The Awakening (Daray Hall #1), Page 2

  Chapter Two

  An hour later, the tears have stopped, and I feel slightly better about everything. Tara isn’t with me in person anymore, but I know that she’s still in my heart and, as cliché as it sounds, I know that she’s watching over me. Tara and I had a bond that most people couldn’t begin to understand, and I can understand how someone could accidentally mistake us for lovers.

  She and I had similar home lives: her father is an angry drunk that forces her mother to cook, clean, and satisfy him in any way he needs. Harry does the same thing; he’s just less obvious about it. Everyone in town knows that Tara’s dad has problems, but nobody knows that Harry is truly a monster. They only see what he wants them to see: a caring, thoughtful, patient man that tries his best with his darling wife’s vengeful, trying, hateful teenage daughter.

  There’s a knock at the door, and I sigh. “Yes?”

  “Come out here, your father and I need to talk to you.”

  I groan, and resist the urge to point out that Harry is not actually my father, because I know it won’t change her mind. She’ll keep calling him my father until the day she dies. Whether Harry plays a part in her death or not, I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

  They’re sitting on the couch together, and his arm is wrapped around her shoulder. Anyone else might think the motion is meant to be comforting, but I see the hard possession behind it in the way he grips her arm, and the way he holds her tightly to his side. When I sit on the ugly beige and burgundy chair across from them, I’m surprised when Mom speaks first.

  “Honey, I know that these last few weeks have been especially hard for you, and I understand that you’re in pain.”

  “But this behavior is becoming unacceptable. You cannot continue to lash out at others just because you’re angry and confused over Tara’s death. She chose to be weak and kill herself; you don’t have to choose to be angry and confrontational.”

  I glare at him, and he stares right back. “Don’t you dare accuse Tara of being weak. She wasn’t. She was the strongest person I know. It’s not her fault she had a sucky home life.”

  He sighs impatiently. “Sucky home life or not, it doesn’t excuse what she did. And your depression certainly doesn’t excuse what you did. You nearly ended up in jail today for excessive assault and battery. The fact that you attacked a member of the Gilford family, one of the most prestigious families in town, just reinforces my decision.”

  “And what decision would that be?” I ask as icily as possible. I want him to know that I hate him, and that nothing he does to punish me could be worse than continuing to live with him.

  “At the end of the week, you’ll be attending a military academy of my choice. Hopefully it will straighten you out enough to get your life back on track before it starts to circle the drain.”

  Mom places her hand on his leg. “Harry, perhaps we’re being too rash. It hasn’t even been a month since her best friend passed away. They were very close, you know that. I think we should give her until Prom to prove herself. It’s only about a month and a half away. If her attitude doesn’t improve by then, military school is still an option.”

  “Elizabeth–”

  “I’m just saying, if we send her away now, we may lose her for good. I couldn’t bear that. Please, listen to me,” she begs, interrupting him for the first time ever.

  I can see a ton of different emotions playing across his face: anger at being interrupted, rage at being undermined, exasperation at being outnumbered, and pity that my Mother actually decided to stand up for me. In this moment, I realize that I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate Harry. I’d rather spend the day with McKenzie than him, and that’s saying a lot.

  He sighs, and runs his hands through his thinning hair. “Alright, until Prom.” He looks at me. “If your attitude doesn’t improve by then, you’re gone, do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.” I say, happy that I’m not going to military school, upset that I’m staying here.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  I nod my thanks, because he’ll bitch if I don’t, and close myself in my room again. Suddenly, after everything that’s happened, I feel incredibly tired and sick. My muscles ache, and I’m not sure if it’s from the fight or from fatigue. When the first cough racks my body, doubling me over, I pause.

  Could I be picking up some nasty bug? Just my luck. I get two whole weeks of relaxation and time to myself, and I get sick. How is that fair? I’ll probably spend three or four days sulking around eating chicken noodle soup and drinking loads of water.

  Another cough comes just after the first, and I’m struggling to catch my breath. It doesn’t sound like a normal, everyday cough; it’s a dry, difficult hack that burns my lungs and tears at my throat. I hope this bug doesn’t last.

