AnimeCon Harem 15: 15 pt C (Patreon)

“I feel sick,” Christine groaned, fighting back the bile that wanted to rise up in her throat. “I feel really, really not okay.”

“I know, I know,” Rebecca said in a gentle voice. “I know. Just try and drink as much as you can, okay?”

“I can’t,” Christine clamped her mouth shut to keep from hurling. “I really can’t.”

With extreme reluctance, from within her shroud of blankets Christine raised the bottle of oral hydration fluid again and took another small sip. It was a struggle not to spit the mouthful out, because it had nowhere to go. She was full. She was painfully full, she felt nauseous and bloated and the little waste bag Rebecca kept in the front of her station wagon already had five empty twenty-ounce bottles in it. Despite having overstuffed herself with over three liters of nasty Strawberry-flavored hydration solution, lifting up the borrowed shirt still revealed a tummy that was stubbornly flat.

No fucking idea where all of this is even going, Christine wanted to moan at how much discomfort she was in.

Her magically induced hyper-self awareness and supernatural senses were at best confused by her predicament. Her kidneys were processing all the liquid, maybe? It was all going somewhere, but not any kind of stomach, and none of the hydration solution satisfied that sliver of thirst that persisted even through feeling like a gross water balloon. The need to slake her thirst on living vitality was just clouded, overwhelmed by the uncomfortable pressure her stomach felt.

Christine was bundled up in an amish-made duvet in the passenger’s seat—a painful round of experimentation had revealed that ordinary bedcovers were imperfect against sunlight and still gave her a slight burning sensation. The duvet was a heavy quilted thing procured from the depths of Rebecca’s linen closet, and instead of simple polyester stuffing inside, the stitching was crammed to the seams with actual feathers and down fluff. She felt ridiculous with her legs tucked up and clutching at a hateful twenty ounce bottle in the folds of dark as Rebecca drove them somewhere, but to her surprise she wasn’t suffocating from the heat.

Body temperature’s all out of whack, feel cold all over no matter what, Christine grimaced. My blood’s got no HEAT in it anymore. If it’s even still blood. And not this disgusting strawberry-flavored pedia-lite solution shit I’m fucking drowning myself in here.

The stop over at Rebecca’s grandparents had been brief but illuminating—because even then buried under blankets Christine had been able to hear the clamor all of the stuff Rebecca was hurrying to shove into the rear of the hatchback. The sound of chains and a padlock was too distinct not to notice, and the slight grinding noise leather made when it was bent or squeezed was apparent to Christine’s improved hearing. There was the slight jingle of buckles, a few less distinct sounds of Rebecca dropping heavy stuff into a box, and then the last thing in was an ominous one that lingered in her mind.

A shovel.

The blade of a shovel reverberates in a unique way when bumped or scraped against something, and with her super senses Christine could even almost make out the length of the shovel shaft just from the sound it made when Rebecca chucked it in on top of everything else back there. The digging implement was tossed in and it shifted slightly, just before the hydraulic noise and clunk of Rebecca swinging down and closing the hatch. Rebecca had packed a shovel. Calm and gentle Rebecca had packed a shovel, and was driving her way out into the middle of nowhere so that Christine could struggle through her withdrawal or whatever this was.

The naked pragmatism apparent there was more than a little terrifying.

“How are you feeling?” Rebecca checked in again.

“Gross,” Christine snapped from within her cocoon of quilted covers. “Bloated. Pukey.”

“That’s good, then!” Rebecca’s cheer was almost sickening. “You’re not too hot in there?”

“No,” Christine reported, not for the first time.

“How’s your heartbeat? Irregular, slow?” Rebecca asked. “Slower than it was?”

“It’s fine,” Christine said, on reflex clamping one hand against her neck again. “Still beating.”

“Your fingers and toes feel like they’re still getting circulation?” Rebecca pressed. “Any tingles? Do they feel colder than the rest of your body?”

“What does it even matter?” Christine muttered.

She acknowledged that Rebecca was trying to distract her, to focus her attention away from the misery she was in right now, but it wasn’t going to work. Right now she was too aware, and the combination of vampire senses and the awful bent her brand of magic had to it wasn’t going allow her any relief. She felt horrible from force-feeding herself so many fluids, she felt desperate and empty because none of that strawberry gunk was what her body needed, she felt angry and helpless and desolate. The strain on her bones and ligaments Kelly had mentioned was revealing itself, aches and throbbing pain that came and went as if she’d pulled dozens of muscles and ripped things inside her back.

In the silver clarity of her mirror she thought of herself as a beautiful but broken doll, innards torn out and replaced with jumbled shapes that simply didn’t fit right. The ragged edges and tears were all sewn shut with lines of blood magic, a dangerous but perhaps unbreakable vicious thread that grew tighter and tighter and never relaxed. The tension in that narrative thread could be reduced, for a while, but as if inevitably shrinking they would always grow taut again over time. That thread needed removed, she understood that—but also she felt sure that its removal would destroy her, that the haphazard new insides would spill out through the jagged scraps of her that remained in a way that could never, ever be mended.

