The Beast (12 page)

"I guess so," I consented. "I thought I was fine yesterday too until I tried to get a glass of water."

My feet should have hurt, but even when I wiggled them around, there was no pain. The slashes from that long ago night when I'd met Simon were still there, scabbed over and not particularly attractive, but not bothersome. Nothing hurt at all. I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth and unwrap my leg and feet.

There was nothing there. Where it had been cut by flying glass and bled just the night before, there was only smooth skin, completely intact and unhurt. I could take a deep breath without pain. Somehow, I was healed.

I stayed home anyway. After the initial surprise that I was healed, the day went kind of stale. After breakfast I was bored, and remained bored, all day. I tried to read the book Sandra gave me but I couldn't concentrate. I tried to watch TV but it was all doom and gloom news or cartoons for preschoolers. There was a new murder attributed to The Beast, where they may have found some blood belonging to the killer and the poor coyote still couldn’t manage to catch that road runner. 

Sandra sent me a text asking me to take the trash cans out and then quickly sent another telling me that I should absolutely
not
take the trash out and that I better be resting in bed. I tried to start a conversation by asking how her day was going but she ignored me. Presumably she had gone back to work. Simon didn’t answer me either, and that pretty much exhausted my list of friends. I filled the tub for myself and lit a candle, but even soaking in the bath got boring quickly. My good mood was fading. I went into my room, hoping that I would think of something interesting to do.

On my dresser, twin bottles with twin stoppers stared at me like misshapen eyes. I approached them. I opened the first. It felt lighter than it should have, and I tipped it over, spilling grey ash like fine sand. I opened the other and felt that the liquid was still inside of it. I didn’t know which one was from Harold and which was from his brother. There was a lot that I didn't know about anything. Everyone but Sandra was practically a stranger to me. Even I was becoming stranger than ever. And I was hungry. Not the normal kind of hungry that comes from skipping a meal; I was famished like I skipped them all for a week.

Even after Sandra should have been home, I was alone in the house. She sent me a text to let me know she’d gone out and Jessica wouldn’t be around until morning.

I browsed around the kitchen for something to eat. There was a casserole dish with uncooked lasagna in the fridge. I decided to go out.

It was like the world outside changed while I was bored inside. Things were so much more real than they'd ever been. Smells were stronger, and I could identify fresh meat and not so fresh meat from the smells alone. I went to a grocery store, planning to pick up a rotisserie chicken, but the scent of rotting meat under the smells of fresh meat and citrus scented cleaning products made me feel sick and drove me out of the store. Lights looked brighter, even when it started to get dark and I drove, dizzy in the car until I felt sick passing the rotting things in a dumpster. I smelled it long after I rolled my windows up, then down, then up again, trying hopelessly to replace it with fresh air. I stopped at Great White Buffalo and spent all the cash in my wallet on a side of ribs and an order of hot wings to go, which I ate alone in the car.

Then I went to a convenience store and bought a pregnancy test. 

chapter 12

The pregnancy test was negative.

The one I took a week later was also negative.

I wasn't sure whether it was too soon to take the test or if I really wasn't pregnant. Knowing that I wasn’t pregnant should have put me at ease, at least a little, but it didn't improve my mood.

"Jade?" Sandra closed the fridge, opened it, closed it again, and turned to face me with hands on hips.

"Hm?"

"Where the hell is my lasagna?"

I felt tears build up behind my eyes. "I'm sorry, Sandra. I think I ate it last night."

"You
think
you ate it last night? That was supposed to last a week! What is wrong with you?" She grabbed my shoulder and pressed a hand to my forehead.

The tears pushed their way forward and I fought to keep them back. "I'm sorry, Sandra, I'll replace it, I promise."

"I could care less about the stupid lasagna, Jade. What is wrong with you lately? You look sick all the time, you literally eat everything, and you've been in a shitty mood ever since what's-his-face took off."

"Simon," I mumbled. The tears won. They started streaming down my cheeks, making a river that flowed down my neck, across my collarbone, and into my cleavage.

"Is that what this is about? Seriously? I've never seen you get worked up over a man in your life, and suddenly this guy comes along, and-."

"It's not
him
!" I shrieked. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm PMSing or something. Like, really bad."

"You don't PMS," she said. "And on the rare occasion you do, you just say something bitchy and then you eat a square of chocolate. Are you pregnant?"

"No.”

"Really?"

"Sandra, have I ever lied to you? I took a test yesterday. And I'm not. I've only had sex one time in like the last six months."

She eyed me.

"I'm not lying! And I'm not going to have this conversation with you anymore. You're supposed to be my friend."

I started to storm off, but she caught me by my arm. "Jade, I
am
your friend. And I know you're not lying. I pulled the test out of the trash can last night."

"Why would you do that? It’s an invasion of privacy."

"Only if you're planning on keeping it a secret from me." She released my arm. "So what's with you? I know that it's not Simon. Maybe you'd be sad or a little extra moody, but not like this."

"I don't know," I admitted, wiping my eyes. "I can't figure it out. I feel great one minute and then I feel like killing something the next. I'm hungry all the time, but some smells just make me sick. I feel like I should be doing more than I am, but I'm afraid to hurt myself all over again."

She wrapped her arms around me. "You've been sitting inside for too long. Come for a run with me and Jack tonight. We'll walk. Start off slow. If you can't handle it, we'll call a cab back or I'll make Jack carry you."

