So I was feeling a bit macabre...

[♫.Starredmyst]

EDIT//Warning: So this became increasingly creepy as I descended into a sleep-deprived fog. Innocent minds might not want to read too closely ._.'
(And yes, there's a loooot of backstory I didn't bother to explain because I was writing it for myself. Basically Cara's mom was killed by a werewolf and now she's turned into one.)



Haha. So, I know I spend an inordinate amount of time talking about my "real writing" when I make excuses for not being on. And last night I had this stroke of inspiration that gets me absolutely nowhere and is a complete tangent to one of the projects I'm working on -- I just had this sudden desire to write a scene from one character's backstory.

Anyway, I thought I'd post it here because I haven't got anything to do with it and I don't want it to go die in a corner. xD Dunno how many of you would be interested in this sort of thing, but let me know what you think.

This came out a little morbid, but it was fun. Jared and Cara don't get the spotlight enough.

The sun was down.

As ever, it had died in fruitless battle with the night, staining the clouds rose and setting the sky awash with blood. Blackness settled in triumph, a blanket over the sky, and the first innocent stars began to sparkle in the wake of this constant war.

I could just see this aftermath through my small window; could, if I chose to stand on tiptoe, wrap my fingers around the top of the wall, press my body up against the cold cement, and stare up at the far-distant, twinkling gods that so called out to my blood. I felt even now the compulsion to do just that — the ache of longing for the endless world above me, the fresh air of the night on my face, the freedom — to run with the moon overhead and the hunt in my bones.

But every choice has consequences, and I knew what would happen if I chose to listen to the yearnings of my instincts. I shut my eyes and forced my body to remain still, told myself tightly — vainly — that the faint breeze the open window provided was enough. As if anything could be enough.

Somewhere above, I heard the slam of a closing door. The sound made me jump almost out of my skin; I froze to still the movement and listened, breath bated, to see if that door had been at the top of the stairs to my bedroom. I had no desire for a confrontation tonight.

But no; I was being paranoid, again. The sound had been Daddy, coming home from a long day at work. No one was coming downstairs. I relaxed once more, trying so hard to pretend I wasn’t listening with half my ears for further sound, telling myself the small lie that I was perfectly fine and not overreacting again.

My eyes had opened, of their own accord. They brought my gaze to the ceiling of the basement, riddled with pipes and wooden beams; a silly thing to look at. I listened to my heart pound and, closing my eyes once more, slowly rose up into a sitting position. The cement wall was rough against my back, but the cool, solid surface was reassuring.

My wrist caught as I moved, and I froze again, clamping down on a hiss of pain. Not a hiss — louder than that, rougher. More a growl. Eyes closed. Breathe deep. Let the panic and the desire trade off, balance one another out. Push too far and you’ll fall off the hairy edge into dangerous waters. Slowly, carefully, I readjusted my arm. Stay silent. Don’t let the edge break the skin.

The wind ruffled my hair in a friendly sort of way, and the feeling reminded me how long it had been since I’d last washed it. I listened to Daddy moving around upstairs, wondering what he might be doing and whether I’d be able to take a shower sometimes soon.

He was stomping about up there; I tilted my head — just slightly — and listened to the rhythm of the movements. Three steps, ahead and to my right. Pause. Two more stomps, not steps but shuffles. He was…at the kitchen table, probably, looking at something. Several long strides took him from one side of the ceiling to the other; heavy stomp as he stopped and another long pause. Setting whatever it was down on the counter, still studying it. Stomp, pause, stomp, pause. He was making himself dinner, and probably looking at paperwork from the business while he was at it. My stomach growled and I pulled my knees up to my chest, trying to stifle the sound.

But that was silly. It shouldn’t bother Daddy that my stomach was growling, even if he could by some miracle hear it; whatever he was doing, he hadn’t thought of me, so he must be very relaxed. I was so tense. Eyes closed. Breathe deep. Try to reach that soft corner of your mind, deeper than even instinct, that reaches out to envelop an exhausted girl and bring her into the gentle comfort of sleep.

I had almost found it when the knock on the door flashed me back to real life.

In an instant I had sprung up — hands and knees, wary crouch — ferocious snarl from my lips before I could stifle it, instinctive reaction to pain. Again the rabbit, frozen, breathless; but if my father had heard me, he gave no sign.

“Who’s there?”

His voice, gruff, but casual. I listened intently for any sign of discontent, anything that would give my father reason to come downstairs. Nothing; this was silly. Daddy had no reason to want conflict, tonight.

The response was soft, coming from outside; I strained to listen, for there was something familiar in the visitor’s tone, but even my keen ears could not make out the words of his quiet reply.

