Death's Spirit & Demonic Shadow - Chapter 6
Lily's inner thoughts.
My thoughts were getting erratic; my mental issues getting worse. This entire ordeal of vampirism, my mom, all the fights, had triggered a new outbreak of poison in my mind. Fixing the car barely did anything to help, my usual stress relief was not working. And Ian pressuring me about the fights to come were certainly not helping my situation. I ripped a steel rod out of the engine bay and threw it over my shoulder, not paying attention to the clang it made as it landed on the concrete floor.
Ian watched me from the door, his eyes brimming with concern. I watched in my peripheral vision as he folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He didn't know what he could do that would help me. I felt guilty for causing him more stress. He walked closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I expected to turn and hug him, but my body had other ideas and I shrugged his hand off me. I could see in his eyes that I'd hurt him.
After everything I'd sacrificed, after everything I did to get him back, and now I could barely talk to him. I thought back to the other day when we had breakfast together, when he'd mentioned the "Discussion." I think that really sent my hormones or whatever into overdrive. I couldn't deal with this. I didn't know what to do, how to stop it. Drugs designed for humans wouldn't help cure me like they had last time. A human psychologist would have no effect on me other than them becoming my lunch.
Something was wrong with me. Very wrong.
Ian took a step back, as if sensing I would lash out at him. I didn't, but I did stop working on the car. I wiped my hands on the rag and moved away, out onto the driveway, into the fresh air. Ian stared after me for a long moment, before pulling his phone out and dialing a number. He walked inside to speak.
I sat cross-legged on the driveway and stared down at the concrete. What would these issues mean for me? Would I be no longer included in making important decisions? What if I were turning bad? What if I ended up like my mom?! Oh God. I cracked my knuckles and started rocking backwards and forwards, trying desperately to calm myself. Think of something else. Think of something else. I repeated to myself. Over and over. Think. Of. Something. Else. Anything else.
I didn't even hear or notice Ian sit beside me. He nudged me with his elbow. "Talk to me, Lil. What are you thinking?" He begged, his voice strained. He was concerned. Like, not passing concern, but serious concern, as if I was dying. Who knows, maybe I was. I didn't acknowledge him, audibly anyway. "Lillian Prentergaste. Please, just tell me what's wrong! Let me help you."
I rested my head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. "I think, there's something wrong with me." I said grimly.
Ian nodded slowly, relieved my vocal folds weren't damaged. "What do you mean? Are you sick?' Ian asked, putting his palm on my forehead, reading my temperature.
"No," I said heavily. "I - when my da - mum's previous significant other died, I got depressed. Really depressed. I was showing signs of schizophrenia and other problems. But I got better somehow. And then you showed up. And I haven't had any problems since. Until now." I explained, grinding my teeth.
Ian was silent for a few minutes, going over the information in his head. "Maybe a psych."
"No." I said immediately. "I need to get through this myself." I got up and decided what I needed was my mom. Probably not a good idea. But I needed to see her. She had talked me through my problems once before, I had one vain, glimmer of hope, that she could do it again. "I need to go." I said quietly, walking back to the garage and rolling out the ducati.
"Be careful." Ian whispered.
I rode towards the jail and then realized I had no idea where my mom actually was, she couldn't have escaped the jail, though she wouldn't have died. I pulled to a stop and sat on the curb. I rested my head in my hands and began to silently cry. I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't know who I was.
Ian watched me from the door, his eyes brimming with concern. I watched in my peripheral vision as he folded his arms across his chest and sighed. He didn't know what he could do that would help me. I felt guilty for causing him more stress. He walked closer to me and put his hand on my shoulder. I expected to turn and hug him, but my body had other ideas and I shrugged his hand off me. I could see in his eyes that I'd hurt him.
After everything I'd sacrificed, after everything I did to get him back, and now I could barely talk to him. I thought back to the other day when we had breakfast together, when he'd mentioned the "Discussion." I think that really sent my hormones or whatever into overdrive. I couldn't deal with this. I didn't know what to do, how to stop it. Drugs designed for humans wouldn't help cure me like they had last time. A human psychologist would have no effect on me other than them becoming my lunch.
Something was wrong with me. Very wrong.
Ian took a step back, as if sensing I would lash out at him. I didn't, but I did stop working on the car. I wiped my hands on the rag and moved away, out onto the driveway, into the fresh air. Ian stared after me for a long moment, before pulling his phone out and dialing a number. He walked inside to speak.
I sat cross-legged on the driveway and stared down at the concrete. What would these issues mean for me? Would I be no longer included in making important decisions? What if I were turning bad? What if I ended up like my mom?! Oh God. I cracked my knuckles and started rocking backwards and forwards, trying desperately to calm myself. Think of something else. Think of something else. I repeated to myself. Over and over. Think. Of. Something. Else. Anything else.
I didn't even hear or notice Ian sit beside me. He nudged me with his elbow. "Talk to me, Lil. What are you thinking?" He begged, his voice strained. He was concerned. Like, not passing concern, but serious concern, as if I was dying. Who knows, maybe I was. I didn't acknowledge him, audibly anyway. "Lillian Prentergaste. Please, just tell me what's wrong! Let me help you."
I rested my head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. "I think, there's something wrong with me." I said grimly.
Ian nodded slowly, relieved my vocal folds weren't damaged. "What do you mean? Are you sick?' Ian asked, putting his palm on my forehead, reading my temperature.
"No," I said heavily. "I - when my da - mum's previous significant other died, I got depressed. Really depressed. I was showing signs of schizophrenia and other problems. But I got better somehow. And then you showed up. And I haven't had any problems since. Until now." I explained, grinding my teeth.
Ian was silent for a few minutes, going over the information in his head. "Maybe a psych."
"No." I said immediately. "I need to get through this myself." I got up and decided what I needed was my mom. Probably not a good idea. But I needed to see her. She had talked me through my problems once before, I had one vain, glimmer of hope, that she could do it again. "I need to go." I said quietly, walking back to the garage and rolling out the ducati.
"Be careful." Ian whispered.
I rode towards the jail and then realized I had no idea where my mom actually was, she couldn't have escaped the jail, though she wouldn't have died. I pulled to a stop and sat on the curb. I rested my head in my hands and began to silently cry. I didn't know what to do anymore. I didn't know who I was.
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