Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

A Memory after an Episode

As I opened my eyes, I first became aware of the all-too-familiar metallic taste in my mouth. I run my tongue around the inside walls of my mouth, and licked my lips, savoring the last trace of the sweet salty taste of blood.

Then I noticed that I’m not alone, and as usual he was with me, holding me tightly closed in his chest while we were sprawled on the floor, much like how I always found us after my Episodes.

“How did I do?” I asked finally.

It took a while before he answered, and I don’t know if it’s because he knew that at this moment I’m still weak and he’s waiting for me to at least regain some of my strength, or he noticed the anxiety laced in my voice.

“You were fine,” and I felt him kissing my hair. I instantly relaxed.

“Uh-hmm,” I said, “by fine, you mean I didn’t manage to go beyond this room?”

“Yes,” he said, bringing me to look at him.

He barely smiled at me, but I saw a hint of grin in his eyes. And I knew then that he wasn’t lying.

And that’s when I realized that I’d been holding my breath. It was the first time, and I was happy.

I grinned at him and he grinned back, and I buried myself in his neck, comforted by the fact that I didn’t wreaked havoc this time to our unsuspecting neighbors.

I snuggled closer to him, and nuzzled his neck. His warm scent burned my lungs, and my heart quickened. The blood in my veins rushed, and I felt intoxicated. I quickly inhaled again, more deeply, and this time I recognized it. I couldn’t be mistaken.

The thick, warm smell like that of a honey, mixed with a sharp salty metallic tang that could make all my veins and body seared with want.

Blood.

He was covered with blood.

“You are—” I couldn’t even finish my sentence.

The scent was just too overwhelming. And I couldn’t think. My vision suddenly cleared, and my ears pricked up to every marginal noise, and every sensation I could feel multiplied and nothing was lost on me.

Then I tasted him, his blood.

And the logical part of my mind knew at that moment that I should be worrying, that it means only one thing. But I couldn’t bring myself.

I couldn’t bring myself to worry. I couldn’t bring myself to worry if he’s wounded, if the blood was because of me, if I’d bitten him again and if he was seriously harmed this time, and if I should already get up and make an antidote.

I could just concentrate on the smell, the taste, the warmness of his skin and blood against my tongue.

He groaned.

And I don’t know if it’s from the same pleasure I was feeling, or because he’s wounded and hurt.

Reluctantly, I forced myself to stop and look at him.

I forced myself to feel remorse but I couldn’t just find it, not when the smell of his blood was still freshly calling every part of my being and I could still taste him on my lips.

“I—I had bitten you then.” I said, trying my best to look guilty, while my heart was pounding so hard and all I wanted to do was bit him again. “Why didn’t you tell me so?”

“Tell you?” He was laughing hard but wincing at the same time. “First, you discovered it anyway, and second, you seemed to enjoy biting me whether you’re in a human or wolf form.”

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This is my entry for the Creative Writing Challenge: Metamorphosis of Daily Post. #DPchallenge

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