Scheisse! (Shit) Stop looking at me Schatz (darling). Please. Please.

"I just wanted...why? Was it too much to ask."

I need to feel … I need … please …

"Eloise. I thought this would work.”

She shuffles backwards. The urge to chase, to hold and tear rears its head. Don’t run. Please. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control myself.

Everything feels too tight and itchy. The roar of rushing blood echoes in my ears.

Red. I can’t see, it’s misting over everything.

"So many failures. So many faces. Why!? Why was his the only face you wanted."

My hand jerks, a claw snagging on an errant thread as it slips forward across the carpet. I can feel a ripple run through my form at the stalling twitch.

"I just wanted to love you. Now it's ruined."

Her silhouette stops moving. Good. Please stay still. I can stay in control if she just stays still. But I can’t stay like this forever. How do I convince Eloise not to run? To try again? To give me a second chance?

“Not Cameron.”

Wait … what did she call me!?

"That's what I've been calling you in my head. Since you first arrived, seven months ago. I knew you weren't Cameron."

Wait…they…she knew? She knew! So that means …

My heart burns. I can’t help the growl building in my chest.

So what? She’s been pretending! Stringing me along to avoid … why didn’t she tell me? Wie konnte sie? Wie konnte sie so mit meinem Herzen spielen? War ihre Freundlichkeit nur gespielt? War nichts real? (How could she? How could she play with my heart like this? Was her kindness all an act? Was nothing real?)

Black creeps in at the edges of my vision. Everything fe els di sjoi nted. Sig ht, so unds, an d sme lls. My sen ses onl y reg ist er in fra gme nts. Iron. Ligh t a nd sha dow. Mov ment.

“I didn’t care.”

Wait!

Everything snaps back into focus. Tunnel vision. I can’t see anything but her. Like looking through a straw, a tiny window of light surrounded by darkness. All I see is Eloise.

She stands. I can see the tremor in her limbs, the unsteady shaking in her hand as it slips down the wall slightly. Fear? Pain?

“I…” The sound that comes out when she clears her throat is scratchy, like a skipping record. The bruises stand out against her neck. "I liked you more than Cameron."

She takes one step towards me. "I liked talking with you."

Wait. Is this really happening? Could she really be walking towards me? Not running away?

"I felt safer." Another step.

I could reach out and touch her now. I want to. I want to. I want to.

"I'm not afraid of you."

Those words. I’ve heard them before … before … right before the pain of a KNIFE.

LIES! I CAN HEAR YOUR HEARTBEAT! I can see the tremor in your legs. I know what I look like to humans. YOU CAN’T FOOL ME!

"YOU LIE!"

My eyes burn. My hands burn. It’s too hot. Everything burns.

If she wants to pretend she’s not scared, well she can, but no act can last forever.

"You. Are. Scared. Of. Me"

Memories rise unbidden. Every pocket of warmth and comfort. Every smile. Every touch of a hand in mine.

It was fake.

But this morning … she kissed me.

It was all pretend.

She came to me first. I didn’t have to ask or beg. That must mean something.

None of it was real. She never loved me.

How could something that felt so real … I failed again.

I can’t … I can’t … I …

What is that feeling. Something’s touching my ... she’s touching me.

The world closes in. Everything fades away, everything except the touch of their hands on mine.

"If I was scared." She wraps her hand around the back of my fingers. "Would I do this?"

A kiss? A kiss! Gentle and soft and warm. A tender touch. Like something out of a fairytale. How beautiful. How perfect. She wasn’t lying. Eloise…

The burn intensifies in my eyes, but it feels good. Liquid fire pushing at the edges of my eyelids. "I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry." The words catch in my throat, just behind the buzzing push of fangs, and it takes effort to get them out. I drop to my knees, a willing acolyte offering supplication to my saviour. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. He hurt you. I'm sorry."

Something runs through my hair; soothing digits running over my scalp. The feeling is ecstasy.

"It's okay, sweetie. It's alright."

The soft moonlight streaming in the hall window frames her head in a gentle halo. Dark locks shimmering in silvery light.

Meine Engel (My angel). "I'm sorry. I lied to you."

"Oh no." My hands are covered in blood. The same rapidly cooling crimson staining bloody handprints and smears on her shirt. That isn’t good, anything could change her mind. "I got blood on you. I'm sorry. I'll clean it. I'll clean it all."

