It was past 8 p.m. when I got home. Our house was in the 28th district on the city's southern edge, at 29 Berryfield Street. I think the name came from an old strawberry field that used to be here.
It was a typical family home: two stories, a decent backyard, and a garage, all surrounded by a wall topped with flowerbeds.
I swiped my linkframe at the gate, then the front door; both opened with soft clicks.
Home sweet home.
Entering the foyer—a few-metre hallway with a right door and left closet—I kicked off my shoes next to the others.
From there, I hurried into the living area right in front of me.
It was a large open space, with two steps leading down to a seating area. On the left, stairs led up; from there, you could see the whole space. To the right stood the dining table and kitchen.
A silly cartoon played on the screen facing the couch. One of my sister's favourites, if I remember correctly. The sound was turned down to near-mute, but even that made my head throb harder.
A curtain of messy white hair hung over 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 at a cabinet, I pulled out the lowest drawer until I found what I was after: a dark leather roll, 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—each holding a different knife or tool. Pulling up my right sleeve, I took out the small scalpel with my other hand.
Resting my right arm on the counter, underside facing up, I held the scalpel above it.
"Around 7 or 8 centimetres down from the crook of the arm. Focus on where the weird feeling comes from, mind the veins..."
I repeated the sentence over and over, like a mantra.
"Come on. You've done this before. Why hesitate now? You got this," I muttered, more to convince myself than anything.
Moving the scalpel down, its blade felt cold against my skin. Pressing down harder, blood began to flow slowly from the incision. The pain made me flinch slightly, but I managed to make a few centimetres long cut on my arm.
My hand shook, making it hard to swap the scalpel for forceps. They slipped from my grasp a few times.
Once I managed, I dug into the wound and bit my lip to stay silent. I moved the instrument around but found nothing where I'd cut.
"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 pair of bright red eyes, almost like 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. Her skin was pale—paler than mine, even now.
She was about the same height as me. Her red blouse and white pants suited her well-shaped figure, 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-truth 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.
"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 your 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 instructions, I moved a finger around the still-slightly bleeding wound.
Eventually, maybe 2 centimetres to the left of 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 began pulling it back. It was astonishingly fast. I couldn't have done it so easily.
Guess being a doctor has its perks. She can easily take care of her dumbass son.
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. Then came 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 seconds, the twitching turned into a 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 and washed it a bit with 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 latter presented earlier."
I walked from the kitchen to the 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 support, 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 in 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 grew brighter until it appeared to shine 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, no grimace, not even an acknowledgement. He was right after all, though not entirely.
The way I see it, I just put on another one instead...