Candy



  Candy

  Immortal Fire Series

  Eighteen Summers

  Mini-Prequel

  by

  Holly Reger

  Copyright © Holly Reger 2014.

 

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is sold subject to conditions that it cannot by way of trade be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent, in any form or cover, other than which it is published.

  Disclaimer

  This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on real figures, are purely the work of the author’s imagination.

  Thanks

  My love and thanks to my family and friends, for believing in me and encouraging me to write my little heart out.

  CANDY

  I poke my arm out of the duvet quickly, strike at the snooze button, and then snuggle back down for the third time.

  Lazily, I open my eyes and look out of my low bedroom window.

  The blinds are raised. I like it that way.

  There are fields and trees outside, and it's a nice view from my bed.

  I can see the trees waving around in the wind.

  It was a rotten summer, now it's an even worse autumn. Wet, blustery and damn cold. It's only the middle of October and it was a measly five degrees yesterday. The coldest October for fifty three years or something.

  I really don't want to, but I force my protesting body out of bed and drag my comfy, black boy-shorts and skinny jeans on.

  I sit on the bed yawning and shivering with the cold. Goosebumps are breaking out all over me.

  Is there any worse experience than getting out of a lovely, warm, comfortable bed on a cold morning?

  If there is I haven't found it yet.

  I'm not a morning girl.

  Never have been.

  But lately it's been a nightmare getting up. I feel dreadful, so sluggish and sickly. And my head throbs every morning, like I've been on the booze all night.

  I seem be turning into a nocturnal creature, because I'm at my best of an evening and night. I can't get to sleep until two or three sometimes. And that's very inconvenient as I have to be up at seven thirty to get to class. I'm so knackered by four I nod off when I get home in the afternoons.

  I huff out a sigh of annoyance as I sort through my undies drawer and can't find my black bra. Then I remember it's in the wash basket. I go out to the landing and retrieve it. One more day ain't gonna matter.

  I get my dark red T-shirt out, and, after spraying myself liberally with Linx for girls, I get dressed. I don't know why I bother smelling nice really, no one's gonna get that close enough to me to appreciate it today. Or any day, in fact. I'm billy-no-mates. No friends and even worse, no boyfriends.

  It's not because I'm bad looking and I don't ever smell bad. I'm kinda fastidiously clean.

  And I know I've got a nice face, a decent figure and a good sized pair of tits.

  Yeah, I'm pretty sure I'm attractive to the opposite sex in that sense. I've seem them looking. A lot. Even the extra hot ones have given me the real once over. And I'd love to have a boyfriend, in truth. There's one I'd particularly like to have.

  But I can't.

  So I make sure I'm unappealing in other ways, to put guys off; by being standoffish, rude, unapproachable. I'm not to be fucked with. Literally.

  Sadly, I can't let closeness happen, just in case.

  My body is as pure as the driven snow, untouched by man. Well, maybe not that pure and untouched. I have my own private moments. But at eighteen, I'm a virgin, in the true sense of the word.

  It's so not fair, I'm probably the only one in my class! I guess I could die one, unless things change.

  The reason I don't and can't get close, is because I want more than they are offering.

  I don't want to fool around and end up in someone's bed.

  Because I know I'll want their blood.

  The air is full of it. Human blood. Like a blood fog invading my nose and lungs.

  I can just about hold things together sometimes.

  My distraction techniques are all I have to fight it. Strong mints, gum, pinching myself, things like that.

  And I avoid the cafeteria and the library, all the melting pots, the gathering places for people.

  The only place I can't avoid is the classroom itself.

  Lately it's been so hard I just can't concentrate on the lessons any more.

  My head and nostrils are ringing with blood noise. Like tinnitus of the nose.

  I can block it out for small periods of time, and if there's only one or two people around it's fine if they're at arms length. But masses of people around me are becoming unbearable.

  And close contact is a big no.