My hands twitch with the urge to catch when she drops down.

"Look, it's..." She sags a little, legs bending as she sits on her heels.

That was a sigh. What does that mean? A good sigh or bad sigh? What do I … oh she’s touching me again! It feels like my thoughts are forcibly yanked to a stop. There are hands resting on my shoulders, thumbs rubbing circles against the collar bone beneath the skin.

"I won't say it's okay. But I will say we can work this out...I think."

I can’t hear any tremors in her voice. No skip in the heartbeat. Oh please, please, please, please, let this be real.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

What is that!?

"The cake.” A laugh bubbles up from her. It sounds strained, half-choked. "I forgot the cake."

That is … not a problem. I can fix that. Finally, something I can control. This is good. A distraction should help.

Eloise’s heartbeat is thundering, shoulders shaking just slightly. It’s not over yet. I have to earn her trust.

I fight the urge to wince at the audibly crack that comes from the shifting of bone settling in place when I stand. Don’t. Do. That. You. Might. Scare. Eloise.

She doesn’t run at the sound, which is a good sign. It takes the gentlest of urges for her to turn. I mutter assurances as she does. "I'll fix it. I promise. Everything is going to be okay."

Once her footsteps grow steadier, I let go.

Eloise will need a moment to recover. To move under her own steam.

I reach out, focusing, and the space around me stretches and bends. For a moment, the upstairs hallway and downstairs kitchen exist right next to each other. I step from carpet to tile. Then like a rubber band snapping back, the two spaces separate.

There is smoke leaking from the oven. That is not good, not good at all.

I turn off the heat. Remove the smoking pan from the oven and place it on the metal cooling rack to save the worktop. Then I open the window and grab a tea towel to dispel the smoke. A warm tingling races down my arm as I stretch out to press the button on the smoke alarm; bone and muscle slide apart, then constrict together again.

I keep fanning the air. The grey haze slowly disperses through the window.

My ears twitch, muscles spasming as the nerves tune in to a new sound.

Footsteps. Muscles contracting. The stuttered in and out of breath. The ‘hic’ sound of a diaphragm spasm.

She’s here.

I don’t stop fanning the smoke. Waiting for Eloise to make the first move. Blood and water pools at the base of my skull, translucent proteins form a barrier beneath broken skin. I peer out from beneath my hair, new eye tracking her movements even with my back turned.

She’s moving towards the cake.

Don’t touch the pan it’s hot … oh wait … oven glove, good. The blackened batter leaves flakes softly drifting down in the air as it crumbles into the bin. The clatter of the pan dropping into the sink feels louder somehow, in the tense silence. The water flowing into the sink even more so.

The smell of lemon and peach rises with the steam.

She’s grooming cleaning her hands. The water runs red.

I take my place at her side.

I want to help. Feel the softness of those hands in mine. Wash away the scent of him and replace it with my own.

Instead, I mimic the methodical actions. Taking a small portion of soap and running it between my hands. Cleaning the last taints of a futile life from my hands.

Eloise radiates tension. Heartbeat beginning to race. Blood rushing to their brain. The shushing sound as abrasive fibres scrape against skin harmonises with the water.

Why is she still grooming? Her hands are clean now. If she keeps going it will draw blood.

Why?

Breathing shouldn’t sound like that. Not that fast and short.

“Eloise?”

Why won’t she stop?

Her soft skin is turning red. Crinkly lines of scarlet starting to form. She’s going to hurt herself.

“It’s gone, love.”

Why isn’t she listening? Stop it! Please.

Her eyes! Why are they so dull? Her eyes don’t look right.

"Eloise stop!"

The strange look in her eyes fades in a second. It is swiftly replaced with alarm. Her hands flail, the instinctual attack of a startled animal.

I catch the clawing hands in one of my own, stretching out my dermis and engulfing the digits in fluid muscle. Curl over. Hold steady.

Another instinctual movement follows the panicked attack. The drive to keep a threat in sight is a hard one to fight.

Don’t look down.

I use my other hand to catch Eloise by the chin before she can look down. It would not be good if she saw … I don’t want to scare her. Not now. So soon after … upstairs.

