the-eye-of-the-beholder

CHAPTER 1
doing it. Maybe, it would simply be how I called their work too
little too late the night my mother was found in the alley by our
house – a knife protruding from her belly like a sixth limb.
Suddenly, I feel something in my throat, a bulging presence
like a cluster of hair in my windpipe. It rises like water in a
sunken vessel and creeps up the back of my tongue. In seconds,
it floods my mouth. I try to speak, to alert Connor, but it’s too
late. My lips part and my head dives for the sink. Among the
putrid vomit that spews over the sink and colours it a tinted
yellow, is blood - lots and Lots of blood. The dregs of it shake
from my tongue and I can see Connor’s disturbed face in the
corner of the mirror. The purple glint of his eyepiece holds
dulled beneath a furrowed brow.
“What was that?”
“I don’t know, it’s probably something you gave me.” I hastily
wipe my ruby-stained lips on my pyjama sleeve and shoot him
a glare.
“Did you bleed?” His tone is accusatory. There is no concern
or interest laced in his words, instead a hidden Ferocity. I
almost protested, attempting to profess sarcasm instead of any
appropriate and contemplated response. But, as I part my lips
and inhale, he cuts me off. “You’re just like the others,” he
grumbles through gritted teeth, turning on his heels.
He marches with haste out of the doorway and closes himself
into our bedroom.
A wave of shock placates me, my jaw loosening with an
inability to grasp what has just been said. Like the others. What’s
that supposed to mean? I watched him leave, cursing each step
with tongues of fire and an angry roar building from my belly.
Air rushes into my lungs, my chest raises and I can see every
profanity I know tattooing itself across my brain, ready for
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