  It's so sad, but I can't hug my mum and dad anymore...or anyone. My rising reaction warns me not to.

  I pull on my socks and my converse trainers, grab my books and messenger bag and head down the stairs.

  “Ah Candy love... I've made you your toast,” My mum says pushing a plate towards me.

  “Thanks,” I reply, picking it up and taking a tiny nibble to show willing.

  She does this every day and I take it out the door with me and throw it in the waste bin down the road on the way to class.

  It saves having to think up a good reason why I'm not eating it yet again.

  Thirst overwhelms me and I run a long glass of water and drink it down in a few long gulps.

  I'm practically living on the stuff. The water diet. For the last two days I've barely eaten a thing.

  My leather jacket is on the back of the kitchen chair and I shrug it on, and sling my bag around me, picking up my unwanted toast.

  “Bye, see you tonight, Mum,” I say, heading out the door.

  “Oh, Candace...I'm on lates. Get the dinner done will you. There's some beef in the fridge for a chili or spaghetti bolognese, and if I'm not home when you eat it, save me some, okay?”

  “Right.”

  Great...

  My stomach is rebelling already. Cooking meat and onions and all that stuff makes me heave.

  I get my bike out of the woodshed and I'm out of Hollybush Lane and down the street to the main road in less than a minute. Stopping to deposit my toast in the garbage, I pick my mints out of my bag and pop one in my mouth to remove the acrid toast flavour. I'm about to continue on to my sixth form, and class, when someone calls out to me.

  “Candy! Wait up...”

  I look over my shoulder.

  Oh no... it's Cody. My stalker. Well, not really my stalker, more like my shadow.

  “Hey Cody...” I offer a half wave of greeting and make to go, but he runs up to me.

  “Haven't seen you for a while.”

  “There's a good reason for that.”

  “What's that?”

  “I've been avoiding you.”

  “Oh ha ha, I love your sense of humour.”

  “I ain't joking, sweetie-pie.”

  He ignores my blatant brush off. As usual.

  “Wanna go get a coffee,” he says with a hot grin.

  “Can't stand the stuff.” Or much else.

  “Tea, hot chocolate? I'll pay. I'm working weekends now... got some cash...” he waves his wallet at me.

  “Oh for crying out loud! Will you please leave me alone.”

  “So that's a yes, is it?” he laughs.

  I've gotta hand it to him, he's persistent.

  I stare at him for a minute.

  Tall, dark haired, cute nose, nice brown eyes. Kinda pretty in a boyish way.

  I suppose I can hold my breath for ten minutes. It's not that I don't like being around guys, quite the opposite in fact. It's just that I'm nervous
of what I might do. Real nervous. My craving can be overwhelmingly strong.

  “Okay, I suppose I can fit you in my diary.”

  I roll along beside him and we talk about this and that; the football team; the hockey team; his IT coursework he's struggling with.

  Cody's sporty. I'm not. I put all my physical efforts into being angsty and moody. It completes my persona. I'm a total nut-job.

  After parking my bike and locking it, we go inside, straight through to the cafeteria.

  I grab a bottle of water and hand it to him.

  “You sure you don't want something hot?” he asks.

  “No thanks. I'm all tea'ed out this morning,” I lie.

  I turn and scan for a spare table, hoping to see an empty corner. Of course the room's full, with students guzzling coffee, nursing their Friday morning hangovers and doing their homework in a rush before class.

  He leads me across to his friends.

  Oh no... Not Jack and Haydn.

  I've had words with Haydn. Nasty ones.

  I touch Cody's arm

  “No, not there. Somewhere else?” I suggest.

  But there isn't anywhere else, I notice.

  He looks around and shrugs and sits down at the end of their table, pulling my arm, gesturing to sit.

  They both look at me.

  “Yeah, and?” I say bolshily, staring directly at Haydn, unblinking. Even though I'm holding my breath hard, it's leaking through, past the layer of menthol from my mint. The warm blood smell of the three guys