Page 38 of Afflicted

The punching bag comes loose from its chain with one last right hook, and goes flying across the gym. I stand there, shoulders heaving, sweat running down my chest. She was in my arms. She wanted me to hold her.

She wantedme.

She wanted me.

I run a hand over my face, gritting my teeth and overcome with frustration. He’s touching her right now, he’s touching what’s… What’s…

“Mine,” I mutter to myself. I catch sight of myself in the mirror on the wall, chest still heaving, and I want to smash my fucking reflection into next week. “You fucking idiot.”

The door to the gym flies open, and I growl over my shoulder.

“Fuck off.”

“How come you’re in such a charming mood?” Sam is standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest.

“Long story.” I turn to face her, and she looks me up and down before casting a glance past me at the punching bag that’s lying in the corner.

“Well something’s gotten you mad,” she says, quirking an eyebrow. “Or someone.”

“I’m really not in the mood to explain right now, Sam, so if you have something to say, just fucking say it, alright?”

“Fine,” she snaps. “You’re needed in the office, they found something on the surveillance cameras and they want you to have a look. It would appear someone tampered with the grid.” She turns on her heel and storms back out into the night.

I wipe my face and chest down with a towel before pulling a black t-shirt over my head.You stupid fucking idiot. The one time she asks me to hold her, and I’m acting like I own her.

The worst part of it is, I fucking want to. I want her to bemine. I don't want anyone else touching her. I don’t want anyone else to so much as fucking think of her.

I can hear Margot laughing, chiding me, finding my obsessive nature sweet. “You have an addictive personality,” she’d say indulgently, stroking my hair. “And addiction to love is no different.”

I’m addicted to Juliet, and that one embrace was my first fucking hit.

I snarl as I stalk out into the yard, headed for the office block. I run a hand through my sweat soaked hair as the evening breeze washes over me. The office block is lit up, vamps arguing loudly inside. I push through the door and all eyes turn to me.

“Finally,” Anderson says, throwing his hands up. “Come and look at this, King. This doesn’t look normal.”

I cross the room, the vamps making space for me to pass. Anderson leans back in his chair, gesturing widely to the computer screen. I lean one hand on the desk as Anderson hits play on the surveillance footage.

At first it’s just static, and the only movement is the lights flickering.

“What?” I ask after a minute.

Anderson holds up a hand. “Just wait.”

As I keep watching, a figure in a black hoodie emerges from the shadows of one of the buildings. The figure runs in a crouch through the lit-up areas, coming to a stop at the edge of the fenceline. They pause, turning to continue.

They stop short and take two hurried steps backwards.

In the next frame they’re gone. The timestamp in the corner has jumped 10 minutes.

I shake my head, squinting at the screen. “What the fuck?” I grab the mouse and rewind the footage. But it happens again, the figure is there, obviously startled by something - or someone - and in the next frame, it’s like they’ve disappeared into thin air.

I look down at Anderson, who pinches the bridge of his nose.

“This isn’t good, is it?” He asks.

I look across the room at Sam, who’s standing in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest.

“You said there was evidence that the grid had been tampered with?”

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