Vampire Academy

Mikey’s P.O.V.

There was a pressure building on my bare chest as I slept. It felt as if someone was holding me down, one hand on my wrist, lower torso grinding against my own; the free hand was on my throat. The skin was freezing against my own. In my sleep I remember telling myself that I was merely having sleep paralysis, a condition I had read about in school one day. I only needed to wait until my body woke up, and then I’d be fine. However, all of this hope was beaten and thrown out the window when whatever force was keeping me down suddenly shifted on top of me, pressing harder against me, making it almost impossible for me to breathe. In the midst of my struggling and panic I began to feel hot breath on my face and neck. I could and hear slow, ragged breathing, and I could feel a racing heart beating alongside my own. Something else’s thick, greasy hair was hanging in my face, sliding along my cheeks and forehead. It dawned on me pretty quickly that this was not merely my body refusing to wake up; this was a living, breathing thing. My worst fears were further confirmed when I heard a small whimper, followed by a deep, malicious, throaty whine.

“This is all your fault.”

The trembling whisper rang clear as a bell throughout the empty, bewildered spaces of my mind. I couldn’t tell if my throat was tightening from fear, or if the hand was squeezing tighter. Whatever was holding me down it was on the verge of tears; every word it uttered sounded like it was closer and closer to the edge.

“This is all your fault.”

The hand that was holding my wrist down lifted and pounded on my chest full force, like a child throwing a tantrum, causing my upper torso to jerk forward into nothing but thin air. I fell back to the pillow, heart racing, and fears shooting across my brain like a horrific slideshow. I still didn’t wake up, and whatever it was still held me down.

“This is all your fault, don’t you see it? Why don’t you see it?!”

By this time I was screaming at myself to wake up, to get as far away as possible from this unstable…thing. I couldn’t see anything, as it seemed that my eyes were glued shut, but I could hear and feel everything. This was so much worse than any nightmare that I was practically praying for a night terror, no matter what happened in it. Anything but this. Anything.

“You don’t even know what you do! This is all your fault!”

The force was no longer whispering, it was screeching in my ear so loud that I felt as if my ear drums were going to burst. It pounded on my chest again, harder, and this time when I was jerked up again I felt something bubble up and spill from my throat, like vomit.

“That’s right, bleed, bleed…it’s the least you can do…”

And with those trembling, tear stained words I recognized the voice, as I should have almost as soon as it started.

“WHAT’S MY FAULT, GERARD?!” The roar of my own voice filled my ears as I jolted awake, sitting up straight as a board, panting and pulsing with adrenaline. To my horror and disgust I found that I was very confused, very sweaty, and very much alone. I suppose that’s when I began to break. Seeing the empty room and my empty bed- looks like I had fallen on the floor at some point- was just too much for me to handle. I almost wanted the dream/voice to be real just so I wouldn’t feel so…so psychotic. I wanted an answer to my questions and most of all, I wanted a cure.

[the counselors office]

“…and then I just started yelling into my pillow. Screaming until my throat went completely dry…until I felt like my vocal chords were bleeding…” Ms. Baum pushed her little pink glasses farther up the bridge of her nose and took a few notes on her clipboard. Her obviously unnatural blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she, apparently, only wore the brightest colors. I found it hard to speak to her about my multitude of problems when her room was so bright and cheerful and…distracting as hell. Everything in her room, the posters, the wallpaper- it was all a bright color, even if the colors didn’t necessarily match- like the Easter bunny projectile vomited or something. This was only my second session with her and I already felt like it was a horrible decision. We were getting nowhere, and after the events of the previous night I realized that I didn’t have much time before I went completely insane. I shifted uncomfortably in the plush, horrifyingly horrible, bright green leather chair she had sitting in front of her desk.

“Did this yelling help at all?” For one reason or another this question frustrated the hell out of me. She was completely avoiding the dream, which I just knew was the problem. Going to the school counselor wasn’t the best idea, but if I wanted to go to a real counselor, then I’d have to get my parents involved. Fuck that.