“Ah, you — Joseph.” Slowly, I backed towards the wall at the way my father’s voice colored at the name. Not displeased, but — surprised. Not unhappy, but — distrustful. Warm enough, but wary. “Come in, ah — let me get you a drink…”

The slight creak of the door opening, and I could now hear the newcomer’s words. “No, thank you,” the stranger — Joseph — said, and my brow furrowed as I tried to place that tone. It was one I knew I’d heard before, for — Joseph — had possibly the most beautiful voice I’d ever heard. Deep, smooth, slightly melodic. At the moment it was very quiet and restrained, but I was certain I could hear some sort of tension behind it.

There was a slight sound — a step, not a stomp — as Joseph came inside. “I don’t want to intrude on your hospitality, Mr. Heyfler,” he went on evenly. “I just had a few — questions for you.”

“Yeah?” Perhaps it was my imagination, but I almost thought I could hear my father swallow nervously. That was the strange edge to his voice — fear. What was he so afraid of?

A pause; then my father seemed to realize he was straining courtesy. “Of course. You’re my best worker, you — know that. Come on in, sit down. Ask away.”

Thump, thump, thump. Joseph’s footsteps were much lighter than my father’s. A heavy thud as my father sat down, but Joseph’s noise stopped dead; he must be standing in front of my father. He worked with Daddy — that would explain the familiarity I felt, but I could not for the life of me place the voice to the face.

Silence.

My father cleared his throat. “So. Questions.”

I could not see him, this Joseph, in my mind’s eye; I wished I had met him at least once before, so I could play the conversation in my head. Was he avoiding my father’s eye? Standing awkwardly, uncertain, or with the calm grace to match his voice? I imagined him looking straight into my father’s face as he spoke his next words.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen your daughter around the business.”

It was a moment before the words clicked.

Then my heart started pounding.

I saw no reason to quiet it anymore.

In the vision in my head, I saw my father’s face break out in sweat. I saw his eyes darken in anger, and flinched away from looking into them mentally. He kept his calm poker face, the “work” face he used to speak rationally with the customer, but I felt the sudden wash of anger seething behind the empty mask.

“No, she hasn’t been around lately, has she?” His laugh was shaky, but I didn’t think Joseph would notice it. “Guess she’s lost interest in adult work, silly girl. Spending more time with her friends — hasn’t wanted to come with me recently. But I’m sure you didn’t come by for small talk, if you haven’t got time for a drink,” he added sharply.

Joseph’s voice was flat. “This isn’t small talk, Mr. Heyfler. I came to talk to you about Cara.”

“There’s nothing much to talk about, is there? I don’t think you’ll be seeing her around the business much more. Like I said, she’s not interested.”

“She hasn’t been in school for more than a month.”

“Hey, now — what business is that of yours? Cara’s been a little sick lately, is all.”

“That’s what the school said when I asked. They also told me they didn’t have a doctor’s note.”

“And since when is it your business to butt into my daughter’s private life? I might remind you, Reed,” my father went on, anger roughening his voice, “I gave you your job out of charity. I don’t have to keep you on —”

“Of course.” Those two words were abrupt, with an odd edge I didn’t understand, and they cut my father off as sharply as if he hadn’t spoken.

Silence, again. I could not fathom what might be happening up above.

Finally, after a long moment, Joseph spoke again. His voice was quiet.

“Of course you could fire me, Mr. Heyfler. I am well aware of what you could do to me…as I am sure you know my own capabilities. I’ll show myself out.” Light footsteps toward the exit, my stomach sinking with each one I heard.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way.” The words were a soft snarl right above my head. Joseph, at the door, should not have caught them, but I heard him pause as they left my father’s mouth.

Then the door slammed shut, and I felt my heart jumpstart with it. I pressed myself against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut.

Long, long silence above me. I so hate silences; you just don’t know what’s happening during them. But I knew what was going through his head now; if I didn’t know what was happening, I did know what was going to happen. And it frightened me.

Eyes closed. Breathe deep.

Don’t fear. Don’t think.

Don’t let yourself free.

Then it came.

Eleven steps. The chair my father was in…over to my door. The click of a lock and the slow creak of a mostly unused door opening. Heavy stomps on my stairs.

So d**n scared.

My body was frozen. It had taken control away from my brain and I couldn’t move it. Frustration, anger, fear. I made my head raise up to look my father in the eye, because I was even more terrified of what would happen if I showed that fear.

He was staring at me; that dark, impenetrable anger I’d never been able to understand twisted his expression. When he saw my expression — sullen and dark to hide my true, weak emotions — his mouth tightened.

“Go and call your furry buddies to get you out, will you.” His voice was soft, but ugly; I shivered all over at the sound of it. “Little monster. What, you think some poor street kid can help you? Just ’cause he’s a wolf-boy, huh?”