Because, there’s just no way to put me on the love magic thing they’re on, Christine knew. Not even possible. Not after what I’ve done, the harm I’ve caused. Brian will never be able to forgive me, and he shouldn’t. Ever. In fact, I WON’T LET him forgive me. No one should. That would be beyond stupid. What I did to him isn’t something that can be healed over or redeemed.

She wasn’t really sure they should have saved her in the first place.

In my head, somehow, I-I somehow gaslit myself into believing all men were rapists, basically, Christine had to cover her mouth to keep from vomiting as strawberry bile rose up again for a moment. That, that if whatever circumstances were right, and they thought they could get away with it, any and every man would always take advantage. Made myself believe that was just the way males were wired, basically. So, a part of me just kept pushing at Brian to reveal his wicked true nature, and the rest of me just kept trying to punish him for what I thought of him, over and over and over.

When she met real rapists—the thugs in the alleyway, and then the creepy so-called ‘Masters’—the contrasts were revealed, the differences were defined and stark, and Christine realized the Brian she knew would never have done those things. Ever. That wasn’t remotely who he was, those kind of desires, the need for power and control, it just wasn’t him and it never had been. For the two or so years of their relationship, much of it spent cohabitating, Christine looked back on all the times she had imagined evil in his expression, his bearing, hidden in the tone of his voice and lending double-meanings to what he said, evil in his eyes that only wished to crush, dominate, defile, and humiliate her, and—

And it was all projection, Christine was glad to be hidden in the covers, because she was letting out a silent, bitter sob. Or, or—not even projection. REFLECTION. All of the horrible sides of Brian I mentally conjured were actually all of the things I was guilty of. No, ‘guilty of’ doesn’t even begin to cut it! And, and I also knew, sort of, that it was all bullshit, but at the same time, it was like so long as I never really admitted it to myself, I could just throw myself into believing whatever I wanted, and THAT would become my reality.

She wasn’t sure if recognizing her delusions now made her sane, because all of it still made her feel crazy. Because it was maddening. Infuriating and unreal. Shame and despair wailed in impotence against a silver surface that presented unwelcome truths to her, and this time for once she couldn’t breach that illusion and reinterpret or twist everything around so that she was in the right. The Chloe that remained in Christine would do ANYTHING to obfuscate or reimagine things so that she didn’t look like a terrible person, but the silver magic didn’t care.

Because it only presented the truth, because she just was a terrible person.

“I’m not going to make it,” Christine realized with a stilling sense of finality. “I’m going to die with all of this.”

“No, you’re not!” Rebecca actually sounded cross at her. “So, don’t talk like that! Things are bad, and that’s just—you know, it makes all sorts of room for things to get better. Look forward to that. Okay? I’m not going to give up on you.”

“Why, though? Why bother?” Christine growled. “I’m not your friend. I’ve never even been nice to you. I don’t even like you, and—honestly, I never did. I always hated you.”

“That’s fine,” Rebecca was indifferent to her words. “I decided you’re my friend, so; you are.”

“That’s stupid.”

“So what?” Rebecca said. “I don’t choose my friends by how nice they are, or how likable they can be, or what benefits they bring me. I was full of hate once, you know? I let it drive all of my actions and try to consume everyone around me. Hurt people in ways that will never heal.”

“You were fucking seven,” Christine spat. “I’ve heard your stupid story before.”

“And you’re in your early twenties,” Rebecca said. “It’s not as different as you want to tell yourself it is, and you know it. Well, I had a stubborn old goat of a grandma, and you? Well, now you get me.”

“I get you, yeah, when I’m partway vampire,” Christine countered. “Or in the process of turning, or, or whatever. It’s not even remotely the same. The hate when you were a little kid didn’t hurt anyone like I have. The things I’ve done—hah, are you serious? What I did to Brian for all that time, what I almost wound up doing to him, to all of them? And, if I lose myself to this—Rebecca, I don’t think you’re going to be able to stop me.”

“Well, it’s all relative,” Rebecca refused to back down. “You would definitely need some kind of magic whatever to stand a chance against me if things got serious. So, level playing field! Fair’s fair, and all that.”

“Rebecca, be serious,” Christine made a face.

“Oh, I am,” Rebecca said, not quite sounding like the familiar cutesy Rebecca anymore. “You make sudden moves, all I have to do is give this wheel a good yank. I’ve got front and side airbags, and I’m wearing a seatbelt. You’re not wearing your seatbelt, you’re at best just swaddled up in a blanket. We’re going fifty-five down a back road—at the cost of some discomfort and my insurance going up some, I can turn you into pinata candy.”

“Fifty-five isn’t even that fast,” Christine snorted, doing her very best not to imagine a sudden car wreck throwing her through the windshield. “Is that your plan, then?”

“My plans are flexible!” Rebecca let out a chuckle. “Whatever we need to do to get all of the bad stuff out of your system, we can do it. We might even be able to do it safely, who knows?”

“That why you brought a shovel?”

“Sure, could be digging a grave for you, or you could wind up digging one for me,” Rebecca sounded a little sardonic. “Also, it could take a while, and there’s no outhouse or anything way out on my uncle’s property. So, the shovel was coming along no matter what to dig and fill a latrine.”

