Metanoia

Hey. 

You're not answering your texts. 

I'm going to assume that you're dead.

I got pizza. 

Ok you're definitely dead. 

Logan's asking about you.

Ok that was a lie. If it makes you feel better he's been on a bender since thursday... 

And by thursday I mean two thursdays ago 

This had been going on for the past three weeks. Ever since you'd went off the grid. 

Wade texted. Logan drank. You sat alone in your apartment. Currently you sat eyeing your phone warily. Wade went radio silent two days ago, and that made you nervous. 

It was never good when your idiot brother didn't pester you. Shaking your head, you sighed and turned your phone off. No use staring at a blank phone screen, waiting to ignore the texts that weren't going to come. Flopping back on the mattress you stretched the kinks out of your legs and glanced to the side, trying to ignore the foul odor coming from your closet. 

With a groan you sat up and for the first time really looked around your apartment. It was filthy. Running a hand through your greasy hair, you paused to look at the mousy ends. Your surroundings were a grody reflection of how you felt on the inside. Your eyes flicked again to the closet door that was slightly ajar and you instinctively itched at an aggravated red bite mark on your arm. 

In all honesty, you hadn't gone radio silent simply over what had occurred between yourself, Wade, and Logan. 

There was another reason.

Looking away from the closet door you flexed your jaw and groaned. The feeling of filth crawling across your skin won in the end, and after a week of nesting in your mound of blankets and pillows, you rolled out of bed and trudged to the bathroom. Shuffling past the mirror you shucked off your nightshirt and tossed it on the floor. You didn't have to look at your reflection to know that you looked exactly how you felt. Like dog shit. 

Turning on the water, you stepped in the shower and hissed at the practical ice that hit your back. Cursing yourself for not waiting, you angrily turned the knob until the water came streaming out at an unbearable temperature. Anything to feel something. 

If you'd checked your phone before deciding to DIY a molten skin peel in the shower, you'd have seen the pivotal text. 

Im coming over

Your skin was a brilliant vermillion hue by the time the pipes began squealing in protest, and you quickly turned off the water before receiving another beautiful blast of frigid water to the face. The faucet continued dripping, and you scrubbed your hair dry to the steady sound.

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Bang! Bang! 

You jumped, hitting your head on the shower wall and hissed. Your front door was none too gently flung open, and you scrambled for anything to defend yourself, huffing when your hands landed on the plunger. It would have to do. Slinking behind the door, you crouched as the distinct sound of heavy footsteps came down the narrow hall towards the bathroom. You tensed and readied to defend yourself.

"Sis?" 

Wade.

You slumped against the wall, exhaling heavily and dropped the plunger. 

"Sis?" The bathroom door slowly creaked open.

"I'm naked you idiot!" You screamed, slamming it shut. Wade swore on the other side. You sighed and rested your forehead heavily against the flimsy wood. "Why didn't you call?!" 

"I texted." He sounded defensive. Banging your head against the door you groaned. 

"Let me get dressed." Wade shuffled back down the hallway to give you space, and you waited until his footsteps faded and you were certain he was in the living room before inching the door open. Peeking out and seeing the hallway empty, you quickly tip toed back to your room. 

And hissed. 

You didn't have any clean clothes. Your eyes darted around the filthy room until finally landing on something vaguely brownish in the corner. Snatching it up, you gave it an exploratory sniff. 

"Clean enough." You grumbled, yanking it over your head and trudged back to the bathroom to wrap your still dripping hair in a towel. Pausing in front of the mirror you groaned. To your growing mortification, you realized that this brown... thing had been the gag gift you'd received at last year's Dirty Santa party. Staring back at you was the demented face of that planter's peanut, and under it... Goofy Goober. "Just great." You muttered, tugging at the hem of the shirt and reluctantly headed towards the living room.

Wade sat sprawled out on your ratty old couch and perked up when he heard your footsteps. Looking up, he noticed your shirt and smirked.

"Kinky." You merely rolled your eyes and folded your arms, leaning against the door frame. 

"Why are you here, Wade?" He fidgeted with his phone, and tossed it on the couch, nervously rubbing his palms on his thighs. 

"We, I was worried about you." 

