Capítulo 194: 34. Lady In Black.
The salvatore Hospital, New York City, Day 20 ish. or something like that.
A solitary figure lay in the bed while a nurse walked by. She gently knocked on the glass, hoping the woman on the bed would open her eyes and accept her meal. However, the woman had no appetite and only drank blood occasionally. Despite recognizing that this was not a typical vampire driven by bloodlust, the nurse was forbidden to enter. The creature, or girl, in the bed, was extremely dangerous and unpredictable, capable of causing harm or even death. The nurse knocked again, but the figure only stirred slightly.
Knowing she was in the middle of her rounds and short on time, the nurse reluctantly opened the intercom and spoke, "Miss Springcove, please, you must eat something. We will have a meal for you. Are you awake, Miss?"
There was no response or any indication that the woman was awake. The nurse had to move on, hoping to check on her later and see if she wanted any food.
In the darkness of the shed, I experienced pain and loneliness. Damien's mocking voice echoed in my mind, reminding me of my weakness and how much of a failure I had become. Even though he was long gone, I could still visit those memories, and he knew that not even Wulfe could erase them all, as I refused to let him. Damien had confessed that it was his brilliant idea to teach me to retain my memories, to create a backup rather than giving them away completely.
His sneering words filled me with a sense of despair, as I recalled the agony of the machines tearing me apart and the icy cold water cascading over my torn body. Jelly flooded inside my belly, Damien's hands rubbing my belly, making it melt inside me. Flashes of what came afterward haunted my mind, and I couldn't escape the memory, the nightmare.
I was trapped in a catatonic state, enduring it all. But once I finally broke fucking free, once those neurotransmitters or whatever had stopped tormenting me, I kept it all to myself. I didn't tell a soul. They say that it's wise to change your approach if a certain method doesn't work and that repeating the same mistake and expecting a different outcome is a sign of stupidity. I was here, being freaking stupid.
How many times had Wulfe and Damon taught me I could overcome my nightmares simply by talking about them? That once I confess to having them, it is not freaking hard for them to take them away. But no, I couldn't seem to learn that particular fucking lesson. One could argue that it was my altered mental state that prevented me from sharing, but deep down, I knew it was just me. I knew myself well enough to understand that I had done this many times before—kept it all in, stayed silent.
I am not perfect, and even in this state, I could use it as a perfect excuse to convince myself that I was not in the right state of mind to comprehend my own state or symptoms. It might be true, but even before this, there were times when I didn't have this excuse. It was my pride or the need to protect those around me from my problems. Maybe it is some deep feeling inside me, seeing me weak having these nightmares, and telling or confessing that I had those fuckers, would let everyone notice my weakness. Being tormented by mere dreams or old memories.
The truth is, I see myself as a flawed person, like a lady in black. If I even have a soul, it has taken many hits, and not all of them are because of a lack of love. Many of these hits come from my dark side, my inner killer. It's just who I am. My mind is not perfect. I am not like Mariella, who finds it easy to trust Damon and let him be strong for her. Maybe it's our troubled past that has eroded my trust in others, no matter how hard they try to prove themselves to me. Or maybe it's just my mind, jaded and having seen too much, been through too much crap.
Somewhere along the line, I lost my ability to trust others. I used to trust, but not anymore. That's why I don't recruit in the old-fashioned way so much. While fighting someone may reveal our strengths, it doesn't tell me everything. In my line of work, one has to be extremely cautious. So if and when I do recruit the old-fashioned way, I have already done my homework on that individual and considered them as a possibility.
I am cynical; I admit it. It's my life, my job, that has taught me to be that way. As nasty as it is to lose one's trust in the goodness of others, too many lost lives have made it abundantly clear to me that not everyone out there shares my dreams, my need to help, save, and make this wretched world a little better place, even for few humans.
I was trapped in a never-ending whirlpool of nightmares and speculations that my failing brain would conjure up in its desperate attempt to make me feel anything but. It diminished my feelings of empathy, regret, and everything else. It wasn't obvious that something was seriously wrong with me and that I needed help. It was a subtle shift in my mind that just happened.
It felt normal, almost as if I was tired of feeling all those emotions. And in a way, I was. Without the proper doses of oxytocin and serotonin, my brain couldn't feel any positive emotions. They just faded away, forgotten, and my pain, my darkness, not my killer side but this feeling of being a monster, being something not human and maybe a creature without a soul took slowly over.
Funny, when I think about it, being a vampire isn't as glorious as it seems. First, there's the bloodlust. You have to constantly crave blood and consume the life force of another being. And depending on how strong of a vampire you are, the life force you require needs to match your strength. The people who want to become vampires are usually fools, seeking strength and desiring more potent blood.
It has me wondering how many fledgling vampires lose their lives because of this syndrome. How many of those idiots go after something too strong and then this happens? It doesn't indicate how strong you are, only that you've consumed blood that's too powerful and has thrown your mind off balance.
And that's not the only problem vampires can face. There are many ways to hurt vampires and there are plenty of evil scientists ready to test vampires as well. Being a vampire does not give you immunity to being free from torture or experimentation. No, it almost calls those bastards after you. Vervain, holy water, tainted blood, too strong blood, and quite many herbs are harmful to vampires, and because of certain instincts, it is easy to lure vampires into the trap. If these issues were made public, being a vampire wouldn't be as enticing to humans. Sure, you can theoretically live forever, but even rare vampires like Wulfe have admitted that their time is limited. I, along with my pack, am one of the few who actually live forever, and it's a frightening thought.
