Michael Griffo - Unnatural

“Get out of here,” Michael muttered. “Go! Before I change my mind.”

Unsure if this was a trick like the kind he used to play on him, Mauro hesitated until he saw Michael staring blankly ahead, his face back to the way it was. He had absolutely no idea what kind of game he was playing, what kind of sick game he had learned at that new school of his, but he wasn’t going to wait to find out. Scrambling to his feet, Mauro stumbled off toward the school, one quick look back to make sure no one was chasing him, and then he was off as fast as his shaking legs could run.

“Are you out of your mind!?” Nakano screamed.

“I’m not a killer,” Michael said.

They’re always so sanctimonious in the beginning, Nakano thought. “Oh, really? Guess again!”

When Michael turned around, Nakano was nowhere to be found. In the shadow of Two W, he was once again consumed by a feeling of lonesomeness. But the feeling wasn’t long-lasting because within a matter of seconds Nakano returned, dragging Mauro by the arm, his body scraping the ground. When the boy landed at Michael’s feet, he saw the bloody gash on his neck and knew that he had about ten more seconds to live.

“Now eat,” Nakano ordered. “Before your dinner gets cold.”

Half a world away, Edwige felt the same way Michael did at that very moment—horrified. When she had arrived at Vaughan’s door, she noticed it had been left ajar. She thought perhaps that she and Vaughan were psychically connected and he left the door open as an invitation so she wouldn’t feel as if she was intruding. Now, standing in the room, she saw that Vaughan already had a female intruder.

Lying on his couch was Vaughan. Kneeling beside him was Brania. Edwige was repulsed because she knew the blood that dripped from her fangs was most definitely his.

As Michael bent down to shut Mauro’s eyes, he felt the same feeling of revulsion because he simply couldn’t bring himself to suck the blood out of the dead boy’s neck. He had no way of knowing that while he was unable to become a predator, his father had just become prey.

Home. Michael didn’t know where home was any longer. It was supposed to be a place that offered comfort, protection, a place where he could breathe easily. But he didn’t know where on earth he’d be able to find any of that. None of it could be found in Weeping Water; his mother was gone from there; so was his grandmother. The only thing the town held for him now was an angry, spiteful grandfather, and a makeshift grave that contained the body of a bully. No, that town was lost to him forever.

Unfortunately, Archangel Academy, a place he had grown to love, didn’t offer him much more. There was no comfort knowing this was the place where his life ended, and no protection since he had no idea what else might happen to him here. And breathing? Was that what he was doing? Did vampires even breathe? He could hardly believe that vampires were real and that he was one of them. God, could that really be possible?! He felt like he was sleepwalking, like he was reading a book and suddenly the words had ripped themselves off the pages and infected his life. He had become Dorian, except that he had become an immortal unwittingly, a victim unknowingly. He felt so incredibly lost, so willing to shut out the world and hope that he would fade from it that he fell asleep seconds after he felt the softness of the pillow cradle his head. He vaguely remembered hearing Nakano ask Ciaran to watch over him while he slept. “I guess that makes me Double A’s resident babysitter,” Ciaran had said. “First Ronan and now Michael.”

Ronan. That name still made Michael ache with longing, pleasure, pain. But what was Ronan to him? Was he his boyfriend? His lover? A liar? Or just a fellow vampire? There’s that insane word again, that piece of fiction that was now, impossibly, fact. No, better not to think about it or him, better not to question at all. Just dream.

The rain was coming down in straight lines from the sky; there was no accompanying wind, no thunder, just long vertical rows of rain. Ronan was standing in front of the cathedral, the moonlight illuminating him from behind to create a glow around his face, an aura that made him look like an angel, like his face should be a carving on the cathedral itself. His black hair was plastered down in bangs, his white T-shirt so wet it looked as if it was sealed to his skin. He looked like a statue, unreal. But then he spoke. “Welcome home, Michael.”

“This isn’t my home!” Michael shouted, tears sliding down his face alongside streaks of rain. “You destroyed everything we had! Everything that could have been!”

“No,” Ronan gently corrected, rain dripping from his bangs onto his eyelashes, down to his unshaven chin, “I’ve made everything possible.”

Tossing in bed, Michael mumbled his name. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but even asleep he knew it was someone else’s touch. That was all right. Maybe dreaming was the only way he’d be able to be with Ronan again after what he’d done to him. So in his dream, Michael gave in to his passion and kissed Ronan. His lips tasted so sweet, wet with rain and rich with desire. It was only a few days since he had really kissed Ronan, but it felt like a lifetime. Underneath his T-shirt his skin was slick with rainwater, his body as hard as ever, and Michael felt like a warrior returning home to his lover after a long journey. Their passion intensified by their separation, their kisses a mere hint of the love they would share later on in the privacy of their own bedroom. If only this could be real, then yes, yes, there was no doubt in his mind that he would live his life with Ronan whether his life lasted for a day or for an eternity. But outside of his dream he just didn’t know if he could live his life as a vampire.

When he heard the voices, he knew they weren’t coming from inside his head. He was no longer alone. But he was too weak—physically and emotionally—to answer questions or speak with anyone, so he kept his eyes closed and listened.

“Thank you for calling me,” Ronan said, his voice quiet and scared.

“You don’t have much time,” Ciaran replied. “Kano won’t stay away much longer.”

Michael felt two strong arms lift him off the bed and he knew his head was resting on Ronan’s shoulder. His breath warmed his face, Ronan’s beautiful lips mere inches from his. He was taking him somewhere, maybe to that well, maybe somewhere far, far from here. It didn’t matter. Wherever Ronan was taking him, Michael couldn’t resist, so he decided not to open his eyes until they got there. Before they left the room, however, Michael felt Ronan pause.

“I don’t think I’ll ever understand you, Ciaran,” Ronan said.

“Does one brother ever fully understand the other?” Ciaran replied. Michael couldn’t see, but he sensed Ciaran had more to say. “I just ask … that no matter what happens from now on, no matter what happens to me, you continue to try. “

Tension spread throughout Ronan’s arms, his grip on Michael tightened, and Michael could feel Ronan nod his head hesitantly. “I promise.”

When they stopped moving, Michael opened his eyes and didn’t see a well; he didn’t see some exotic landscape. They were back in Ronan’s dorm room. They were back on the bed where they had first made love, where Ronan had taken his life. Desperately, Michael tried to cling to the memories of being ravished, but all he grabbed on to were the memories of being destroyed. If he had more strength, he would have hurled questions, accusations at Ronan, but what would that do? What would that change? Nothing, absolutely nothing. There was no way to erase what was already done, so he remained silent.