Guardian: Chapter 4

I convinced myself that I was starting to like Shawn. I guessed it was the display of compassion he displayed with Button; it was the window to what I hoped was the real side of the stony boy. I kept getting glimpses of it, and each one gave me hope that I could somehow crack his icy shell and bring him out.
         But my attempts had been fruitless. Because a week later I found myself lying on his floor, all the screams drained out of me, and my own blood pooling around my head. His emaciated figure rose grimly from over me, the knife that was clutched in his white hand quivering so fervently that it had to be dropped. The shaking of his hands was just too violent. I made a gargling sound before trying to suck in a soppy breath, my hands numbly brushing at my throat that had been ripped open. Thick scarlet ran over my trembling fingers, the liquid soothingly warm. I managed a small moan before trying to focus my blurring gaze on the body over me.

"Sephine's probably just another burnt body now," Shawn was whimpering, his eyes quivering and slowly becoming red.

"But I can fix it, I can fix everything," he whispered, "When you die, Amalric will die with you! Because, h-he's you're guardian!"
         
         My muscles weren’t working right, my eyes wouldn’t open and I couldn’t lift my arms. I was making gargling sounds in an effort to breathe, warm liquid seeping from my lips and dribbling over my chin.



“And it was all because Matthias, he wanted to be the sparkle in Amalric’s eyes.”

         His tone heightened at the last word and I heard him give a long sigh, as if his final breath was painfully being drawn out of him. There were a few shuffled footsteps before I felt warm breath at my clammy cheek, his presence next to me raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

“You don’t understand anything I’m saying, I don’t have time to explain it to you,” he whispered, his voice was beginning to sound fuzzy to my ears.

         I attempted to take in another breath but the blood flow was stronger than my lungs, and they squeezed helplessly in defeat. I finally managed to open my eyes, and found him standing again and staring down at me with sad, but victorious eyes. I whimpered slightly as another surge of blood crawled into my mouth and bubbled from my lips.

“But everything is going to be alright now,” he murmured with a warm smile, “The war’s going to be over. Azazel will level power again and they’ll find a new ruler for us. I’ve fixed it all, Lauren.”

         His eyes were shimmering with tears and he was still smiling down at me when the door to his room was thrown open. The wood knocked violently off the wall and a shriek followed soon after, Shawn’s head snapping up. My eyes clouded over and there were only blurs, and the next few yells and cries sounded far away. I picked up on one of the last statements, Shawn’s irresistible tone warped into a heart wrenching screech.

“I told you this would happen! I found her; she’s Amalric’s…when she dies he dies with her!”

         There was a few seconds of silence and I tried to focus on Shawn’s face expression, desperate to clear the smudges and blurs that the room had become. Just as I found my sight, his body convulsed and he plummeted to the floor. His body landed hard at my feet. The next shriek was crystal clear and a larger figure ran to my side and dropped to their knees, a figure I assumed to be Shawn’s father. My body was panicking, quick gulping sounds rose from my throat; I sounded like I was drowning.

“Paul, she’s dying!” Mrs. Roberts was screaming.

         From behind him, a confused voice rasped.

“So am I.”

         I only had a few more seconds, I could feel it. My vision circled black and I only saw bits and pieces of a skinny body moving over me, limbs shaking and unstable. I only slightly felt warm fingers at my side, and I watched the scene from a perch from outside my body, watching Shawn lift up the cloth of my shirt over my hip. In slow motion, he lifted up his own T-shirt that was flecked and smeared with my blood, and revealed a diminutive hip, a long white scar identical to mine residing over his flesh. Shawn gave an incredulous moan.
         My chest heaved, the pain was unbearable. Blood swam down from my mouth in teeny tracks, like scarlet spider webs. My eyes were just about to close when something grabbed around my lacerated throat, incredible warmth encircling my neck and slipping upwards against the base of my skull. There was a flash of white and a groan, then voices.

“She’s already dead Shawn, it’s too late!”

