Cold blood, hot tempers

[EMPeace]

It had been an unremarkable day at school in early December. Sydney was lost in thought as she trudged home from her bus stop.

Winter break was approaching, and all that she could think about was staying inside, out of the cold. With any luck, this would be the last cold season she had to spend at that school; not that the idea of joining the rat race for employment sounded much better. It'd be a grey bus she waited for every morning instead of a yellow one, she'd be stocking shelves or flipping burgers instead of writing essays. Instead of graduation to look forward to it'd be... what? A slightly less soul-crushing job? The off chance of finding someone dumb enough to go out with her?

A frigid breeze cut through her layers of clothing, scattering her thoughts and further sapping what little energy she had left. Picking up the pace a little, she focused her mind on getting home before she lost too much heat. Her inner voice gradually shifted from nervous ramblings to simple, primal urges. Warmth. Food. Shelter. She had to find these things quickly before she passed out in the cold. Her increasing sluggishness simultaneously made her paranoid about her surroundings and unable to keep track of them. She was in a weakened state. If something attacked, she'd have trouble defending herself. If anyone got too close, they were at risk of a claw to the face. She was in no mood to take chances. If she delayed too long, she might lose consciousness and freeze to death.

Her basic needs were thankfully not far away. The big box made of wood and bricks that she slept in was within sight.


She could already hear her mother and father bickering as she approached the door, but paid it little mind as this was not an uncommon occurrence. She entered the house and did her best not to think about it as she walked straight to her room without saying a word.

Sydney took a couple of hours to warm up and recharge, wasting time with nothing in particular on the internet as she came back to her senses. Eventually, her mother, Olivia, came in to tell her dinner was ready, this was usually one of the highlights of the day for Sydney. Satisfying that primal urge for sustenance was one of the few things that still brought her comfort. It helped that her mother was pretty good at cooking.

Her father, Charles, didn't seem to have stopped complaining since she went upstairs. He continued sipping on his bottle of booze, complaining about everything, and over nothing. He complained about how long the food had taken to be prepared, he complained about the choice of meal, he complained and complained, all while making backhanded remarks about everything his wife did.

Sydney had taken a steady few bites of her food, but the constant hostility bothered her more than usual. She was getting fed up with his constant childishness. He did this at least once a week, sometimes it felt like every night. He had all the reasoning ability of a grumpy toddler when he was drunk, and that was nearly every night. Every sentence he uttered had a jabbing remark directed at his family, his behavior not unlike that of a teenage bully.


Moving to Oregon had taken its toll on her father more than anyone else. His highly-reptilian features made the colder weather a constant source of misery. However, instead of seeking help or dealing with it in a healthy way, he would invariably choose to abuse both alcohol and his family members, ensuring the misery would spread to everyone. It started off with a drink or two on colder days a few years ago, then that turned into four or five. Then it got to where he would spend the entire winter inebriated. Finally, one spring he entirely failed to cut down his drinking with the warmer weather, and his mental state spiraled downward from there. She hardly remembered what he was like sober anymore. He was always prone to losing his temper, but that was his default state now.

The constant hostility day in and day out had grated on Sydney to her breaking point. She knew tonight would be simpler if she just shut up and took it like her mother did, but she couldn't just ignore it any longer. Her mother would act like she wasn't bothered, but the never-ending stress was taking its toll on her. For a while now, she'd been talking about not sleeping well, she was more distant and less enthusiastic, she herself would often be left in snappy, irritable moods. After preparing dinner, she'd often drown her troubles away in alcohol just as her father did, which was only paving the way to further issues with her physical and mental health.

Defying all restraint, she piped up to his latest gripe over his dinner, and just shouted the first thing that came to mind, "I DON'T CARE! JUST SHUT UP!"

Sydney took a split second to wonder why she'd just said that, but her father's immediate response of shouting even louder cut off that train of thought. Part of her wanted to continue adding to the noise, but she felt satisfied with just telling him that his words meant nothing to her.

