Chapter 5- EMILY'S P.O.V
635 Words
The hallway was buzzing with students, but it all blurred into a background hum as I wandered toward my next class. My mind kept replaying yesterday-Logan, the faint scent of pine and smoke, the weight of his jacket on my shoulders.
I didn't see him until I walked straight into his chest.
"Oh! I-I'm sorry," I stammered, stepping back in alarm.
Forest-green eyes locked onto mine. The same eyes that haunted me in my sleep. Logan.
He looked irritated. No, worse-he looked like he regretted helping me.
"Why are you apologizing? Trying to throw yourself at me now?" His voice was ice-laced steel.
I blinked. "I-no. I just... I wanted to thank you. For bringing me to the nurse."
His brow furrowed, then lifted in mock amusement. "Think I care about you? Don't flatter yourself."
That hurt. I tried to keep my voice even. "Still. Thank you."
"Don't make this into something it isn't. I helped because I had to. Not because you matter."
His words slammed into me like a punch. I wanted to disappear. Instead, I gave a quiet nod and walked away.
My hands shook as I pushed open the bathroom door. Once inside, I leaned over the sink, breathing hard. I pulled down my hoodie, splashed cold water on my face, and stared into the mirror. The scar across my cheek stood out sharply in the fluorescent light.
Then came the voices.
"Did you see her face? I would wear a bag, not just a hoodie."
"She probably thinks she's mysterious. More like hideous."
Laughter echoed, each note another dagger. I hid in a stall, heart pounding, willing myself not to cry.
When silence returned, I emerged, wiped my face dry, and left. The day ended in a haze. When I reached the parking lot, Dad was already waiting.
"Hey, kid," he said with a small smile. I nodded, pulled open the door, and slid in.
The ride was quiet.
"School okay?"
"Fine," I mumbled, turning toward the window.
He didn't push. I loved him for that.
Once home, I dropped my bag, changed clothes, and headed to the training room. The heavy bag swung gently in the center of the room. I slipped on my gloves.
Thud.
"I'm not weak."
Thud.
"I'm not pathetic."
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Sweat dripped down my brow, tears mixing with it. I hit harder, faster, until my knuckles burned and the chain creaked. The bag sagged. One final punch and it snapped from its hook, crashing to the floor.
Breathing hard, I stared at it. It felt symbolic. Like a piece of me breaking free.
RAYMOND'S P.O.V.
She was lying.
Emily said she was fine, but I knew better. The way she clutched her hoodie tighter, the quiet "I'm fine," all of it was a mask.
Once she disappeared upstairs, I entered my room, locked the door, and crossed to my closet. Behind the suits and winter coats, a false panel clicked open, revealing my hidden chamber.
Cool air greeted me as I stepped in. A small fridge hummed. I pulled out a sealed bag of blood and poured it into a glass.
Crimson, thick. Necessary.
Being the Vampire King wasn't as glamorous as the books made it sound. It meant hiding. Controlling. Denying urges that could tear worlds apart.
I drank slowly. The hunger quieted.
No one could ever know. Not Emily. Especially not Emily.
After I cleaned up, I headed to the kitchen and started chopping vegetables. Her favorite-spiced chicken stir-fry. Familiar motions grounded me.
Then the sound came.
Thud. Thud. Snap.
I ran to the training room.
The bag was on the floor, broken. My daughter stood there, fists trembling, eyes red.
I didn't say a word. Just watched her leave.
Later, I knocked on her door.
"It's me."
"Come in, Dad."
- Writer
