the fabric between your teeth. Though you work quickly to pull the fabric securely, you're not able to avoid the warm, slightly sweet taste of liquid on your tongue.

Your breath catches in your throat as the metallic taste fills your mouth. Instant warmth rushes to your face, reminiscent of the feeling from a strong shot of liquor. Blushing further, you can't help running your tongue along the remnants of blood that stains your exposed skin. More heat spreads through your entire form as the viscous liquid continues filling your senses. Suddenly overwhelmed, you find your teeth wrapping around the cloth once again, this time pulling it loose. Working in a frenzy, fabric and specks of blood fall to the ground as your mouth wraps around the wound. Drinking greedily, you feel the instant renewal of strength and adrenaline. Clutching your wrist in your other hand, you fight to keep yourself steady. The pace at which the blood fills your mouth seems to grow weak and stagnate. Instinctually, you feel your lips pull back, bearing your teeth. Inhaling deeply, you relax before feeling the initial prick of your canines against your skin. Just before they can completely puncture the flesh the sudden crash of breaking pottery pulls your attention away. Snapping your head up in fear, you're just able to catch the outline of a figure rushing away from the small window above your kitchen sink