It was past 8 p.m. when I got home. Our house was in the 28th, on the southern edge of the city. The address being 29 Berryfield Street. I think there was a field of strawberries here before, hence the name.
It was a family home typical of this area. Two stories, a decent sized backyard, a garage. All of it surrounded by a wall with flowerbeds on top of it.
Swiping my linkframe at gate of the property and then at the front door, both opened with a slight clicking sound.
'Home sweet home.'
Entering the foyer, a few metres long hallway with a door on the right and a closed with hangers on the left, I simply kicked off my shoes next to the ones already there.
From there I hurried into the living area right in front of me.
That itself was a large open space, with two steps leading down to a seating area. On the left was a set of stairs to the upper floor, from where one could look down on the entire space. On the right was the dining table and the kitchen.
I saw a silly cartoon playing on the screen facing the couch. One of my sister's favourites, if I remember correctly. The sound was turned down to near muted, but even that made my head throb harder.
A long curtain of messy white hair run down on the back of the couch, but I ignored it for now.
Making my way to the kitchen I put my glasses onto the counter and turned a light on.
Kneeling in front of a cabinet, I pulled the lowest drawer out and eventually found what I was looking for. A roll of dark leather, slightly shorter than my forearm.
I set it down on the kitchen counter, then stopped for a second. Putting both my hands on the counter, I leaned forward slightly.
It felt like my head was splitting apart.
Taking a deep breath, I undid the clasp on the leather roll and unfolded it. Its inside was lined with pockets and slots, in each with a different knife or some other tool. Pulling up my right sleeve, I took out the small scalpel with my other hand.
Resting my right arm down on the counter, with the underside facing up, I held the scalpel above it.
"Around 7 or 8 centimetres down from the crook of the arm. Focus on the where the weird feeling comes from, mind the veins..."
I repeated the sentence again and again like some mantra.
"Come on. You did this before. Why hesitate now? You got this..." I muttered, more so to convince myself than actually believing it.
Moving the scalpel down, the blade felt cold against my skin. Pressing down harder, blood slowly started to flow from the incision. The pain made me flinch slightly, but I managed to make a few centimetres long cut on my arm.
My hand was shaking, so switching the scalpel for a set forceps wasn't so easy. It slipped from my grasp a few times.
Once I managed to, I dug into the wound, biting my lip not to make a sound. Moving the instrument around, I tried to find what I was looking for, but there was nothing in the place where I cut myself.
"Fuck. I missed it..."
"Next time, try tapping your skin first. Look for anything under it, or how it feels when you do it."
The soft voice made me stop what I was doing. Looking up, I saw a set of bright red eyes, almost like a pair of rubies. Their owner met my gaze, before looking down at the mess I made of my arm.
She was pretty— gorgeous even— but she should have taken better care of herself. Her hair was tied into a messy ponytail with loose strands slipping free. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her skin was pale — paler than mine, even now.
She was about my height. The red blouse and white pants she wore fit her well-shaped figure perfectly, though both were stained with dark spots.
"Hello, Mother."
"Hello, Alex. Did you have a good day at work?"
I flinched slightly, whether because of the question or the pain in my arm, I wasn't sure.
"Decent enough. My head's killing me."
"Hm... You left home around 6 in the morning, no? That makes it... roughly 15 hours. Your symptoms shouldn't be this bad yet." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me.
"Were you up all night again? No, wait. Let me rephrase. Don't want one of your half true answers again. How many hours did you sleep?"
"Uh...2? 3? In my defence-"
Her hand was in front of my face before I could finish my sentence, flicking my forehead with a finger. It hurt and probably left a faint mark on my skin.
"Idiot. You need to sleep more."
"You know... that's not really convincing coming from you."
She reached for the scalpel on the table, lifting it to her face.
I think she smelt it.
'Another weirdo. This one I knew of for a while now at least.'
She flipped the blade in her hand, pointing the handle towards me.
