Waiting For Sunrise

It all kept sliding through her fingers, figuratively and literally. A stack of papers clattered to the floor as she tried to lift them out of her way while digging around her desk drawer. Irene glared at her bandaged hand and knelt down, picking up the mess of cards and slips. Then she paused, looking at one card in particular, reflecting back on the very vivid memory it evoked.

~~~

“The boys have an uneven amount of players. Anyone want to join them?" the girls' grade eight PE teacher announced. Most of the girls stared like a deer caught in headlights, whilst others rolled their eyes and scoffed. However, Irene hesitantly raised her hand, catching the eye of the teacher.

"I'll go if no one else wants to..."

Some girls snickered, but no one stepped forward. With a sigh, she put down her arm and walked over to the teacher.

"Alright, come along. Thank you for volunteering. If any of the boys give you any trouble, just tell me," the teacher said as they walked into the gymnasium, leaving the rest of the girls behind on the field. Irene would do anything to escape the pack of piranhas in her PE class. Those girls could smell the wounds left from her sister's death, and kept taking bites out of her.

As they entered the gymnasium, young Irene was affronted by groans and mutters of complaint about her joining with them. No one wanted a mousy bookworm on their team.

"Alright, Irene volunteered and I expect you to treat her with respect," the boy's PE teacher said gruffly. The boys snickered, but nodded in false agreement. Irene was led to the team she was playing with, not giving any eye contact to those who glared at her.

"Awe... why do WE have to have HER?" a boy complained loudly. Another boy laughed, elbowing his friend.

"Bet she'll be crying before the bell rings." Both the boys snickered. Irene continued to be quiet as she grabbed an old wooden hockey stick with a bright orange, plastic blade. The goalies got geared up and everyone got into their positions, waiting for the teacher to drop the orange ball into the center of the gym.

Irene grasped the hockey stick tight in her hands; her eyes focused on the ball as one of her teammates managed to slap it away from the opposition. She hung back near the net, watching the other players closely. The ball exchanged between the teams a few times before her team got the first goal. Cries of victory and dismay rang out.

Once again the ball was dropped between two players, facing each other with intense glares. This time the opposition got the ball rather quickly, and a swarm of boys ran towards the net. Irene leaned even lower, watching the ball for a breakaway. Her team managed to get it and began to drive it back to the other side, only to lose it. The ball came pelting towards the poorly guarded net and she sprung after it, gracelessly extending her stick. She felt it bump the blade of her stick, and was about to send it back into the crowd, but one of the opposing boys had reached her. With a grin on his face, he swung his stick hard at hers, catching the ball between their sticks. His eyes were impish, crescented by a mischievous smile. The boy's blade 'accidentally' slipped up her stick, smashing her fingers. It stung! Irene let go with a hiss.

"Why don't you just stay on the sidelines?" the boy taunted. Irene curled her lips in and resolutely picked up the hockey stick again. She glanced around for the teacher. He stood at the other end of the gym, having a quick chat with the custodian. Irene sighed and shook her head. She knew it wasn't an accident, but had no grounds to prove it. While she recomposed herself, there was a holler. Her goalie moodily grabbed the ball out of their net.

"You're doing good!" called the PE teacher, returning from his brief conversation.

Irene continued to endure a few more knuckle slaps, shoves, and hooking whenever the teacher was distracted. Each time she held firm to her stick, and did not leave her post as defense. These boys had not quite understood team strategy, and all wanted to be the stars. They hounded that ball like a pack of dogs, and left their goalie unprotected. Irene observed this and wasn't going to make that mistake.

Irene was sore, but she refused to show it. Within the last quarter of the block, a blonde boy with the critical slapshot had broken free from the swarm and was nearing the net. He gripped his hockey stick and swung it back. There was a loud SNAP sound as the blade of his stick slammed into the plastic orange ball, sending it through the air. Irene launched into the path, obstructing the ball. A hot sting and even deeper, robust pain reached her upper thigh. A series of groans followed, but among them was not Irene's. She bit her lip and stared into the astounded hazel eyes of the boy whose shot she blocked. With the room stunned, Irene took the opportunity to whip the ball back towards the other side of the gym. It rolled and skipped along, until the whole gym burst back into activity.

Irene remained standing, although shifting the brunt of her weight away from her sore leg. The rest of the game Irene hid the pain, running after the ball when it came near, although she could feel the spot on her thigh swelling. Finally the PE teacher sounded the whistle, and told them to put away the equipment and go change. Irene sighed with relief. The team she was on lost by two goals, but that didn't matter; she had done her best and that's all she wanted.

As Irene carried her stick over to the large plastic barrel they were kept in, she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat beside her.

"Excuse me..." the boy who had been the source of the welt in her thigh stood there, putting his own stick away.

"Yes?" Irene asked coldly.

"I, uh, sorry about your leg. Didn't mean to hit you, most people just move out of the way," he shrugged as he glanced off to the side. Irene gave a faint nod as she dumped her stick into the bin.

"I ran in front of it, so of course you weren't trying to hit me," Irene said with some irritation seeping into her voice. Her thigh was really hurting, and all she wanted at the moment was some ice.

"It must really hurt... um... oh... by the way, my name's Jordan," he said, wiping his hand on his shirt before extending it out to her. Irene just glanced at his hand for a moment, and then took it, giving it one single shake and then withdrawing her hand gingerly.

"Irene."

"You know, I'm really impressed how you handled yourself. You're pretty tough for a girl... I mean... not that girls aren't tough, I just..." Jordan said, shoving his hands into his pockets. Irene just nodded to him impatiently until his words actually sunk in. She softened up a little.

"Thank you." Irene gave a brief smile. "I need to get changed," Irene's eyes flicked towards the clock on the wall, then back at him. He nodded and glanced at the doorway. She turned and headed across the gym, and Jordan followed her.

"Well, um, would you like to sit with me at lunch?" he asked. Irene sighed as she briskly walked towards the change rooms.

"I suppose." Irene entered girl's change room, leaving Jordan standing there dumbly.