Her father went on another repetitive rant about Sydney's lack of respect, about the fact that his status as her father commanded some respect that he hadn't earned, and then continued to scream profanities in her face. She didn't bother to listen to much else, but her mother responded very poorly when her father called her a "little bitch". Her mother stood up from the table and added yet another voice to the shouting match over the dinner table. Sydney was hardly bothered by her father's scathing remarks in the moment, but seeing her mother upset made her upset, so she sat in uncomfortable silence as her parents repeatedly yelled over one another. She couldn't help but feel like she caused this.

Her sense of guilt was drowned out, however, when she saw her father forcefully slap her mother in the face, yelling "Shut the fuck up!"

All reason faded from Sydney's mind as she was filled with overwhelming, hot-blooded rage. She stood up, ran over to her father, and shoved him to the floor.

He stumbled for a bit, taking his dinner chair down to the ground with him. His wild-eyed stare gave away an equally uncontrollable rage as he stood back up, faster than Sydney was expecting. He marched toward her with his fists clenched. Sydney briefly wondered if she should take the first swing now, but her father had started this, and she was determined to end it.

Her father saw this one coming, and caught her hand mid-swing. He was drunk, but still terrifyingly strong. He raised his other hand, and gave Sydney a similar slap in the face. This is where Sydney's memory of the event got foggy. She recalled stomping on his bare foot with one of her boots, she remembered grappling her father to the ground, and she remembered finally coming back to her senses with her claws digging in to her father's throat. When she felt someone grab her from behind, she finally registered the fact that her mother had been screaming in horror, begging for both of them to stop. She released her grip on his throat and allowed her mother to pull her backwards, still frantically repeating, "STOP IT! STOP IT!"

Sydney wanted to turn around and hug her mother, but she was seemingly paralyzed. Her father was clasping his throat where she'd just torn small wounds into it, but still breathing as he slowly worked his way back to his feet. Sydney hardly had time to react before her mother was pulling her towards the door, still sobbing. Her mother grabbed her keys, wordlessly guided Sydney to the passenger seat of her car, and got into the driver's seat. Her mother took a few seconds to wipe away her own tears before starting the car and driving in the direction of her sister's house. Sydney's aunt had offered them a place to stay if ever they needed it, though that was originally intended for the event of severe weather or a power outage.

Most of the trip was filled with silence, occasionally broken up by the sound of sniffling.

Finally, Sydney spoke up, her shaky tone of voice betraying her own deep distress. "I'm-... I'm sorry, mom... I shouldn't have done that."

Sydney's mother sniffled again, taking a gulp before shaking her head and responding, "No. It was him. He started this."

She was mostly right, but Sydney knew she'd made the situation so much worse than it needed to be.


Sydney's mother had briefly explained the situation over the phone to her aunt, who was waiting out front for them when they pulled up to her house. Her mother and aunt shared a tearful embrace before going inside and discussing what should be done. It took someone nearly getting killed, but her mother finally accepted that her relationship with her father was no longer working, that they needed to separate.

No one blamed Sydney for the way she reacted, but she couldn't help wondering whether she really would've killed her father that day. He was only alive because of his scales. If that were a normal human's throat, she would have torn right through it. Her father was a vicious animal in every sense of the word, and she knew all too well that she'd inherited that part of him. Was that kind of malevolence in her nature as well? She'd seen for sure that day just how barbarous she could be. Was she doomed to repeat that same cycle with someone else? No. She wouldn't let that happen. She would devote every fiber of her being to being NOTHING like her father. She wouldn't allow herself to become a malicious beast, preying on people who couldn't or wouldn't fight back. She would rather die.

Sydney's aunt and mother did what they could to make the rest of the holiday season feel as normal as possible. Neither Sydney nor her mother were happy about all this by any means, but Sydney took solace in the fact that, just maybe, her mother could get herself back on track without that spiteful excuse for a husband dragging her down at every opportunity. She knew it wouldn't be easy for her mother to cut off someone who'd been a part of her life for so long, but she knew she could do it with the help of her sisters. And besides, Sydney wasn't going anywhere.