  Later that night, I’m reading Tara’s favorite book, Th1rteen R3asons Why, and I can’t help but cry a little. Did this book help her decide to kill herself? Or did she make the decision all on her own, and this book only made her more determined to do it the way she did? Then, I wonder what was going through her mind as she did it. Did she honestly believe that she was so alone she had nobody to confide in? I could have helped her!

  Angrily, I throw the book across the room, and it thumps against the wall before falling to the ground. It lays there, open to a crumpled page, and I start to really cry. When the coughing starts again, I barely notice it, until I start to feel like I’m coughing up some sort of liquid like gunk.

  As the second wave of coughing hits, my lungs start to ache, and my heart begins to burn. My pulse begins to race, and I’m sweating through my clothes. My head is pounding in my skull, and suddenly I’m afraid. Afraid that something might be seriously wrong with me. If I was really sick, would I know?

  Then, as soon as it starts, it’s over. I’m lying there, gasping for air, trying to calm my racing heart. What’s going on with me?

  In the morning, I wake up, feeling even worse than when I went to sleep. My entire body is stiff, and even the thought of moving makes my muscles scream. There’s absolutely no chance of me getting out of bed, and for a while, I don’t. Finally, around noon, Harry pounds on my door, demanding that I get up.

  “You’re being punished! You don’t get to sleep in until noon.”

  “I don’t feel well!” I shout at him, wanting to just be left alone.

  “I don’t care! It’s almost noon, get up.”

  I sigh, and throw my legs over the side of my bed, trying not to cry out at the painful tightness in my body. When I’m dressed for the day, I head out to the kitchen to make myself something to eat, and have to stop twice to cough. The coughs are getting wetter and wetter, and I’m worried that pretty soon I’ll be spitting up phlegm or something.

  With my sandwich in hand, I head back to my room. Harry’s out working in the yard, and I don’t have to worry about him barging in and yelling at me again. After the first bite of my sandwich, I know that something is seriously wrong.

  The coughing erupts from my chest, driving me down to my knees. The hacking is getting worse, and finally, I start to cough up something warm and sticky. I raise my hand to my face, and come away with blood-covered hands. I gasp, and start to panic.

  Oh, my god, I’m coughing up blood! I’m dying!

  I cough up another mouthful of blood, and it starts to stain my carpet. My entire body is on fire, and I can feel my blood boiling in my skin. My eyes flutter closed, and I try to focus on breathing, even though it feels as though I’m being stabbed repeatedly in the chest with a flaming knife.

  “Mom!” I scream, begging that she’ll arrive in time to help me. But it’s more than just that. I want her here so that she can hold my hand to try and make me feel better. She hasn’t been there for me much since marrying Harry, and I hope that she can at least attempt to make up for it now.

  My bedroom door is thrown open, and she rushes in, sees the blood, and her hand instantly goes to her mouth. She stifles a sob, and kneels down b
eside me, ignoring the warm blood that’s seeping from the carpet into her skirt.

  “Harry!” She screams, but I know he won’t hear her. If he does, he probably won’t care.

  The stabbing feeling moves from my lungs to my gut, and I groan in pain. “Mom, why won’t it stop?”

  Her answer is cut off by another wave of agony that forces more blood from my mouth. I curl my fist in the soaked carpet, trying to anchor myself to reality as everything starts to fade away. The pain increases, and I feel myself slipping, as my vision starts do turn black around the edges.

  “Harry!”

  I don’t hear if he answers or not, I’m too far gone. I can feel it; my last few breaths are labored and painful, and I just want everything to end. Once everything’s over, I’ll be able to rest in peace, and maybe I won’t be so horribly lonely without Tara.

  Tara!

  I’ll be able to see her again; I just know it. That thought makes everything ok, and I wish for death to just take me. When it all ends, I’ll never have to see Harry again; I’ll never have to go back to school; I’ll never have to cry myself to sleep because of Tara. Everything will be for the best, and I can’t wait.

  With one last, shuddering breath, I collapse, and my body goes still. I can’t hear my mother screaming. I can’t hear Harry bursting in and consoling her. I can’t see anything except for the dark, emptiness of death, and I’m finally at peace.

  Death is complete bliss. There really are no other words for it. My body is no longer in horrible pain. My mind is free to just wander aimlessly, while my heart feels both at ease, and peaceful. Inner peace is something I’ve been searching for since Tara’s death, and it looks like I’ve finally found it.