“Great.”

“Why? Do you need to piddle soon?”

“No. I don’t even know if vampires actually pee.”

“Huh. Really? Even after all of those bottles?”

“Yeah, seriously. I don’t know where all of this is going.”

“Must be getting rerouted into your dessert stomach, or something,” Rebecca guessed. “Well, we’ll have some interesting tidbits of our own to add to whatever Kelly pays forward to the next group!”

“Do you really think we’ll have to, like, fight it out? Because that seems like a pretty terrible idea.”

“I’m prepared for the worst,” Rebecca assured her. “If you need to get violent urges out of your system, we can do that. I have a full kit of loaner leather armor to put you into, we’re using that to strap you up safely, and we’re gonna tape your arms and legs down with weights and restrict your movements some.”

“Weights?”

“Yeah, had all kinds of fishing weights and little lead doo-dads and whatnot laying about,” Rebecca said. “When you build weapons for live-action battle gaming, with just the cores we use and then foam they weigh nothing at all—to get them up to standard for Daegonhir or such you need either fishing weight, or to tape in forty or fifty pennies to each one. Gotta be up to a minimum of twenty-four ounces, and veteran players almost always go heavier.”

“So—and lemme get this straight—you’re gonna get me in some kind of… homemade gimp suit, and just tack on weights and such to restrain me?”

“I’m sure you’re super-strong, but if I can buckle you into my SCE loaner gear, get your hands secured in leather mitts, and then go around all the releases ten or fifteen times with a roll of duct tape?” Rebecca’s mirth was apparent. “Yeah, good luck getting out of that without help. I’m not sure on what principles you even exert force as a vampire, but there’s plenty I can do to make sure you have a real pickle of a time getting leverage or range of movement for anything. You’ll be strapped in and taped over with sheet foam—I’ll be in chainmail and plate, and I’ve got my steel dishing hammers if you wind up needing a healthy bop or two. There won’t be much of a risk of you getting blood from me, assuming you’re even able to get your helmet off. Which you won’t, not without scissors and patience.”

“All of which… predicates on you being able to suit me up in all of that in the first place,” Christine noted.

“True,” Rebecca admitted. “Your cooperation will be appreciated and helpful, if you’re of clear mind to give it. All of that stuff is for when you’re out of control and dangerous. Which you aren’t, yet—unless there’s something you’d like to share with me?”

“No,” Christine blew out a puff of air. “Not yet. Just. Don’t know what’s going to happen. I feel really weird. Wouldn’t it be safer to just, like, completely restrain me to something so I can’t move at all?”

“Oh, we’re definitely doing that, too—but we’re going to make it so that even if you do get free, you still won’t be a threat. You’re going to cooperate with me strapping you up, we’re going to ride this all out together, and then I’m going to cut you out of all of it and do my best to keep you alive afterward.”

“Or, bury me,” Christine added.

“Or, bury you, yes,” Rebecca agreed. “I don’t think it’ll come to that, though.”

“Yeah, wish I had your optimism,” Christine snarked. “Fuck.”

“Kelly said you barely took in any blood in the first place, so this should be a lot easier than it was for that other timeline. I’ve taken a leave of absence from my job, and I’m prepared to nurse you back to health for however long that takes.”

“I didn’t even mean to get myself into this,” Christine scowled beneath the duvet. “Was just—was just, I don’t know. The heat of the moment. Thought he stood by and almost watched as I got raped, then I realized that they uh, that he actually. That. I mean, I realized what they did to him. And, whatever broken part of me that was so dead set against him broke even further, because what now? Where does that hate go from there? From what Brian did to stop them from beating the shit out of me, instead. Or, or—or worse. Yeah.

“I just saw him laying there, hurt so badly, and all I could think in that moment was that he was my Brian, and that maybe he was dead or dying, maybe I’d lost him. Which is, yeah, is unbelievably stupid, because of—because of everything going on. I don’t think I ever truly loved Brian, but right there in that moment? It was like, it was getting hit with all of the things I did really feel for him, even though it was already past being messed up and too fucking late. Maybe because it was like that. I don’t know.

“I broke down, and I rushed over to hold him, and I kissed all over his face like an idiot,” Christine admitted. “Must have been a bit of blood there that got on my lips, and, yeah. Somehow or other… that led to all this.”

“I think,” Rebecca paused for a moment to consider. “You need to remember what you were feeling in that moment, and hold onto that. Don’t let go of that. I think that’s what can carry you through all of this. What does the future hold? Nobody knows, and both you and him have a little bit of growing and a whole lot of healing before I think you’re even ready to sit down and talk to each other again.

“But, I do think that conversation is in your future, and working your way towards that, no matter which way it winds up going, should be your goal. Closure. For you, and for him.”

/// Gonna go back through and clean up and organize the sections from teasers into chapters tonight, fix all the links and update everything. Then I'm turning towards RE:TT for a bit, because those teasers likewise need fixed up into chapters and I want to start taking bites out of the next bit.