Chapter 18: Coma

I didn't understand why people hurt each other. I didn't understand why everyone couldn't agree to disagree and just be friends. Why couldn't they compromise? Mom made me compromise all the time. Or, as Candy said, I was outvoted. Because I was usually the minority. Mom said being agreeable was a good trait; Tyler said I had no backbone. What was so cool about a backbone anyway?

"Mom?" I inquired, staring down at the fluffernutter in front of me. I didn't like the creamy peanut butter, but nobody ever asked me. Candy and Tyler liked creamy, so I guess Mom had assumed I liked it too. I didn't. It was too smooth, there wasn't much to bite on, save for the bread.

"Hmm?" Mom inquired, gaze skirting up from the book she held in her hands. The front had a picture of some big tan man holding a lady in his arms. She was pretty, caramel-and-honey colored hair, pale eyes. A damsel, I'd learned, from years of reading mom's romance books. They were far more interesting than the books they gave us at school. I'd always been good at reading, and the whole one-sentence-per-page was sort of... below me.

I cleared my throat, picking up my glass of tea and glancing up at her. "Why do people fight?" I inquired, tilting my head to the side.

Her brows furrowed as I spoke, and she put the bookmark back into the book, setting it down and leaning in a bit. "What do you mean? Sweetheart, you fight with your siblings all the time." She was confused. I could see it in her features as she regarded me, unsure and baffled. This wasn't anything knew; I generally thought more about these little things than she did.

"No, no," I said, taking a sip and setting the glass down. "I don't fight with them. We just disagree. Argue, maybe, but we don't fight. I mean like wars. Pack wars, human wars - why? So we can boss each other around? So we can have more people, more territory? We don't need a lot of space, we just need food and places to shift and raise our families.

"It's all so silly."

Mom stared at me with the look I hated. The look that said you're so young and if only the world was as good and kind as you are. I didn't like that look, it was so... belittling. I was seven; I was still a child, but I wasn't stupid. I was smarter than Candy and Tyler, I helped them with their homework all the time. Mom had even had a meeting with the school principal about having me skip third grade.

I knew my stuff, and I didn't appreciate being treated like some lesser being. But I was the baby, and I knew mom liked to imagine I was a baby on the inside too, so I bit my lip.

She ran a red through her hair, straight and long and auburn, so unlike my own, and shook her head. "Darcy, I wish the world could be like you. Good and kind and pure." She told me with a smile. "You've got a goodness, a light inside of you. Don't let anyone ever put it out."

I smiled and rolled my eyes. She said it all the time, told me not to let my light get put out. As if.

--

As soon as my world went black, I felt my light go black. I felt everything I was going dark and empty and cold, I felt my body go numb and heavy.

I felt myself die.

It felt like I was in darkness forever. I was sure that this was what death was, this nothingness. That religion was wrong, that there was no afterlife. No heaven, no hell, no purgatory, no paradise. I wanted nothing more than to be in this darkness with Candy, I wanted some light to appear. I wanted to wander around on clouds wearing white with her, talking about cute boys and watching our mates live.

But I wasn't that lucky. I didn't get my sister. I got darkness, nothingness.

Then, after what felt like forever, I got the pain. It was overwhelming, it was all consuming. It felt like it was going to swallow me whole, like it was holding me by the neck and choking me. It radiated throughout my body, waiting for me to give in, to give up. It wanted me to. It wanted me to give up, to give in, and I wanted to. But there was nothing to give up to. There was no darkness in the edges of my vision, there was no sleep to take over. It was pain, endless, eternal pain, and it didn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

Somewhere, in the darkness, I could smell it. I could smell him. I could taste him in the air, and it made me hungry and sad and confused. I wanted to be with him, I wanted him to be here with me. But he wasn't. He never would be. Because I was gone, and he'd never be able to move on, not really. He'd wanted me to mark him so badly, and now, after not even a day, I was gone. He'd never have a real mate, he'd never be able to mark someone else.

It was like he was right there, right in front of me. I could taste him like he was a piece of candy, sweet and delicious and I wanted more. I needed more. It felt like I'd never get more, but the longer I waited, the more I got. Soon, it was like he was there, he was a part of me.