His voice was rising. “Well, you’re not getting any help, you hear! You don’t deserve it, you little beast — what you’ve become — you’re disgusting. Do you hear that? Disgusting. A hybrid. A beast. Listen up, you better —”

“I —”

His hand on my face and I was thrown back against the wall. My head cracked against the cement and I saw stars.

Fear. Pain. Ache of unhappiness. Anger.

He stood there, waiting, until I could see again and I got up, slowly. I stared at him, expressionless.

“Like I said — a monster, you hear? I don’t know why you’re still alive, Cara.” The use of my name hurt. I didn’t think of him as Daddy when he did this; why did he have to call me Cara? “You killed your mother, you know.”

“I didn’t —”

Against the wall again.

Pain and anger.

“You did, Cara. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t your teeth. Your kind are all the same. You live to kill, hear me? That’s all you’re good for. That’s why you’re down here. It’s for your own good —”

I closed my eyes, hard, painfully. Could feel his triumphant smile.

“You’re worthless, Cara. A monster, a murderer. Just like that d**n wolf-boy who thinks he can protect you —”

Anger.

Suddenly it felt as though I were floating outside of my body and very inside of it, all at once. Heart pounding. Body trembling. Awareness of every little thing that was going on inside of me —

And then, in a heartbeat, it all changed.

A true growl ripping my throat out from the inside. Teeth — sharp teeth — real teeth, able to do what I had secretly desired for so long. Rope breaking with a casual tug and a flash of pain —

The desire to hurt, to kill, above any thought I could possibly have —

I lunged —

A ferocious snarl from somewhere outside of me as I felt myself slam against him bodily. Teeth ripping, tearing into him —

Blood spattered my face and I heard a cry of pain. I realized then that it was sounding over a scream, a scream which had been going on for as long as I’d been free and stopped, suddenly and completely.

And that stop jolted me back to myself.

The room was stained red with my father’s blood. He lay there, motionless; what was left of him. It looked as though something had ripped him limb from limb. I felt sick.

“Cara.”

The voice made me jump and I whirled, aware for the first time that I was completely free — and not wearing any clothes. I knew that voice, though, and stared like a frightened rabbit without the wits to wrap a blanket around myself.

Joseph was standing there, chocolate eyes dark with some secret emotion. He had a blanket —

But I suddenly realized that there was blood on him, too. More than me. And I saw now that he was moving his tanned shoulder carefully, a slight frown on his face as he studied the tooth-marks there.

I collapsed onto the bed, caught between horror and a strange sort of relief.

“Cara, take that blanket off your bed and put it on. You ruined your clothes.” Joseph’s voice was gentle, calmly practical. He walked over to me as I sat motionless and, with a wary sort of care, laid the blanket over my shoulders.

I couldn’t say anything, though I flinched away from his touch. That touch finally gave me the strength to break my gaze away from the destruction of the room, and look up at the stranger who had just saved me.

Joseph was tall, handsome, with a charismatic face; his hair golden-blond, his eyes dark in truth as well as with thought. There was something about his movements — animalistic, I saw now, unnaturally graceful. I felt myself shiver.

There was a pause as he looked at the bed. Saw the way I had been held there, unable to free myself. His mouth twisted in disgust and I felt his hand tighten on my shoulder before striding a short way away.

He sat down, a distance away from me. His gaze was on the floor, and mine returned to the corpse. My mouth was dry.

“Why?” I whispered.

He didn’t look up. “Too many of us are born with blood on our hands,” he said quietly, studying his own, long-fingered ones. “I — knew what your father was capable of, and I — didn’t want you to have those beginnings.”

Beginnings. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my face in them.

“I’m sorry your father had to die for them,” he added, even more gently, and I tensed all over.

I could feel his gaze on me and needed to explain something.

“That was — all he was,” I said, slowly, voice soft. “My father. My — blood.” I opened my eyes, looked at that blood, and quickly shut them again. “Daddy was gone when I realized what I was.”

“Cara —” In one stride he had reached me and sat down with a swift sort of grace. I flinched at his arm across my shoulder, but he made no move to hurt me. He just sat there — holding me close. I hugged my knees tighter to myself and didn’t even try to work out the confused swirl of emotions.

“I’m sorry, Cara,” he said again, and I heard the real ache of regret in his voice and looked up at him. His eyes were not so unfathomable after all; I could see some of the same turmoil I felt echoed in them.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I whispered. A silly thing to ask for, but he nodded soberly.

“You can trust me, Cara."

And somehow, I — almost believed him.

[Flower]

O.o

Er... Interesting...

[♫.Starredmyst]

Haha, lol. I was only half-awake when I posted that and pretty much exclusively focused on writing it; now that I'm looking at it I'm realizing that not only does it make almost no sense to someone who doesn't know who the characters are, it's a good bit more freaky than I thought it was when I was writing it. xD I'm not usually that...morbid.