I slid my arms beneath her, lifting her against me. Her weight sagged heavy and fragile, every breath rattling like it might be her last. My ribs screamed, blood still hot in my mouth, but I held her tighter.
The bus was a tomb, bodies slumped all around us, and shadows stretching long across the aisle. I forced my legs forward, dragging her toward the broken door, toward the night air.
Outside, the street was painted with blood. I staggered into the night, my boots crunching glass, my arms locked around her. Each step was agony, but I kept moving, whispering against her hair: "Hold on. Just hold on."
The hospital lights glowed faintly in the distance, a beacon against the dark. Sunnydale Hospital.
I fixed my eyes on it, every breath a prayer, every step a promise.
The doors slid open with a hiss, spilling harsh fluorescent light across the floor.
"Help!" My voice cracked. "Somebody—please!"
Faces turned. Nurses froze, eyes widening at the sight of me—bloodied, broken, and clutching her limp body.
"She's breathing," I rasped, stumbling inside. "She's alive. Please—help her!"
Mom's head sagged against my shoulder, lips trembling, eyes fluttering weakly.
Hands rushed in—gloved and urgent, pulling her from my arms—with voices sharp and commanding. "Get her on the gurney! Move!"
I reached after her, trembling, tears burning hot. "Don't let her die. Please. Don't let her die."
One of the nurses stopped me. "Please, sir, we will take care of her. She's in good hands, so please wait here.
The ER doors slammed shut behind the gurney, swallowing her into the white glare of the hospital.
I stood frozen in the alley of light, blood clinging to my shirt, chest heaving. My hands shook, empty now that she was gone from them.
Why her and not me?
My breath came ragged and shallow, like I was drowning.
The waiting room blurred, voices muffled, lights too bright. My pulse hammered wildly, every beat a scream.
I staggered, panic roaring in my chest, ribs screaming, legs barely holding.
Her face was burned into me—the bite, the blood, her eyes fluttering weakly.
After what felt like a day or two the doors creaked open.
A young nurse stepped out, her face pale but steady. She scanned the alley until her eyes found me, trembling and bloodied against the wall.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice careful, almost hesitant.
I swallowed hard. My ribs screamed, blood still hot in my mouth, but I nodded. "Yes," I rasped, trembling. "I'm fine."
"She's stable," she said softly, her voice cutting through the chaos inside me.
I froze, the words hitting like a flood. Relief surged, poisoned by dread. Stable—but bitten.
"Is she going to be fine?" My voice cracked, desperate.
"It's early to tell, but for now she's fine. Yes," the nurse nodded, stepping closer. "She's weak, but she's breathing on her own. We've stopped the bleeding. She's resting now."
"Are you ok?" she asked me.
"Yes, I'm fine." The words "She's stable" echoed in my skull, cutting through the chaos. Relief surged.
Tears spilled hot down my face. Without thinking, I reached for her, trembling, and hugged her tight. My body shook, ribs screaming, but I didn't care.
"Thank you," I whispered, my voice breaking. "Thank you for saving her."
The nurse held steady, her voice calm but firm. "She's strong. You should be, too.
I pulled back, eyes burning, chest heaving. "I'm sorry; I just can't lose her. Not like this. Not to them."
Her gaze softened, her voice calm but firm. "She's resting now. But she'll need more than medicine. When she wakes, she'll need comfort. Familiar things."
I blinked, vision swimming. "What do you mean?"
"Go home, take a shower—you look like you need it. And bring her some clean clothes. Something familiar. It will help when she wakes."
"I don't want to leave her."
"She's in good hands," the nurse assured, her tone steady. "Right now, the best thing you can do is prepare for when she opens her eyes."
I nodded slowly, my voice cracking. "Okay. I'll bring her clothes. I'll make sure she has something clean… something that feels like home."
The nurse gave a faint smile, squeezing my shoulder. "She'll need you. And she'll know you're fighting for her."
I wiped at my face, smearing tears and blood together, forcing myself on my feet. My chest heaved, but I steadied my breath. My legs carried me out of the hospital, each step heavier than the last.
