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Two flights of stairs might have been Everest as far as Thomas was concerned as he staggered out of the basement. He barely noticed the stragglers being dragged back into the house as he made his way up the stairs. The blissful numbness that had filled his mind started to fade, as if being burned away by the slowly rising sun, and his stomach threatened secession with every move. Thomas made it to the first floor without falling and was about to reach for the banister on the second floor stairs when Lara’s instructions rose unbidden over the disappearing numbness. Something between a sob and a scream passed his lips as Thomas forced himself to turn from the stairs, and the promised refuge of his room, and make for the computer room.
Hoping the void that kept the threatening maelstrom at bay would hold for a few more minutes, Thomas turned it on and pulled up his email program.
The numbness was fading fast as Thomas hit send and began making his way up to the second floor. It disappeared utterly when his foot hit the second floor landing, in sight of his room, and Thomas dragged his body inside by sheer force of will, locking the door behind him with fumbling hands. He leaned against the door heavily as the emotions that he’d numbed with alcohol, the memory of what he’d done, rose up in Thomas’ mind in a confused conflagration. An overwhelming sense of defilement, as if something thick, dark, and oily covered him, just under the surface of his skin, filled Thomas and he ran for the bathroom connected to the bedroom.
He had just enough sense left in him to lock that door too before he was on his knees, pale hands gripping the porcelain god. The patron of college students everywhere was used to hearing simple prayers muttered as the night’s revelry turned sour in stomachs; this prayer, however, was different, beyond its ability to grant. Every limb, every muscle, every square inch of skin felt tainted, as if marked by some dark stain, and Thomas’ hands tightened against the cool white porcelain, his only anchor in a sea of guilt and shame, as he tried to wretch up everything inside himself.
Hoping the void that kept the threatening maelstrom at bay would hold for a few more minutes, Thomas turned it on and pulled up his email program.
From: Thomas Raith <godofcologne@livejournal.com>
To: Lara Raith <lara@houseraith.com>
Subject: Your Little Favor
Sister-mine,
It is finished. Their Hunger is a pale imitation of ours. Control is possible but difficult. Extreme subtlety will be required. We were too well-matched in power for me to attempt.
Thomas
To: Lara Raith <lara@houseraith.com>
Subject: Your Little Favor
Sister-mine,
It is finished. Their Hunger is a pale imitation of ours. Control is possible but difficult. Extreme subtlety will be required. We were too well-matched in power for me to attempt.
Thomas
The numbness was fading fast as Thomas hit send and began making his way up to the second floor. It disappeared utterly when his foot hit the second floor landing, in sight of his room, and Thomas dragged his body inside by sheer force of will, locking the door behind him with fumbling hands. He leaned against the door heavily as the emotions that he’d numbed with alcohol, the memory of what he’d done, rose up in Thomas’ mind in a confused conflagration. An overwhelming sense of defilement, as if something thick, dark, and oily covered him, just under the surface of his skin, filled Thomas and he ran for the bathroom connected to the bedroom.
He had just enough sense left in him to lock that door too before he was on his knees, pale hands gripping the porcelain god. The patron of college students everywhere was used to hearing simple prayers muttered as the night’s revelry turned sour in stomachs; this prayer, however, was different, beyond its ability to grant. Every limb, every muscle, every square inch of skin felt tainted, as if marked by some dark stain, and Thomas’ hands tightened against the cool white porcelain, his only anchor in a sea of guilt and shame, as he tried to wretch up everything inside himself.
