I couldn't stay awake. No matter how strong my resolve was I couldn't fight the basic human need to refresh my body. As I looked back across the narrow confines of the bedroom I saw a pair of ice blue eyes glitter in the encompassing darkness, watching me, waiting for me to make a mistake. I jolted upright again, determined not to give in to the needs of my own body, knowing that if I did I might not be given the opportunity to wake back up.
I was shivering as I pushed my self further against the far wall of the room. Michael kept his chambers uncomfortably cold, too cold for me to feel any sort of comfort. From the corner of my eyes I saw a flash of his teeth and realized that he was smiling at me. "There are ways for you to keep your self warm Conner." He said mockingly, laughing at me as he pulled back the covers of his bed.
I didn't say anything. A part of me reasoned that I had to keep him as calm as possible. I doubted I would be able to stem my own hysteria if I opened my mouth to speak so I clamped it firmly shut and looked away. He clicked his tongue impatiently and I heard him stand up. My body tensed even as I realized that if he did decide to kill me there was little I could do to try and stop him. I squeezed my eyes firmly closed and waited. I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks but I didn't make a sound as I felt his presence loom over me. A hand landed on my head and I flinched. He chuckled quietly and patted my head as if I was a dog. "I'm going out now Conner, do try to get some sleep. The beds there waiting for you if you decide it's too cold here on the floor."
I didn't move until I heard the door close and then I cautiously raised my head, half expecting him to jump out at me. He wasn't there though and the room felt warmer because of it. I shifted slightly and carried on with my vigil but exhaustion finally had its way with me and I fell into a restless slumber.
*******************
Before all hell broke lose and the country turned into a cesspit of murder and madmen my mom used to tell me these bedtime stories. They should have been gentle enough not to terrify me but the truth was I that I was a wimp as a kid. My mom said I was sensitive; my dad assured me I'd grow out of it. I hadn't though, even now when I was all alone in the dark those childhood stories still came back to haunt me.
Just before everything first went arse upwards my dad had the fortitude to see what was going to happen. He secured the house as best he could and stockpiled food and water. Because of that my mom, dad, sister and me we were able to stay hidden during the worse of the rioting. The gangs formed swiftly afterwards, making it hard for us to leave our homes during the day. My mom was constantly terrified and wouldn't leave the house so it was up to the three of us to gather food and water. I was about twelve years old when my dad told me and my sister to wait for him in an alley as he went into an abandoned house to scavenge some food. We must have stayed there for three hours before my sister, my elder by two years, told me we had to go because the sun was about to set. I didn't want to leave dad, I told her so. I remember the blank look that passed over her face as she grabbed my arm and dragged me back to our home. When we got inside our mom was waiting for us. My sister took one look at her and said in a voice void of emotion that dad wad dead. Her name was Lilia. A couple of years later she disappeared. I always wondered if she had been killed or just abandoned us. Mom pretty much lost it after that. That was when I was left to look after everything, my self and her included. I always thought I was pretty good at what I did. I'd managed to avoid trouble for so long that I was beginning to actually think I might be able to survive, maybe live to the ripe old age of thirty.
I quelled a laugh, knowing it would probably only come out as a strangled sob. So much for surviving. Michael lay across from me now, sleeping peacefully, his face smoothed into an expression of comfort and contentment. They were supposed to be vulnerable during the day. I had been told that they slept so soundly that one could easily take their heads without them waking. Sitting there, watching him as he occasionally twitched or shifted I realized that the person that had made that assumption had read too many Anne Rice novels. I was willing to bet that Michael was an extremely light sleeper.
I slowly became aware of the needs of my own body. I was hungry and very thirsty. I wondered if Michael even remembered what it felt like to have a mortals hunger. I still had the canned fruit in my bag. I lifted it out slowly and felt a torrid of relief that the lid didn't require a can opener. Trying not to make any noise I opened it up and drank the juice inside. I ate the whole contents of the can but I was still hungry afterwards. Despite the hollow feeling in my stomach I didn't touch any of the other cans. Maybe it was being a little optimistic of me but I wanted to try and make them last.
Now that discomfort had been rectified I became aware of the cramping in my legs and the ache in my back. I had been practically curled up in a ball for hours. I stood up slowly and tried to work some of the feeling back into my frame. Careful not to make any noise I began to stretch my joints, easing out the kinks and twinges. My eyes passed cautiously over Michael. My heart jump up in my throat and I fell back several steps. He was staring at me, his ice eyes glaring daggers at me as he emitted a low growl deep in his throat. My legs collapsed beneath me and I fell painfully to my knees. "I'm sorry," I gasped, the words escaping my treacherous mouth as I began to try and back away from him.
I saw him sit up, visible as a faint outline in the dark room, his eyes still locked on mine. "What exactly is it you're apologizing for?" he asked.
I thought he might have been smiling again, but if so I couldn't make out his teeth. Small miracles!
"I didn't mean to wake you."