  “Kylie, I need you to wake up for me.”

  Who the hell is that and why are they interrupting my inner peace?

  “Kylie Redding, open your eyes, and enjoy the beginning of your new life.”

  Whoever she is, her voice sounds beautiful, almost heavenly. I’ll bet she’s an angel waiting to welcome me with open arms.

  I force my eyes open, and have to blink rapidly to keep the harsh lights above me from bringing pained tears to my eyes. Moaning, I cover my face with my forearm, and roll away from the light, so that I’m lying on my side.

  Strangely, I catch a whiff of roses, and I inhale. The odor is faint, but I can clearly smell it. I breathe it in deeply, noticing that it has a soothing effect on my mind, and when I open my eyes, I expect to see a garden of some kind.

  Instead I’m staring at the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and it only reinforces my belief that she’s an angel. She looks like she might be about ten years older than me, and she is a few inches taller, definitely tall and pretty enough to be a model.

  Her hair is a wheat-color, and it falls in perfect waves to her waist. Her eyes are almost almond-shaped, and are a clear blue color. They’re framed by light blonde lashes that are so long they cast shadows over her high cheekbones. This woman has a figure that others would kill for.

  She has to be an angel. She’s too beautiful not to be.

  She smiles, and my heart begins to race. It makes her whole face light up, and for a second, I’m struck dumb by her beauty. Her mouth is opening and closing and I realize that she must be talking, but I can’t hear anything.

  She tries again. “Kylie, how are you feeling?”

  “Fine,” I say, which is weird, seeing as I just died. “Considering I just died, I mean.”

  She laughs, and it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. It’s so happy and musical it takes my breath away, and I find myself leaning closer to her. It’s like she’s drawing me in.

  “Kylie, you’re not dead.”

  That one little sentence cuts through my happiness like a knife, and I frown. “But, I died. I started coughing up blood and choking on it, and I stopped breathing. How am I not dead? And how are you not an angel?”

  She chuckles again, but this time it’s sadder, as if she understands my confusion. “Kylie, I know this must seem confusing to you at the moment, but I assure you, I’ll answer any questions you have, just calm down. Take a deep breath, relax.”

  I take a few deep breaths, but I can feel myself starting to panic. I’m on the verge of hyperventilation, and any second I’m going to start screaming.

  “Where am I?”

  She moves closer to me. “Kylie, at the moment, you are in the infirmary, where all new arrivals start out. In a little bit, I’ll take you up to your room to meet your roommate, and she can give you a tour. I guess you could call this place your new home.”

  Infirmary? Roommate? Like at a school?

  “I’m at a boarding school?” I ask angrily “I almost died and they sent me off to a fucking boarding school?”

  She frowns, probably at my language, and shakes her head. “No, you’re not at a boarding school. At least, not really. You are at Daray Hall. It’s a large mansion with over three hundred rooms. It’s home to very many young individuals such as yourself, who–”

  “It’s a halfway house for insane people!” I accuse, throwing the sheets away. Swinging my legs from the bed, I get my footing, and bolt for the door. It’s right there, barely ten feet away.

  Amazingly, this woman beats me to the door, even though she had to go around the bed and me to do it. She stands there with her hands on either side of the doorframe, and she’s watching me with surprise.

  “No, Kylie, I promise you. You are not in a halfway home for insane people. Now please, sit back down before you get exhausted, and allow me to fully explain your condition.”

  “Condition?” I warily ask, edging away from the door. There’s a window on the other side of the room I could jump out, but I’m not sure how high up we are, or if I can even beat her to it. “If I’m not in a crazy house, why do I have a condition?”

  “Your condition is not a mental one. It’s a physical one. And condition might not have been the best word. You can never know how people react to this until they wake up. Some take the news just fine, others freak out a little.”

  “So what’s wrong with me? Why am I not in a hospital, recovering? Where’s my Mom?”

  She sighs. “Kylie, you’re not dead, you’re–”

  “Of course I’m not dead! I’m standing here talking to you!”

  “But you did die,” she continues, like I haven’t interrupted. “You died, and were reborn. You’ve gone through the Awakening, a period of time where a young adult’s human body dies, and reanimates to continue growing and developing, until such time as you experience the Transformation. Then, you will become a full-grown vampire.”