Hey all. This is my next little snippet for Love Me Dead. It's very short and I wrote it sort of a while ago. I will hopefully have more soon!
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Waking up in pitch black is like getting turned on your head. It feels wrong, disorienting, and you can hardly breathe. I was lying on my side, my one arm falling asleep sending sharp tingles like electricity to my neck. I could taste the wood in my breath and feel the unyielding planks against my back. I could feel the knots forming already along my shoulders and spine. That was the only information I needed.
I inhaled again as I tried to fight the fear and smelled the death and dirt. That did it. Tears swelled in my eyes and I tried to stifle my sob.
I was in my coffin, my grave, and I would die here.
Someone would find my car abandoned on the side of the road, if at all, with the fingerprints of a dead man on the handle. Someone would call my parents. They would blame themselves for not talking to me. My mom would never forgive herself for letting me leave and Lance wouldn't understand; just like he hadn't when Thom died. They would probably try to be cute and bury me next to him, but this there won't be a body this time. They wouldn't even know that the other grave is just as empty.
I couldn't stop myself from wanting to open my eyes as wide as I could to keep the darkness from seeping in. That's what death was: darkness—cold lifelessness.
I started moving my arm to wipe my face when it brushed against something. Something that was definitely not wood. I held my breath and tentatively patted whatever was next to me with my fingertips. Jeans. That was definitely jeans and there was definitely flesh behind them. Cold, dead flesh.
Thom.
He came for me like I knew he would and this was his revenge. Together forever. That's what he'd always said.
I was going to suffocate, starve and go insane. Whichever came first would be the drop. I had enough sense to know that I would go through agonizing hours, but I hoped the finale didn't hurt and that there would be nothing after.
This thought crossed my mind just as Thom's arm, chilled and slithering, ran along my waist, up my back and around the back of my neck like a teasing noose.
The scream the exploded from me wasn't anything I ever would have expected from myself. I was sure it was nothing I could reproduce on command. As it hit the walls of the coffin, going nowhere else and dying into silence, I couldn't help but scream louder, if that was even possible.
As my scream began to fade, light burst into my vision. Before I knew what was happening I was on my feet, in the grasp of hands like frozen steel, meeting a gaze more violet than blue that was quickly gone again.
"FOOL!"
When the eyes disappeared so did that hands that had been holding me. I staggered for a moment before I found my footing just in time to see the coffin I had just been in flip over with a crash.
Thom sprang out of what seemed to be nowhere in front of the coffin which now lay on its side, the lid splayed open against the wall.
A small growl rolled its way out of Thom as his eyes fell on me. Any moment and he would spring.
"I told you I wouldn't give you any orders unless I didn't have any other choice and this is specifically what I ordered you not to do."
A stone-gray arm was thrust toward me and I followed its length to a head of hair that was a somewhere between white, gray, and silver. The type you'd see on people like Richard Greer. There was always something strangely attractive about it no matter how old they were.
"I had to disobey." Thom hissed, his eyes trained on the silver-haired man ready for the slightest movement.
The man didn't move from his position between us even though it was clear that Thom was much bigger than him, but it was like that for everyone when it came to Thom.
A small, chilling chuckle came from the stranger. "That's the thing, Thom." Then he turned his head and his vibrant eyes fell on me again as his mouth fell into a deep from. "Now you've forced my hand."
Glittering fangs appeared from his mouth and I had enough time to gasp before they were in my throat.
People always describe pain like being pierced by hot daggers. This wasn't hot at all, but ice cold, sending goose bumps down the length of my body. It was the last thing I registered before I passed out.
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