The streets were empty. My boots echoed against the pavement, every sound too loud, every shadow too long.
Darla's laughter lingered in the air, curling through the night like smoke. I couldn't shake it. It followed me, mocking and cruel, reminding me of how close I'd come to losing her.
When I reached the house, the silence was suffocating. I stumbled back into the house.
I entered the bathroom and stripped off the blood-soaked shirt, the fabric stiff and reeking of iron. The mirror reflected a stranger—eyes hollow, skin streaked with crimson.
I turned the water on full, scalding hot, and stepped beneath it. The blood ran in rivulets down my chest, swirling into the drain. I scrubbed hard, desperate to erase the night from my skin, but the memories clung tighter than the stains.
When the water stopped, silence returned.
The steam clung to the mirror, blurring my reflection into something ghostly. I dragged the towel across my face, skin raw from scrubbing, blood finally washed away.
My shoulder throbbed, the wound angry and red. I pulled the bandage roll from the bathroom cabinet, fingers trembling as I wrapped it tight. The cloth bit into my skin, but I kept winding, polishing the bandage until it sat neat and firm, a fragile armor against the night.
I dressed quickly, then moved down the hall.
Her room waited.
I pushed the door open, the familiar scent of her perfume faint but still there. Clothes hung neatly in the closet, folded carefully in drawers.
I reached for them with trembling hands—her favorite sweater, soft and worn; a pair of jeans; and the scarf she always wore when the nights grew cold.
I pressed them to my chest, whispering, "You'll wear these again. You'll walk out of there."
I stepped out of her room, the silence pressing heavy. The bundle of her clothes was pressed tight against my chest—her sweater, her jeans, her scarf. Proof she was still mine to fight for.
But as I passed my own door, I froze.
A voice slithered out from the dark, low and sharp, echoing like it came from the walls themselves.
"Do you want to avenge your mother, Damien?"
My heart hammered, ribs screaming, and breath caught in my throat.
I turned slowly, eyes straining against the shadows.
And there they were—inside my room.
Two red flares glared back at me, burning like coals, piercing the dark.
The air thickened, heavy and suffocating. The bundle of clothes trembled in my arms.
The voice came again, deeper, hungrier.
"Do you want revenge?"
The eyes didn't blink. They only burned brighter, waiting.
The question hung in the air like a curse, wrapping around me, sinking into my bones.
I stood frozen in the doorway, terror rooting me to the floor, unable to answer, unable to flee.
"What… what are you?"
The eyes burned brighter, the voice curling through the dark. "I am power. I am the answer to your pain. I am the hand that can strike where you cannot."
I shook my head, clutching the clothes tighter. "Am I dreaming?"
A low laugh rippled through the shadows, cruel and knowing. "Life is fragile. But vengeance… vengeance is eternal. Do you want revenge, Damien? Do you want to make them bleed for what they've done?"
"They hurt her. They almost took her from You."
The voice pressed closer, the eyes flaring like fire. "Then let me help you. Say the word, and I will show you how to make them suffer."
The words clawed at me, tearing through the fragile hope I carried.
The voice pressed closer, curling around me like smoke. "You know she's stronger. You know you'll die if you face her again. But with me… you won't be alone."
I swallowed hard, trembling, torn between terror and fury. "I… I can't stop her. Not by myself."
The eyes flared brighter, the voice deepening. "Then let me give you the strength. Let me show you how to make her bleed."
Darla's laughter echoed faintly in my skull, mocking and cruel. My chest heaved, torn between the promise of vengeance and the weight of fear.
The choice burned in my throat, waiting to be spoken.
"No," I rasped, my voice shaking but firm. "I don't want your power."
The eyes flared brighter, the voice deepening, hungrier. "You'll die without me."
Clutching the clothes tighter. "Then I'll die fighting. But I won't be yours."
The silence pressed in, heavy, suffocating. The eyes burned, waiting for me to falter.
But I turned away. My legs carried me down the hall, out the door, and into the night air.
The bundle of her clothes was still in my arms, and with every step toward the hospital, the voice faded behind me.
Darla's laughter lingered, mocking, cruel. But I kept walking.
I will kill her.