"I'm nocturnal. And I can do with less sleep than you."
I took the scalpel from her, holding it above my forearm again.
"Being a Scion is cheating."
"You will be one soon too. And at least you are doing it here, in relative safety. Way better than what you father and I did."
I stared back at her silently.
'Sometimes, safety feels more like a cage than comfort.'
Would I actually say that to her? Not likely.
She broke the silence eventually, pointing at my forearm resting on the table.
"Try to feel it. Move your finger around the skin, feel out odd sensations or if anything moves or shifts..."
Following her instruction, I moved a finger around the still slightly bleeding wound.
Eventually, maybe 2 centimetres to the left from the cut, something felt different, making my arm tingle as I pressed it.
"Got it?"
I nodded to her.
"Cut there then."
Making the incision the second time was easier, or it might just have been her presence that proved calming. Blood flowed from this wound too, but less than before.
Mother took the forceps before I could.
"Ready?"
I nodded in response, clenching my teeth. She dug into my arm with the forceps, the stinging pain making me bite back a line of curses.
Soon, she caught something with the instruments and started to pull it back. It was astonishingly fast. I couldn't have done it so easily.
'Guess being a doctor has its perks. She can take her care of her dumbass son easily.'
There was a dark, thin thing caught between the jaws of forceps, looking like a braided piece of leather.
The feeling was familiar by now. Some pain and resistance, the thing trying hard to stay in my arm, followed by a sense of relief. If only the same could be said for how my stomach felt after this.
As Mother raised the little bugger up to her eyes, the thing soon started to twitch and wiggle. Little leg-like parts extending from its sides. In a matter of second the twitching turned into full-on struggle.
"Ugh, disgusting. If it wasn't useful, I would personally squish and burn it. Centipede... To name this thing as such." She scoffed. "I don't like them to begin with. Your father's naming sense always lacked imagination."
I heard Mother's words and almost voiced my own distaste, but instead I turned around and threw up into the kitchen sink.
"Don't let it go down the sink."
I groaned, a bitter taste lingering in my mouth.
In the sink, covered by puke, was a little purple gem, not bigger than a pea. I took it with two fingers, washing it a bit with some water.
I turned back to Mother, who still held up the struggling insect-like creature, teasing and poking it with the scalpel, a grin on her face.
I put the small gem down on the counter. The little centipede's head, or what looked like a head, immediately snapped towards it.
As the forceps's hold on its body loosened, the creature fell onto the counter. It hurried to the gem, its legs clicking on the smooth surface.
Once there, the Centipede held the gem with its head and tail's end. The legs slowly withdrew and it stopped moving. Now it looked like a simple bracelet, with the gem connecting its two ends.
"You alright? The nausea and your headache should soon pass. Though sleep deprivation could make them last longer. Probably also why the later presented earlier."
I walked from the kitchen to back to the foyer, stopping in front of the large, full body mirror on the wall.
Leaning forward, I put my hands on either side of the mirror for supports, a wave of exhaustion washing over me.
The colour of my hair started to fade from dark blonde to jet black. My face morphed in the mirror, my features becoming different, more pronounced, less...bland.
The face staring back at me from the mirror was handsome— pretty, even. Or at least that's what my sister always says...
But the most noticeable change, was my eyes.
The pupils didn't change colour. They — along with the irises — were simply gone, as if my eyes had been filled with white paint.
And from the blank white orbs, a pattern emerged.
It was silver in colour, faint at first, then turning brighter until it appeared to be shining constantly. It resembled some flower I didn't recognise with long, spread out petals.
The centre of it, however, was empty, like a white void.
In the corner of my vision, I saw the hooded, a wide grin on his face.
"And so, the mask falls..." His voice echoed in my ears.
This time, I didn't have it in me to do anything. No comment, grimace or even an acknowledgement. He was right after all, though not entirely.
'The way I see it, I just put on another one instead...'