“No.” I mumbled, leaning back in the chair, very unsatisfied. She made a note of this.

“Did you fall back asleep afterwards?”

“No.” Note.

“So what did you do after you yelled?”

“I cried. A lot. On my bed. Probably until it was time for school.” Note.

“So, do you have any common symbols, people, or ideas in your dreams? After the ones you’ve told me it seems to be that death and violence and just negativity in general seem to play a big part in them?” I nodded as she made a few more notes. “Have you had any near death experiences?” I shook my head, bringing my hands up to my face and beginning to chew the nails that hadn’t been chewed since the third grade. “Has anyone close to you died?”

“My grandma.” She looked up at me, her brow furrowing into a look of genuine concern.

“May I ask how she died?” The more I thought about it the more I realized that I had no idea, and the more the idea confused me. She was a vampire, but vampires don’t die…

“Old age, I think…” I mumbled, more perplexed than ever. Well, this was sure corrupting my recent faith in therapy.

“You think? So you’re not sure?” I shook my head as she jotted this down. “Do you think that perhaps your lack of knowledge about your grandmother’s death may be causing these dreams? Were you really close to her?” I came this close to laughing. Not about being close to my grandma, but holy shit she was reading way too much into this.

“Not really, I mean, my brother was…and as far as my dreams go, she has nothing to do with them. Look, I just want to know why I’m having these dreams, that’s it.” I couldn’t control my frustration anymore. She was going about this completely wrong.

“Okay, well you talked about your brother a lot in the dreams. Do you and your brother have relationship problems? I mean, I know brothers fight, but is there something malicious there?” I gave her a puzzled look. Gerard and I weren’t close, that’s true, but malicious?”

“No, not at all.” Note. She took a deep breath and then shook her head.

“So you don’t fight?”

“We…don’t talk really.” Her eyes lit up like she’d found the jackpot.

“Did you used to?” I thought about it. I remembered the dream where Gerard showed us when we were little.

“Yeah…we did.” She made a note of this and then looked up at me, a small smile playing on her face.

“So, you miss that time with your brother?” I shook my head.

“Not really, I mean, we were kids back then.” Her countenance dimmed.

“Well…the only other thing I could think that may be causing these dreams is an underlying depression. Do you have a family history of depression, mental illness, anything like that?”

“Yeah…it runs in the family, all of it.” She clicked her mechanical pencil and then went to work, making all sorts of notes, asking me which family members had problems and which were normal. As it turns out, I didn’t know half of my family and so I ended up making it sound like all of them were crazy.

“Well, Mikey, I hate to say it, but I feel that depression is the exact cause of your nightmares.” She waited for my reaction. She was obviously filled with self-pride but she was trying to play it off by looking solemn and full of pity. Well, I didn’t need her fucking pity.

“I’m not depressed.” I stated firmly. I guess I said it a little louder than I had intended. Her pity turned into an expression that was much like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I know this is stra-”

“I’m not depressed.” I said again. This time I stood up, letting my frustration about the situation control my actions, “That’s not what’s wrong with me. That’s not why I have dreams of my brother murdering me every single night. That’s not why he’s blaming me for shit I didn’t do!That’s not why I haven’t slept properly in days, and why my already horrible grades are getting worse! That’s not why my life is crumbling before my eyes as I try to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me! I mean I don’t even know what he’s saying half the time! What the hell is my fault?! Why can’t he just fucking tell me?! In any case I don’t know what the hell your problem is but whatever’s wrong with me it’s not depression, I can tell you that much, now psychosis I could understand, maybe even disorientation of some sort, but not depression. That’s insane.”

The Easter-Egg Nightmare didn’t let me back in her office after that.