Then, he was.

I didn't believe it. He stood there, right in front of me. He looked tired, underfed and overworked. Bags under his eyes, he'd started growing a beard that looked phenomenal on him. He looked so real, so alive, so there-

"Nick?" I whispered, unaware that I could actually speak. I hadn't tried, and realizing I could was surprising.

He gave me a happy, tired smile. "Hey Darcy."

No I'm dead too. He didn't tell me how he was here or why, and though it occurred that I ought to ask, I found myself distracted by how good the shirt looked on him. Pink was his color, and so was red. Every color was his color.

"Darcy," he said after a minute, clearing his throat, "babe, listen to me-"

"I like that." I interrupted him, unable to help it. I smiled, stepping forward. My feet didn't hit the ground, I was in total darkness, there was no ground though we weren't exactly floating. "I like you calling me babe. It's cute. It feels... normal."

"Darcy, listen to me." He was serious. So serious. He was cute when he was serious. "Darcy, I need you to wake up. I need you to come back to me." His voice cracked at the end, and I saw tears well in his eyes. It made my heart squeeze, and I wanted them to stop more than I'd wanted anything before. Save for getting him naked. I really wanted to get him naked.

I shook my head, biting my lip. "Nick, I'm dead. I can't."

"No." His voice was hard and surprised and hurt. He stepped forward, brows furrowing. "Darcy, you're not dead, you're in a coma."

I was in a coma? No, no I wasn't. I'd been shot point-blank by Mila. I'd felt it. You didn't survive a bullet to the brain, it didn't happen. Not even an Alpha could control that. But the thoughts were fleeting as my gaze drifted to his shoulders. "You've got great shoulders, you know that? I just want to sink my teeth into them and take a big bite and-"

He swallowed and my gaze was distracted by his Adam's apple bobbling. He had a great neck. I wondered what it tasted like. I just wanted to run my tongue against the flesh and-

"Why do I want to lick your neck, Nick?" I said slowly, realizing how odd, how foreign these thoughts were. I didn't like it, didn't like thinking in a way that wasn't my own. I didn't like being some horny teenager. It was uncomfortable.

He smelled like anxiety and guilt. He reached out and grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. It wasn't rough or hard, but it was effective. His touch felt like nirvana, it made me want to melt before him and beg him to take me and-

"I've done something you won't like Darcy. Something I had to do." He said slowly, as though he was speaking to a small child. I clenched my jaw, knowing what he was going to say.

"I marked you."

I stepped back, out of his grip, staring at him with a mixture of anger and frustration and relief. I wanted it on an instinctual level, my animal wanted it. But he'd said we could have our happily-ever-after. He'd promised dates and romance and swooning. I knew he'd done it to save me, I couldn't be upset about that. He'd done it to save my life. The mark of an Alpha was a cure-all. It could cure cancer, it could cure a bullet to the forehead.

"And now you're in... heat."

The second hell, or so it seemed. Once my body fancied it was an appropriate time for me to have children, it would go into a heat, and it wouldn't stop until it had... gotten some. Some females had them monthly, some yearly, sometimes once a decade. They only ever stopped when your mate was dead, though you were guaranteed a break during pregnancy.

My body had decided to go into heat while I was in a coma, because the world had decided fuck Darcy!, or so it seemed.

He stared at me for a minute, as if expecting me to respond, and I didn't. I just stared at him, and he stared back, for what felt like forever.

"Will anything ever be easy?" I finally asked, keeping my tone low, quiet.

"No." He responded, tone matching mine, gaze meeting mine. "But we'll make it work. We'll get through it, through anything."

"Some things just aren't meant to work, Nick."

He just watched me for a moment, looking hurt and conflicted and confused. He looked how he felt, I knew that much. And he looked how I felt. Nothing would ever be easy because of who were were and the lives we lead. Nothing would ever be fair. IF we ever had children, they'd be doomed to the same terrible, complicated existence as us.

Then, "Darcy... wake up."

So I did.