And if I Die Before I Wake...

Days came and went in darkness, the only way I could tell the difference between day and night was when 'dinner' came home in the form of a prostitute or some rehab reject. To tell you the truth, I loved the solitude though my hunger increased. It was torture not being able to control myself and acting like such an. . . animal. It didn't help that I was completely out of ingredients for my medicine.

Oh, but I knew just who to take my anger out on.

That wreched girl, that Morgan. I knew it was her gastly stench that lingered wherever she walked, even if it had mingled with the smoke. It was her gaze that carried the loathing I felt, the loathing that plagued me. But no longer! This girl will know what it means when the dead come out to play. My blood boiled in anger as I thoiught of it. (quite litrally actually, though it may be hard to believe)

As the heat spread through my veins my vision cleared. I smirked in satisfaction, I had always liked this defense. My wonderful body's defense mechanism moistened my eyes and finally I could see. Oh it was a lovely feeling.

I sat up and smirked again, searching my surrounding for something that would inevitably hide my new bite marks. My gaze rested on a long sleeved blue-grey turtle neck. Quickly sliding it over my head I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. Seven thirty, perfect. I could run to school in that time. I jumped off of bed and slipped on a fresh pair of pants and shoes, bursting through the door in the same motion.

I had gotten to shcool early and had already sat down by the time the bell rang for AP History, first class of the day. Just as expected, Morgan entered the room stoicly, though I could tell she was extremely. . . displeased. Once she had settled herself behind me, the familiar menace in her gaze pierced my skin almost painfully, but I did not flinch, no, I was expecting it.

I calmly tore a piece of binder paper out of my notebook and scrawled down a small not in neat, curling script. As an added measure of security, I wrote the not in French, knowing full well she would understand it. Inevitably, the note translated into something along the lines of:

I know what you are trying to do child, but you will not succeed.

I stood and made my way to the drinking fountain dropping the note on her desk as I passed.