Epsilon [Werewolf]

Chapter 6 (✓)

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the blood. My chest felt tight, and every breath was a grave effort. Between the pounding of my skull and erratic beat of my heart, I felt sick, and not just the throw-up kind of sick. This was the type of nausea that came with black fear, the feeling of being pulled under, neck-deep and inches from drowning.

"You're sick, Kyra!"

I could barely hear Alia over the roaring in my ears.

"No..." I stammered, more to myself than anyone else. No, I couldn't be sick. I couldn't have possibly let it get so bad. But staring at the pool of blood, its crimson liquid stark against the white of the marble, I knew all the fears I'd been suppressing these past few hours had come to pass. 

I was sick. Maybe even dying. 

Deciding I was taking too long, Alia lunged forward and gripped me under my arms. A strange sound left my throat as she hauled me upright, guiding us both to the door.

"Alia..." I groaned, trying and failing to wiggle out her grip. Something about leaving the familiar darkness of the room filled me with a new kind of fear.

"Be quiet, Kyra. Let me help you for once."

There was no denying the worry in her voice, and for her, I fell silent. However, my resolve to stay quiet died as soon as we entered the halls. White light burned into my eyes, splitting my vision and relaying pain down the back of my head. It was bright, far too bright, as though I were staring straight into the sun, its dazzling rays searing my retinas and withering my vision. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the light continued to penetrate. 

"Please, stop..." I begged to whoever would listen. 

"No, Kyra, you need a doctor! Forget about the punishments. You need help!"

But that wasn't why I wanted to stop. My mother was the last thing on my mind, especially as I felt the party getting closer. My mind spun in a whirlwind of panic. I didn't just hear the sounds of the party. No, I felt it as though it were a living, breathing thing, like a boisterous beast waiting to devour something. 

Waiting for me.

My heart slammed. Alia continued to drag me onwards, her grip like iron as I tried to flail. Bile burned my throat as she dragged me down the halls, closer to the sounds, closer to my death.

Oh, god. The sounds...

Every boom rattled my skull, sending tremors down my bones and meeting my ears in ear-splitting waves. What was once jovial chatter screamed at me in shattering dissonance, as though someone were revving a chainsaw beside my ears. I could barely make out Alia's voice over the chaos, something that sounded so distorted and sharp at once. I jolted at her cries for help, the pressure on my skull increasing with every little sound and noise. I groaned. My head was going to explode.

But it wasn't just the sound that bothered me. There was something else, too, something I'd never really noticed before.

The smells.

It wasn't like the diluted smell of a rose garden or the pleasant stench of perfume, or anything I was used to. No, I could quite literally smell everything. 

The sickly-sweet scent of punch filled my nostrils, various fruits flashing through my mind as I picked out their individual scents. Sweat and body odour mixed in with the sweetness, and my stomach roiled with a new kind of nausea. I gagged as I passed by an alcoholic beverage, the intense fumes causing my eyes to water. Somewhere in the background I picked out the tar-like scent of cigarettes, as though I were standing right above a tar pit, its smoke singeing my nostrils and burning my throat.