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine." You gestured to your surroundings with more confidence than you felt. Wade glanced around and looked back at you with a raised brow. 

"Yeah, as fine as Logan." You tensed. 

"Don't mention him." Pulling away from the frame, you shuffled to the kitchenette and rinsed out a mug. Wade followed you and sat at the small folding table. 

"We've all been trying to reach you." He said gingerly, folding his hands and twiddling his thumbs. 

"I know." You filled the mug with water and popped it into the microwave. "And I thought it was obvious I wanted to be left alone." You didn't have to look over your shoulder to know that Wade bristled at that. Good. You thought bitterly.  

"I'm worried about-" 

"You lost the right to be worried about my well-being when I caught you railing my boyfriend in my apartment, Wade!" Your voice sounded tinny even in your own ears, but you didn't back down as you stared down at your brother bitterly. Wade's eyes shuttered and he opened his mouth to protest, but at your heated glare he backed down. 

"It was a shitty move." He whispered. 

I'm sorry. 

"Do you want a cup of coffee?" You responded. 

You're an idiot. 

"Yeah." He met your eyes. Nodding woodenly, you rinsed out another mug and stiffly went through the rote motions of making two cups of coffee. The instant stuff. It wasn't good, but it was cheap. Plopping the mugs on the collapsable table, you sat heavily in the folding chair, and took a sip of the rusty brew. Wade turned his cups in circles and stared into the black liquid. "No creamer?" His eyes flicked up to you. You shrugged and took another sip. 

"Assholes don't get creamer." He winced. 

"Fair enough." He muttered and drained half of the scalding coffee in one gulp. Wade looked at you over the rim of his cup and studied you, his eyes focusing in on the angry red mark that still lingered on your arm, even after three weeks. "How've you been?" He chanced to ask, hesitantly.  

"Not great." You smiled tightly, and he couldn't miss the way your left eye slightly twitched. 

"Have you gotten that checked out?" Wade gestured to the red mark, which you quickly covered with your free hand. 

"It's fine, Wade." You hissed. 

"You're hiding something." He narrowed his eyes. Your grip on the mug tightened, and the distinct sound of glass cracking could be heard. Coffee began spurting out of a large crack in the side of your mug, causing you to hiss again as the hot liquid hit your hand. Wade's brows raised and he jumped back with a loud, 'Woah!', when you growled again and flung the mug at the wall. 

He wasn't taken aback by the blood covering your hand, rather it was your reaction that had him jumping up, knocking over his chair in the process. You were glowering down at your hand, jaw slightly unhinged and... something was dripping from your... 

"Fangs?" He breathed, and your eyes shot up to meet his. "Yo!" He scrambled over himself, backing towards the couch. You stood stock still, hand still dripping blood, but you were something otherworldly in that moment. Your jaw had unhinged like a snake, and you indeed sported a pair of fangs that currently had some sort of venom dripping from them. Wade sat heavily on the couch, and you quickly came back to yourself, eyes clearing as you rushed to the sink to tend to the cut. 

While you were busy running cold water over the cut, and squeezing out the blood that continuously oozed out, Wade sat in shock, running his hands through his hair. You glanced over your shoulder at him, nervously and turned off the water. 

His head shot up, and you turned off the water as he stood and sniffed the air. Your heart stuttered to a stop.

 He smelt it.

You'd become so accustomed to the stench; you'd taken for granted how horrid it was. Your horror grew as his eyes drifted down the hall towards your room. You followed his line of sight, and slowly your eyes met again. Wade's eyes narrowed and he glanced back down the hall, and then down at your hand, dripping blood again. 

You rushed to grab a hand towel, and Wade strode to your room. Cursing under your breath, you wrapped your hand and tripped over yourself in a panic to cut him off. 

No dice. Wade flung your door open, and you found him on the floor, staring into your closet dumbly. 

The blood rushed to your head; your hands felt clammy. Reaching out a hand, you braced yourself against the doorframe and stared at your brother, staring at the box in your closet.

The box overflowing with dead pigeons. 

Finally, he tore his eyes away from the grisly sight, and looked up at you, ashen faced. 

"Wade." You choked out before everything went black.