The Fledge Effect by R.J. Henry

months!”
“Then explain this.” The cap was
pinched tight between her index finger and
thumb.
“I-I,” his mind trailed off remembering
a needle being stabbed down towards his attacker. I thought it was just a dream. “Look, I
can explain that!”
“Save it, Nick. I am glad I dumped your
sorry ass. Now I see why your own wife left you.”
She twirled around, leaving his room.
Nick flew out of bed, placing his hand
on her shoulder. “I didn’t use drugs until she left
me. Now, will you please just let me freaking explain it?”
“No.” Her voice, cold as winter, tipped
something fierce inside him.
The fiery rage consumed his every muscle, pulsated with blasts of what he called burning embers. He tightened his grip on her shoulder.
She winced. “Ouch! Let me go.”
He growled, ignoring her request.
“Your eyes! What’s wrong with them?”
He growled once more and bellowed.
“Quit judging me!”
Within an urging split second, his teeth
sunk deep into her neck. He held a fistful of hair,
bending her head back. She shoved him away,
wailing in pain, as she lost a chunk of her hair,
and headed for the door. He sidestepped in
front of her, blocking her path. He pulled her by
the arm, flinging her across the living room.
Lucy’s head bounced off the corner of the small
table, making a cracking noise at the impact.
Blood pooled from her ears as her unconscious body lied limp across the now blood-
stained white carpet. Without hesitation he
knelt by her side. Angered by her, he continued
to devour her throat until nothing was left but a
few flaps of skin barely covering any bone.
A cooling sensation shot through his
veins, making his sight become less blurred. His
hands shook after he gazed down at Lucy’s lifeless body. Her head spun across the room. “Oh
God! What did I do?”
He quivered, running into the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, clasping the
sides of his head.
“What the hell?” he yelled at himself.
Nick dropped on the floor, hitting his
head against the wooden frame. His eyes glazed
up towards the reflective glass. Mirror. My
eyes. He grunted, wanting to know what she
meant. In a frenzy, he jumped up and grabbed
his plunger. Using the wooden tip, he stabbed
the mirror with his eyes closed tight. I don’t
want to see it! I am no longer the monster everyone hates.
The glass shattered in many pieces. The
shards clinked against the gut of his porcelain
sink. With each thrust, he grunted. His
strength, causing him to knock the surrounding
frame, made the handle stab through the wall
like butter. Pieces of drywall broke free, leaving
a dusty trail around the knobs of his faucet.
The sight created an invisible itch beneath his skin. An itch, he fights every day. Yet,
he discovered something more fulfilling than
any drug had ever made him feel; blood. Desperate for more, he clung to a glass shard as he
once clung to a needle. He brought the jagged
edge to his exposed forearm, pressing down in
haste. His skin flexed, shattering it in even
smaller chunks of mirror.
After he slammed his fists down against
the edge of the sink, he fixed his eyes amongst
the reflective pieces of glass. They were ice blue,
tinted like gunmetal, with a gold ring illuminating around the pupil. He rubbed his face, taking
slow and paced deep breaths. Looking again,
they returned to their mossy green appearance,
and he said, “Whoa!”
In his attempt to contemplate what was
happening to him, the sound squeak of footsteps neared his bathroom door. “What do you
want?” Nick snapped, listening for any response. He looked down at his naked skin.
“ Nick ? You’re alive?” Emily’s voice
broke when she continued, “H-How? Come oout… Now!”
“Get out of here. You, especially, need
to go somewhere safer than here!” he said, placing a black, silk, robe around his exposed skin.
Marcel tapped her shoulder and said,
“Let me talk to him.”
“Emily? Did you bring someone with
you?”
“Uh, yes, it’s Doctor Johnston.