As I contemplated all these thoughts swirling in my mind, some of them evoked emotions while others no longer held any significance. It was like my memories, the good times, the love, all the things that used to bring me strength were losing their vibrancy. The idea that Damon's love for me would give me the strength to endure memories of pain or thoughts of Damien seemed ridiculous.
Furthermore, I was beginning to see my pack was nothing more than a group of mindless creatures driven by sex. I never truly fit in, no matter how hard I tried. I attempted to lose myself in the carnal desires and indulged in months of freaking passionate fucking, but I still felt like an outsider. They had never welcomed me in, not like they took Wulfe. But then again, Wulfe being a magical creature and I was not, it had been always one thing separating me.
I was trapped in a catatonic state, unnoticed by everyone. It had become a regular occurrence for me to sulk and lie in bed, but no one bothered to consider why. Instead, they made assumptions as usual. When the truth finally emerged, they promised to remember and learn from it.
But I can't help but wonder if my purpose is to suffer and serve as an example of what can go wrong. When will they realize that I am not okay and take action? I understand that they have their own problems and will eventually learn from them, but still... I am exhausted from always being the one who suffers, regardless of my past mistakes. Others make mistakes too, so why am I the chosen one? This wasn't the first time the pack assumed something different from the truth, and it won't be the last.
We are eternal beings, destined to live forever, so perhaps this is just our way of learning. I have learned from this experience and the ones that followed, that despite my dark state, I am not alone. There was someone there to catch me, and this time, it wasn't Wulfe. I had multiple people, my fleas. Maybe it is also my duty to save others, and perhaps my reward is that I truly have them, and they have me. If I ever find myself in a bad situation, they will be there to support me, even when the pack is unable to.
They are my other pack, and throughout the years and centuries that I have led the fleas, they have had me. I haven't even counted how many generations of Penns have been part of the fleas. There is always a new one ready to join, and it is always their choice. It is somehow what their family desires, and it is never something they despise. It is what they have wanted since they were children. It may seem overwhelming, but it also provides me with the opportunity to share the stories of those who came before them.
Penn and his family are not only one, there are others and I have taken into me, to tell those stories from the past that seemed to be so long ago, to those who are with us now, from their ancestors. Maybe it is one of my purposes, being the one who still remembers and tells on. Being some kind of supernatural recorder of history.
It is not bad to share my war stories, but it is always my choice what to tell them, and what to keep to myself. Though I must admit, having a group of darn strong telepaths who have lived with me all this time, they don't allow me to prettify the past and sometimes they snatch my memories, telling or showing my stories to new generations.
I realize my story may seem a bit disjointed as I remember various things while I write, but this is just me. Sometimes when Pack wants me to tell the story, it begins, but then my mind gets sidetracked and this happens. So, it is what it is and I'm not going to turn it into a clinical account of my increasing madness. Well, it's not that much madness, but rather a feeling of emptiness. Perhaps my mind is distracted as I try to recount this time that wasn't so pleasant.
Imagine the most beautiful painting in your mind, one with colors so sublime that even a rainbow couldn't replicate them. Then, imagine those colors starting to fade and the picture, the painting that told you a story, becoming just a picture. And as time goes on, it loses its colors, its shapes, until it becomes nothing to you. It becomes uninteresting to even look at.
That's what was happening in my brain. I lost my ability to feel, and the positive emotions were mostly gone. All that remained was rage, self-hate, and self-doubt in my malfunctioning brain. Part of my thought processes became robotic, clinical, and devoid of any emotion.
My perfect days were gone, and all that was left were the ruins of an individual who had once again been left outside alone, without any help, with no way to truly express her state. Simply because she was so strong, even her Pack, those who should see her as part of their family, were afraid of her. And when you're afraid of someone, you don't think clearly about their well-being. It's almost comforting to witness their struggle and see that they're not as strong anymore. That's just how our minds work. We're always wary of those we perceive as stronger.
Ironically, I am the strongest in many ways. However, nowadays, my pack has stepped up, and I can no longer say that they are afraid of me or my powers. It's as if I allow my powers to be felt or seen. There are now several individuals, from Salvatores to Wulfe, Dresden to Constantine, who play their part in keeping me in line. My role as the power battery of the pack hasn't changed. The only difference is that there are now more people willing to take on my powers whenever I need to unload my pathos.
During my time in the hospital, there were moments when they did not bring me food when I was ready and able to eat. It was rare for me to actually consume anything, so it seemed like I was intentionally fasting due to being messed up. Not that anyone would really notice or care about the difference.
I understand that my pack was also recovering, even though they weren't the ones trapped in a plexiglass prison. They had no idea that their minds were also in disarray, and I don't blame them. They didn't drop the ball on this, and I don't blame Colin either, even though he blames himself. He was unable to feel me through our bond because he was also sick. Colin had contracted a nasty infection and was receiving treatment. This truth would eventually come out.
Of course, it would be something new for him to be honest and share about the pack, the fact that he's sick. However, being a wolf, they tend to hide their weaknesses as well. It took some time for Damon and several Salvatores to teach Colin how to communicate when he was ill.
It's wise to inform your pack leader, who happens to be the best teeth vampire in the universe, more or less. His dental skills can work wonders. If anyone in our pack has a problem, it's important to inform at least one Salvatore, so they can consult their teeth and see if there's a solution. And if not, well, they are pretty skilled doctors as well. It's comforting to know that I'm not the only one who has had to learn things over the years.
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