Prey Drive

Chapter 8: The Pond

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I have been at my aunt Myra's house for 9 days and I feel like crazy garbage, mentally unstable trash. A week-old apple core underneath a damp newspaper about an insane asylum.  So yeah, not good.

Let me Clarify. My aunt is great. Her house is great. She keeps me well fed and entertained. We spend the days working in her garden and selling homemade goods at a booth in town. I love being able to talk with the townsfolk and sell them the various treats I baked earlier. I liked feeling productive, and helpful. My aunt's town is laidback, full of adorable elderly couples. Myra decided to move here after her Bobby died. Wanting a fresh start. I didn't blame her. Epton had a calm and cozy atmosphere. One that I loved despite the mundane pace of life.

Or should I say one that I usually loved. My body had started to feel strange on the first night. I laid in bed. I was plenty exhausted, but as much as I tried I couldn't fall asleep. I was too hot, and then too cold. My skin felt like it wasn't my own. I had a mental itch I just couldn't scratch.

I had thought it was just the beginning of a cold. Summer colds aren't fun, but I could muster through. Nine days later I was still feeling off but didn't have any symptoms in sight. Only skin that felt too tight, and a neck that was sore on one side.

The restless nights were getting to me. I have been horribly irritable. Snapping at my aunt for the smallest inconveniences. Panicking at mundane errors. Emotions would slam into me unprompted, anger, and anxiety overwhelming. I would think this was just a moon cycle from hell if my bleeding didn't occur just two weeks ago. My cycle was like clockwork every 30 days on the dot.

The emotions would vanish as quickly as they appeared. Leaving me an apologetic teary-eyed mess, and my aunt giving me a concerned look, saying it was fine. "We all have bad days."

She was right, but this wasn't a bad day, this was a bad week. I didn't feel like myself at all. It was like the ghost of hormone imbalances past was possessing me. I needed to get control of myself. Just because I was in pain, it didn't give me the right to hurt others

The fear was getting worse though.

"When are we going to the booth," I was mixing a bowl of batter on the counter. My heart started to beat quicker, another bout of unprompted anxiety creeping up on me. My neck ached something fierce. I squashed the urge to run until my legs gave out down. My head telling me I wasn't safe here. I needed to be somewhere else, with someone else. This mental breakdown was getting old real fast.

"I am heading down at one." My aunt was wrapping baked goods and placing them into their designated boxes.

"What do you mean? You are going to the booth. I can work, I'm fine!"

"Honey y-"

"I know. I've been... " I stumble over my words, "weird. " Okay maybe more like completely unhinged. "And  I'm so sorry about that, but I can help out!" I feel like I'm in trouble. The anxiety intensifies, my skin feels too small for my body. I'm not safe. Not safe. My breathing quickens. "Really, I will do better! I don't know what got a hold of me these last few day-"

"Quinn!" My aunt interjects, frantically starts reaching for the nearest towel.

I shut up and look down. My hands were shaking. The bowl was tipped over, the batter had spilled all over the counter and floor. My foot was still tapping the ground, sending batter up onto the cabinets and my jeans. I stop. I was a nervous person but not this nervous. I grab another towel and help clean up my mess. My hands are still shaking.