Friend or Foe? Chapter Four by Mariam Kravchenko

Chapter Four

As soon as we walk in, there’s a sharp pang in my stomach. I double over and bite my lip to keep from crying out.

“Jo?,” Joseph asks. “Are you alright?”

When I don’t respond, he grabs me and flings me over his back. He holds onto me and runs up a circular flight of cold, stone stairs. He stops running moments later, and sets me down on a soft white and grey hammock, that’s stained with blood.. I moan and clutch my stomach.

“Jo!” he yells. “Jo, talk to me! What is it?”

I writhe and groan, but manage to scream:

“Dontfeelgoodneedsomethingidonthavehelpmehelpme HELP ME!”

Joseph gasps and his stunning green widen. He mutters under his breath.

“No way. Half-breeds don’t exist anymore. If anyone finds out she’ll be killed. Oh, my god.” This confuses me, but I have no time to focus.

“HELP ME!” I scream. I’m dizzy and I can’t focus. The room is spinning and it feels as though someone is clamping a cold, bony hand around my heart. It feels like there’s a tiger, biting and scratching and clawing to get out.

“Jo, I’m gonna go get you something that’ll help,” Joseph says to me. I nod weakly, and he runs out the door, closing it behind me.

Seconds later, a sense of power erupts throughout me. I leap to my feet and grab a knife from Joseph’s nightstand. It’s cool against my hand, with a sharp bronze tip and a copper handle.

Into the light mahogany wall, I carve the words:

‘I cannot control myself. I’m gone for now. Find me, and help me, or I’ll come back and kill you.’

Then below it, in Latin, I carve out:

‘Ego diligo vos. Nolo te occidere.’, meaning ‘I love you. I don’t want to kill you.’

I dip my fingers into the glass bottle of thick, crimson blood that Joseph keeps on his dresser and trace it messily over what I’ve carved. I pour the rest down my throat and gasp with pleasure. I take a few steps back and I leap out the window, feet-first, ignoring the sharp stings I get when the glass cuts my skin. I land softly on the hard, dirt ground and turn around, looking up at Joseph’s stained-glass window.

“Cya, Joseph.” I whisper softly into the darkness.