Night on the Sun
Oct. 2nd, 2010 03:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feel_humanThe shotgun is old but feels good and heavy in her hands. Somewhere downstairs, the blank photo album sits like a mockery of her failed relationship, empty pages she in her foolishness had thought would be filled of memories for her and Bill. Now she wonders that she ever wanted those memories at all. How could she have been so blind as to not care how heavily the bad outweighed the good?
But then the wolves come, and she doesn't have time to think about anything else anymore.
She can hear Bill and Jessica downstairs, the crash and crumble of furniture breaking, but all her attention is on the bitch in front of her: Debbie's blue eyes are alight with malicious delight, saying the things Sookie's only thought in her worst nightmares. You fuck vampires and werewolves because your own kind rejects you, she says, snarling and laughing all at once. They know you're a freak.
It's enough to bring her guard down, enough that she can swipe away the shotgun before Sookie can shoot, and even as they grapple, clawing and scratching, she knows that if she loses, it'll be because Debbie knew just exactly how to hurt her.
She tries to keep everything she knows in mind; tries for the upper hand and barely notices the bruises, the cracked ribs, the scratches and scrapes but it's only by the grace of God that she gets her hands on the pair of silver scissors that have been knocked to the floor.
Even now she can't bring herself to kill Debbie, watches as the white wolf turns tail and heads for the trees, but it's all such a blur and the next time she surfaces, Bill's there and she's in his arms. "I love you," she says, and pulls herself into him.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. She swallows it.
But then the wolves come, and she doesn't have time to think about anything else anymore.
She can hear Bill and Jessica downstairs, the crash and crumble of furniture breaking, but all her attention is on the bitch in front of her: Debbie's blue eyes are alight with malicious delight, saying the things Sookie's only thought in her worst nightmares. You fuck vampires and werewolves because your own kind rejects you, she says, snarling and laughing all at once. They know you're a freak.
It's enough to bring her guard down, enough that she can swipe away the shotgun before Sookie can shoot, and even as they grapple, clawing and scratching, she knows that if she loses, it'll be because Debbie knew just exactly how to hurt her.
She tries to keep everything she knows in mind; tries for the upper hand and barely notices the bruises, the cracked ribs, the scratches and scrapes but it's only by the grace of God that she gets her hands on the pair of silver scissors that have been knocked to the floor.
Even now she can't bring herself to kill Debbie, watches as the white wolf turns tail and heads for the trees, but it's all such a blur and the next time she surfaces, Bill's there and she's in his arms. "I love you," she says, and pulls herself into him.
"I'm sorry," he repeats. She swallows it.