~~~

Irene sat on the floor, re-reading a card Jordan had sent her. She didn't trust him at first. However, her life had started to look up then. She had been fairly negative through middle school, but getting to know him made her a little more hopeful. Life did not, on any account, become easier, but more bearable. Irene sighed and set the card back into her drawer. It almost fumbled from her hand again. She needed to get to the hospital... but she was afraid.

"What... what am I going to do?" Irene asked out loud, her stomach flopping as she looked at her bandaged hand again. She could try to clean the wound, but she felt squeamish every time she thought of unraveling those bandages and seeing it. But she couldn't just ignore it.

Irene padded barefoot down the hallway to the bathroom. She hesitantly untied the ends of the bandages and slowly unravelled them, her stomach churning, and her heart beating fast. A tickling sensation came into her gut as the bandages reached the end. Finally, she tore the rest of it off, and prepared herself for the horrible sight. Instead, she just saw a fleshy knob. Irene stared at her hand, moving it to look at the clean stub at all angles. The bandages were only mildly bloody.

Irene caught a sight of herself in the mirror. She realized, with a bit of dismay, she looked a few years older. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, and her entire face was looking much more gaunt. Her hair, greasy and matted, hung limply on her head, sticking to itself in a mess of tangles, and her complexion wasn't as consistent as it used to be. Irene brought up her hands, examining them. The veins were beginning to show. Irene raked her teeth over her chapped lips. Perhaps, after a shower, she wouldn't look so fatigued.

After a soothing hot shower, Irene stood in front of the steamy mirror, combing through her squeaky clean hair. She took a dry cloth and began to wipe away at the mirror so she could see herself in it. It took a while, but eventually there was a clear circle, with steam still lingering around the outside, creating a vignette effect. The shower brought some colour back into her face, but otherwise, she still looked unwell. Irene sighed and grabbed the blow dryer.

When Irene returned to her room, she heard voices. She froze up outside the door, and slowly leaned closer to the door, putting her ear against it. After listening, she flushed with embarrassment. It was just her alarm clock radio going off. She stepped into her room and got changed, listening to the radio finish up with the weather report.

"Thank you, Tom, for that report. Good to know the sun will be shining, especially in such dark times. The ongoing investigation of a missing girl in her late teens continues," the anchor said. Irene paused tucking in her shirt and glanced over at the radio. "...the only trace found of her was a single finger discovered in the basement of an old warehouse in the industrial district. Irene Locklyn has been missing since the report of her and-"

"Oh... Merle!" Irene exclaimed. How could she have forgotten that her friend had been taken too? Irene leaned in closer to the radio, turning it up.

"-Merle Crowe were reported kidnapped outside of the local Vice Cream when a man grabbed both of them at gunpoint. Miss Crowe has since been recovered, but no further details about her condition have been released. The suspect has not been spotted since the event. If anyone has any leads at all, please contact the local police department. There is an anonymous hotline that can be called to leave a tip." The radio then began to describe the suspect and the car he was driving.