And so I lay on my front lawn after school, letting driving sleet and rain and a frozen blizzard-y world chill me to the bone. I couldn’t see a damn thing, courtesy of my glasses fogging up and freezing over, but all I know is that it felt so good to just lay there and feel the thousands of tiny pin-pricks hit and irritate my bear arms and face every second of every minute. It felt good to shiver and be so cold that it felt like I was on fire. Most of all, it felt good to be almost numb. Almost. I would have gotten there too, if it hadn’t been for fucking Raymond Toro-Ortiz and his Siamese twin, Dave.

“The hell are you doing Mikey?” I could hear Ray laugh, snapping me out of my numbness and my perfect thoughts. I opened my eyes, rubbed my glasses, and saw the two of them, but could barely make them out through their thick coats, hats, and gloves. I mumbled in response. “C’mon Mikes, get up. It’s Friday, what the fuck are you doing laying out here in the sleet? You’re gonna freeze your bony little ass off.” Ray held out his hand and, reluctantly, I took it. He pulled me up, making my head throb and the already spinning world spin faster. “Look, we came over here to get you. Dave’s throwing a party for Matt. It’s in fifteen minutes so you need to hurry inside and change quick. You can’t go looking like a fucking icicle-”

“I don’t want to go.” I mumbled, rubbing my head. Suddenly the cold didn’t feel so good anymore. I wanted inside and, more importantly, away from Dave and Ray and their fucking parties.

“’Course you do, Mikes, come on.” Dave grabbed my arm and started pulling me inside. I jerked away.

“No, I don’t. Sorry. I’ve got shit to do.” I mumbled as politely as possible, not really wanting any confrontation. Dave stopped and stared at me, completely floored, as if rejection was something his pea-sized brain just couldn’t handle. And then he smirked.

“Like what?” He asked in that smartass way of his. I knew where this was going to end up. The smirk said it all.

“Shit. Alright?” No longer caring to please Dave, I shook my head and began to walk up to the house. I felt a firm fingers grasp around my bare arm. It was so tight that even through my almost numbness I could feel that it was cutting off my circulation.

“What the fuck is your problem, Way?” Anger flared up inside of me. He had no idea. “You think you’re too good for us now?” He sneered; I just wanted knock his fucking block off like you wouldn’t believe. He didn’t know what I’d had to deal with; he didn’t know what sort of storm was raging inside of me, the storm that was ripping me apart at the seams.

“Let me go. Now.” It was as if my fury had sparked a fire inside of me that completely melted away the physical cold. A fire that melted away any of my subordination or concerns and replaced it with utter indifference.

“And what if I don’t?” He grinned when I couldn’t reply, when I could only stare at him, filled with a hate that I just couldn’t convey. “Huh, Way? What are you gonna do?” He shoved me hard in the chest. I momentarily flashed back to my dream of the previous night. Living through it again, even for that brief second brought in a torrent of emotions. Not just toward Dave, but toward everything. To my horror tears sprung to my eyes. “Oh, ho, ho! You’re gonna cry? Poor baby! Ray, you wanna come breastfeed the little douche?” He shoved me again. The tears fell, sliding down my cheeks and into my mouth, salty and hot. I couldn’t stop trembling.

“Ahh, no. I’m good.” Ray laughed, keeping his distance from the two of us. My heart, slowly, began to race. So this was all a game to Ray too. My best friend, the guy I’d known since kindergarten, had completely turned sides. This is what everything that ever happened between us lead up to. This was the climax. It was do or die.

“Am I gonna have to get your mommy then? Huh, little baby? Or, no, I have a better idea…” His rather large mouth slid into a horrifying grin. I never noticed how beady his brown eyes were until that moment. “How about your faggot-ass brother?” And that was where I finally broke. With a satisfying punch Dave was knocked to the frigid ground, sending blood splattering the snow crimson, clutching his face, and literally roaring obscenities in my direction. The throbbing pain in my hand was close to unbearable, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was already half-way down the street, fears temporarily forgotten.

It had been do or die, sink or swim.

I did.

I swam.