Her face is soft. The layers of fat and connective tissue displace beneath my fingers. Soft like a pillow and warm. I could just sink my fingers in and ... no, focus.

"Look at me. Breathe."

Thankfully, Eloise obeys. Taking one shuddering breath after another. Her eyes dart from side to side, but she doesn’t try and look down.

I step closer to constrict her view just in case, pulling her hands to my chest. Shifting my ribs to the side and pushing my heart closer to the dermis. The contractions create a steady rhythm through the pulse of blood.

I need to breathe, slowly; match the rhythm to help them focus.

I know the mechanics of breathing. Suck in, lungs fill with air, ribs expand, and diaphragm contracts. Blow out, diaphragm curves up, the air rushes out from the lungs, ribs settle back. In. Out. In. Out.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she calms down. The struggling stops. Pupils slowly shrinking to their normal size.

"There you go, love. Breathe."

The tremors have died down from volatile shaking to light trembling. Pulse stabilising. Calmer. I don’t need to hold so tightly now.

Displaced fluid races back into my arm. Itching erupts along my digits as the bones are pulled back into place. I double check the shape - five appendages attached to a flat base – good.

It should be safe to let go now. But something is still missing. Her energy is too low.

I stretch out, detaching a small part of myself to remain here and prepare a drink for Eloise while I take her to the living room to rest.

Climb. Stretch. Sniff. Grab. Hold. Tear. Push. Hold. Pour. Let go. Hold. Wait.

“Come on. Come take a seat." Step by step. Beat by beat. She follows my lead through the doorway to the main gathering room.

Eloise should sit down and rest. Somewhere soft. Somewhere warm. But the bed is not an option right now. To get there we would have to go past … no. I won’t expose her to that again. If she’s reminded of what I … I don’t want to think about it. The couch will have to do.

These hands are so small in mine; easily broken. I have to be gentle.

Wait. What is she looking at?

The cushion. There’s a stain, a mix of blood and water darkens the fabric. Cameron’s blood.

Her eyes are starting to take on that strange blankness again.

Even dead, he still makes things harder for me.

I need to get rid of it.

The soft fabric gives way beneath my claws when I snatch it up. The plush stuffing leaking pale strings as it flies towards the wall. The wooden frame of the couch creaks quietly as I take the cushion’s place, putting myself in her gaze.

Look at me. Don’t think of him.

Her hands are cool; too cold for how long I held them against my heart. The skin on the back of her hands is soft. The lower layers of dermis revealed by the repetitive scrubbing under a waking nightmare. It feels nice, smooth, but it’s too red. Does it hurt? I don’t want it to hurt.

There’s a pressure point in the hands, pressing it should help relieve stress, as well as any headaches caused by it. The webbing between their thumb and forefinger gives slightly at the end of every swipe of my thumb. "It's over. You're safe. Nothing else will happen to you, I promise."

The last of the tremors finally die down. Her breathing calms.

Pick up. Balance. Crawl. Be silent. Move out of sight. Lift.

I turn to face the television, hiding my hand as I reach down and pick up the proffered cup from myself. The skin near my wrist splitting open to welcome the reunion.

Reattach. Meld. Home. Whole.

I transfer the cup to my other hand while I resettle the limb. Then I hold out the cup towards her.

Eloise just stares at it for a moment. Eyes unblinking, but gaze unfocused. Like looking into a still lake on a clear day, when you can see the bottom of the water, but there’s nothing beneath the surface. Does she not want it? Oh wait...no, she is taking it.

"Thank you." Her voice is soft. Still a little shaky but steadier than it could be. The cup is kept in a protective two-handed hold on one knee.

Good, that helped. I helped. Satisfaction is a powerful feeling. It generates a warmth in my chest that becomes the sound of joy. A pulsing and looping vibration in my chest. Humans don’t purr! I silence myself.

"I'm sorry. You need normal right now." What expression do I have? Not a good one. I don’t want her to see my face. I turn away. "More normal than me."

I can practically feel the synapses in her skull firing. Turning over the events of the day. Heat radiates from her skin, the warmth just brushing against my side; it is a damning reminder of how out of reach she is right now.

The silence drowns me. A heavy blanket over my shoulders. It itches. Everything feels too small, but I hold myself steady. I can’t ruin things now.