Irene turned off the radio. Merle had gotten out, but at what cost? If only she could see her, and tell her NOT to mention the vampires. What if she had already? Irene began pacing. The authorities knew she was missing a finger. How would she explain the rapid healing? Damn it, Cyrus! Even when you save me you make things difficult. Irene considered her options. She could immediately contact the police and show that she was fine, and tell them what happened except for the part where the offenders were vampires. She could hide for a while until she felt enough time had passed for her finger to have healed over. She could flee and never return, but that would leave her father believing that she was lost forever. Or she could go to the police, tell them there are vampires, and get evaluated for a psychiatric disorder she doesn't have. She idly wondered to herself if she'd be safe from the vampires in the psyche ward of the hospital.

Irene continued to pace in her room like a restless tiger in a cage. She could not think of a single option that did not cause her to shudder. All she saw were the tangles of problems that would crop up with almost every solution. She didn't see her father much as it was, so would it really change his situation much? Merle and her were already drifting apart due the large gap of maturity and temperament between them, so why not just end it all? Why not just flee? Jordan's parents would be relieved if she left. Jordan himself would be upset, but even he was on the verge of pushing her away. Sentiment aside, her largest practical concern was the lack of money. Another thought crept into her mind. Cyrus always had cash. What if she were to sneak in while he was out or sleeping and take some? Irene had never stolen anything since her preschool days. However, these were mitigating circumstances. Yet, could she really just leave the mess for others to clean up?

Irene drew in a large breath. Perhaps, as much as she hated the idea, she really should ask Cyrus for his advice. She wouldn't have to explain the situation to him as he WAS the situation. His attitudes and perspective appalled her, but she also supposed that he had a few lifetimes of experience..

Irene stood hesitantly at the door that led into the basement. Every time she had a conversation with Cyrus, she usually left it with feelings of rage or anxiety. She had always been proud of the control she had over her emotions, but Cyrus had humbled her in that regard. He seemed to undo all the years of hard work of controlling her reactions to her emotions. Every time she left him, she felt mentally and emotionally exhausted. Irene took a deep breath and braced herself for the inevitable.

Cyrus lay sprawled across the basement bed, sleeping. His pale complexion was even more jarring seeing the white skin flow along his entire torso. There were bruises and lacerations from the vicious fight, but they were already healing. Even marred by battle, his sculpted body brought to mind an image of Grecian statues. He certainly was as still as a statue. The effect was uncanny and disturbing.

Irene stood up and turned away, changing her mind. Just as she took a step, she heard the springs in the old mattress. She turned her head and saw that he had propped himself up on his elbows. He stared at her intently, and though his lips did not stretch across his china white face, there was a smug twinkle in his eyes.

“How are you feeling…?”

Irene stood and stared dumbly at him. There was no sly remark, no teasing, and no facetiousness to his tone. The inquiry actually sounded sincere. Irene stood for a moment, her eyes fixed on him. “I…” she began to say. What would she say? She had trained herself to always tell people she was fine, but she knew there was no point in lying to him. She glanced down at where her finger had been. She was not fine. Irene coughed. “I know it will take some getting used to."

Cyrus’s eyes swept over to her hand, and then glided up to her face again. “You’re resilient. I’m sure it will soon feel normal.” Cyrus sat up, swinging his legs over the bed, and rested his bare elbows on his knees. “Good to see you up and about. I was worried you’d go into another long sulking period.”

“Don’t start,” Irene warned in a steely tone. Cyrus raised his fine black eyebrows at her and gave a short chuckle. Irene continued to fix a glare at him. So it was starting, then? Irene perched her hands on her waist, trying to look assertive.

“So what can I do for you today?” Cyrus asked without missing a beat. He tilted his head to the side, a smirk slowly climbing lazily up his right cheek.

“First, I’d like to thank you for getting me home,” Irene said through gritted teeth. Once it was out, she felt a bit of relief sooth her burning chest. Cyrus seemed to enjoy her forced gratitude, and his smile broadened while his eyes narrowed.

“You’re welcome. It’s good to see you’ve finally come around. Having a vampire on your side isn’t such a bad thing after all, is it?” Cyrus's words tumbled over her, and that small bit of gratitude she felt began to drown amidst it all. Irene began to think spiteful things and was in her right mind to take back her appreciation and leave… but she was beginning to realize that her pride was misplaced. Taking in another deep breath, filling her lungs to their capacity, she let it out slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She could feel her discontent heart thumping against her ribs.