         Faint sobbing came from the other side of the room and then suddenly there was heavy panting above me, smooth hands grasping hard at my temples and thin fingers slipping through my hair. The faint tickle of hair stroked my throat as a face pressed hard against my chest.

“She’s breathing, Dad.” I felt soft lips at my collar bone move as he spoke.

“She’s….she’s mine,” Shawn sounded reverent, “Amalric isn’t her guardian –I am.”

         My mind was a mess; it was spinning like a kaleidoscope with questions and white terror. Instantly, I discovered the ability to move again and my hand flew to my throat. To my surprise there was no blood flowing from it, and when I felt around a bit more, my heart skipped a beat. There was no wound.
         
         The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Shawn’s face, his expression mortified. Mr. Roberts was standing over him expectantly, his eyes holding the same emotion. The entire room was silenced, other than a starling’s faint singing outside the window. Shawn took a shaky breath in and licked his lips, wiping back pale blond hair from his shining forehead.

“Lauren, I know you’re scared right now,” he started cautiously.

         I might have stayed put a listened to the rest of his statement, but he made the mistake of gingerly placing his palm across my wrist. Without a sound, I kicked up and tried to propel my body away from him. My foot caught him at the jaw and his head reeled back sharply. Quickly I got my legs underneath me and all but jumped up from the floor, my heart slamming against my ribs. There was no blood on the carpet where I had been lying, but the knife thrown negligently to the side was browned with hardened scarlet.

“Lauren, wait!” Mr. Roberts called desperately after me, but I was already running.

         I was out of the house within seconds, my feet pounding against the asphalt as I flew down the road. I cut across someone’s lawn, covered in two-day-old snow. The ice was melting rapidly and it sloshed around my panicking sneakers, the bottom of my jeans soaked within the first few footfalls. The cold air felt like sharp ice cubes up and down my chest as my breath came in strangled wheezes. I was far from panting; my gasps for oxygen were so frenzied I sounded as if I were hyperventilating.
          Shadows encased me as I fled into the wooded area between property lines, sharp branches whipping at my rouged cheeks and clawing for my ankles as I staggered my way over the foliage. I picked up at a clumsy run again, lungs ripping apart with the effort. The icy trees stood ominously above me as I ran under them, their roots spilling out into my path to try and slow me. My steps were agile considering the terrain and I broke free of the woods quickly. But even then I didn’t stop; I was not satisfied with the small distance I had put between myself and the Roberts household. My legs were on fire despite the cold temperature and with each slam across the ground they grew heavier. My body finally could take no more; my adrenaline had been used up. I had no idea where my frantic running had taken me, but my legs didn’t care where they decided to drop me. They buckled and I was sent tumbling onto the wet snow, freezing water splashing upwards as I flopped over on my shoulder. The entire run had maybe taken seven minutes.
         
         I was sucking in air as hard as I could as I shifted onto my back, the snow soaking through my white sweater and spilling with icy fingers against my back. I closed my eyes thoughtfully, trying to organize my head. I worked better when things were laid out in front of me, it was easier to handle. So, pursing my lips together, I skimmed over my options.
         I could go to the police. But what was I going to tell them? A psychotic boy just slit my throat open, and then brought me back to life? I barely believed myself. Option two: I could go to my parents, attempt to tell them what happened, and then insist that we move to another country. But that would only get me sent to a psychiatrist and maybe even into a straight jacket. Option three? I could pretend it never happened.

         My breathing had calmed down by then but I was shaking. I couldn’t tell if it was my muscles voicing their annoyance with my prior performance of an Olympic race, or if I was just cold. I couldn’t estimate how long I’d been lying there, a few minutes, a half an hour? How ever long it had been, it’d been long enough to turn my lips numb.  I was going to attempt to sit up when I heard fervent footsteps coming towards me. Two hands grappled my shoulders and ripped me forwards, my forehead almost connecting with another’s. The hands then slid down my frozen arms and ended at my wrists, long fingers encircling them in a harsh grip.
         Slightly dizzy, it took me a moment to raise my eyes and focus on the person in front of me. When I finally got my brain back in gear, I found myself face to face with big brown eyes.