I smiled. "Jack couldn't carry me."

"I bet he could, and I bet it would be hilarious. We can invite Cole, too. Did Jessica tell you they broke up?"

"No. Why?"

"I don't know. They're basically the same around each other. It’s kind of weird. Maybe that was the problem. They were meant to be friends. You and Cole on the other hand-." She laughed and I laughed with her.

"You know that would be breaking Girl Code," I said. “Jessica and I are friends now.”

"Yeah, yeah. Besides, you're too busy pining over Simon. Come on, you need to move your butt and spend some quality time with friends. I'll make some calls. You go find some shoes."

She was right. I couldn't be afraid of everything all the time.

I found a pair of cross trainers in one of the trash bags of my clothes I hadn’t gotten around to unpacking. When Jack, Cole and Jessica arrived, I realized that I was the only one not in real running clothes.

Jack and Cole were dressed like twins in black and blue running shorts, with stretchy black and blue shirts. Jessica wore a tiny pair of black running shorts and a sweat wicking, super-technical forest green tank top. Sandra, who went for frequent jogs, was dressed in her pale orange ultra-supportive running top and running capris. All of them wore very expensive shoes. I tried not to think about my own baggy T-shirt and oversized shorts.

“You are all dressed like you run,” I said slowly.

“Jack runs with me all the time,” Sandra said. “Sometimes Cole comes along too.”

“I take my dog running,” Jessica chirped. “He needs a lot of exercise. He’s a big dog in a little apartment.”

Cole nodded. “A
big
dog.”

“You didn’t bring him?”

“He’s taking it easy. He had to get stitches so he has to wait until they heal.”

For the whole walk, Jessica and Cole treated each other the way they always had. They were like old friends, nothing more. It was weird, knowing they’d just broken up.

While we walked, I felt myself calming down. My muscles were grateful for the stretch and my skin reveled in the warmth of the sun enveloping my shoulders. The air filled me with strength and every next step was a purpose.

I wanted to run.

I
needed
to run.

“No,” Sandra said to my suggestion of a jog. “Absolutely not. You’ll break your ribs again and who’s going to carry you?”

Jack and Cole looked at her, insulted at the implication.

“Sandra, I’ll stop if it hurts.”

“How much warning did you have when you tried to get a glass of water? Were you sore first and chose to ignore it or was it completely out of nowhere?”

“Point taken,” I mumbled.

“Point, set, match,” Jack said. Cole made a tally mark on an invisible scoreboard.

We walked in silence, and even though every muscle in my body cried out to run, we maintained a brisk walk. We walked for a long time and I felt like I had just been inducted into some secret of the universe. Sunshine good. Air good. Moving good.

I’d gone on walks before, but none felt so right, so warm and perfect, as this one.

It was almost dark by the time we got back and said our goodbyes. Jessica had to pick her dog up, Jack and Cole had business to attend to. Sandra and I both took showers and I started to rebuild her lasagna. I ate the entire thing while she was watching TV in her bedroom and scrambled to replace the replacement. Lucky for me, she kept a stockpile of ingredients on hand.

“I thought you’d be done with that by now.” Sandra brushed past me to get a mug from the cupboard. She turned the burner under the tea kettle on and poured a packet of powdered cocoa into the mug.

“Me too,” I said. “I guess I’m just really slow.”

I slipped the lasagna into the hot oven just before the doorbell rang. Jessica was back, invited by Sandra to help monitor me. Sandra poured two extra mugs of cocoa and we sat around the table, waiting for the food to finish cooking.

“You’ve been losing weight,” Jessica said to me bluntly. It was an accusation, not an observation. Like
she
weighed more than six pounds, soaking wet.

“And you’ve been eating a lot more,” Sandra added. “Like a whole tray of lasagna less than an hour ago.”

My face felt like it had just been lit on fire. “I was hungry.”

“You should see a doctor,” Sandra said.

“We’re worried about you,” Jessica agreed.

“I’m fine,” I lied from behind a forced smile and sipped the gritty cocoa. I kept the fake smile even when I burned my tongue.

They started to say more, but the doorbell rang and I launched myself out of my seat to answer it.

Harold’s brother was on the other side of the door, accompanied by two large men I could only assume were also vampires.              

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"We need to talk."

I glared at him. I would have preferred Sandra and Jessica’s intervention to three vampires at my door. At least he was himself this time, dressed in a fitted navy suit with a blood red tie. His companions didn’t fit in with him. One wore black pants and a shirt that said “Team Edward” across the front, with a tall green mohawk. The other was completely bald, even across his big round face, wearing a shirt with the look of graffiti all around and the sleeves cut off. 

I watched a dark look cross Charles's face. "Jade, don't you remember me? How long has it been?"

"A month," I said coldly.

"It feels like it was just moments ago," he said languidly, eyeing me like he was undressing me in his mind. "At least that’s how it feels to me."

I couldn’t bring myself to respond in front of my friends. 

"Can we talk in private?" he asked. He made a show of looking bored, giving a little sigh and running a hand through his black hair. Graffiti-Shirt and Mohawk were completely unmoving. They didn’t shift, didn’t breathe, they just stood like mannequin bouncers. It was unsettling.

I tried to copy his cold confidence. The last thing I needed was Sandra or Jessica getting themselves killed over me.

“Jade?” Sandra asked.

“It’s fine,” I said calmly, letting a little of my irritation out in my voice. “Come on, Charles.”