“Do not get me wrong, Cyrus, I am not taking back everything I’ve said about you. I just know I owe you gratitude for coming and… and… rescuing me. Now I just wish there was someone who could rescue me from you!” Irene blurted. Her eyes darted wildly about the room, and then laid upon Cyrus apprehensively. He had made it clear a few times already what he was capable of doing to her. However, there was no look of anger. Instead the comment rolled off of his back. He let out another one of his amused chuckles and slapped his knee.

“I guess I was getting ahead of myself. Alright, alright, you’ve made your point,” Cyrus said. However, looking closer into his eyes, she could see that twinkle that usually lit up was not present. There was something tired and dull about them, and almost impatient. Irene raked the bumpy contours of her teeth against her chapped lip. She had said it, and was not going to take it back. Unkind words could never be taken back, and yet, kind words were all too easily exchanged for contempt.

“I do not want to be a part of this anymore,” Irene placed her hands upon her hips, trying to bulk up as much determination as she could. Yet the look in his eye made a hollow chill run through her. “The kidnappings, the torture! I know it will only get worse until… until…” Irene shook her head as tears forced their way to the corners of her eyes. She swallowed the lump that formed in her throat, pursing her lips into a thin line. She glanced down at her hand again, and that was where she fell. She felt as though her spine turned to jelly, and she slid to the floor, sobbing heavily. It was as if the full realization of her situation had finally hit her. She knew it was a bad one, but the dark possibilities of what Gabriel or Cyrus may do to her flooded her mind. It was all real, and she felt trapped and afraid.

“Hey now don’t fall apart on me!” came Cyrus’s voice like a jackhammer, thundering through her veil of anguish. She glared up at him through puffy red eyes, anger building once again in her at the mere sight of him! Her lower lip stuck out, revealing her tightly clenched teeth. All she could see was violence being done to Cyrus, to see him, for once, the victim! To see him for once, afraid. To see him for once, trapped, and oppressed. These thoughts swirled in her mind, and she was unable to speak, for no words could properly express her feelings.

Cyrus walked over and squatted in front of her. His eyebrows furrowed and the smile faded from his face. “Listen to me Irene. It has been a long time since I’ve been young, since I’ve been mortal, since I’ve been in a state like yours. You think I don’t understand? Well, I don’t." He paused for a moment, seeming to gauge her reaction - which was unchanged. "I’ve been beaten down and stripped of everything but the barest shreds of humanity. I have always learned to cope with laughter… though I don't imagine you'd ever take that up. You are just too serious,” Cyrus said in a sober tone. Irene’s eyes flashed at him. Too serious? Who wouldn’t be serious in her situation? “Look here, there is only one way to move, and that is forward. It will be hard, but you’ll adapt. That is why I admire you. You are just a mortal girl, and yet, at the same time, you are no ordinary human. That said, you are only human. And there are vampires out there, and you've made an enemy of them. You need me.”

Irene almost felt some tenderness from Cyrus, as he was offering her a heartfelt pep talk. But then it ended in the same place. “You’re just saying that!” Irene accused with her chin quivering. “You are just saying that to keep me here! You are just saying that to make me afraid! You’re the one who needs me! It’s you who needs me!” Irene insisted, and even as part of her knew these were irrational words, they kept issuing forth from her mouth.

“Quite right. Been considering going insane for the last decade or so, but then I met you, and well, I figure it might be worth keeping my senses about me a bit longer,” Cyrus said in response to her accusations, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“How long will you hound me? Until I am an old crazy woman with a house full of cats?”

“Better lay off the cats, they give me gas.”

Silence. Irene was too affronted to speak. She remembered when he'd threatened to eat her cat, and was terrified he would harm Silver one day. Her hands shook with rage, and he had the gall to resume smirking at her. Finally Irene made a sound. No coherent word came from her blanched lips. Instead she issued a loud screech of frustration as she sprang to her feet and stormed across the basement floor.

Cyrus called out to her. “Remember my warning!”

Irene heard him, but was too angry to even think of a coherent response. She kept going and stormed up the stairs.

Irene stomped into her room and launched onto her bed. It groaned and squeaked under the sudden impact of her flung body. Irene grabbed her pillow and forced her face into it, letting out a muffled scream. She tried to remember what had possessed her to go down there in the first place. Then the memory of her previous plans had crept back to her. What was I doing asking him for help? She knew she’d only leave angry, and she hated being this emotional.

Sigh.

Irene was still upset, but tiredness was now overpowering her emotion. Irene rolled onto her back, hugging her pillow tight. She wanted to believe he was just trying to scare her into staying, but perhaps it would be wise, until she could be more sure, not to leave. If he was telling the truth, then this problem would follow her everywhere. Dismally, she wondered if she’d ever be free of her entanglement with vampires.