Blood of Gato

In one of the impoverished neighborhoods of Bergental, where trash littered the streets and graffiti covered the walls, lived Sophie. The asphalt was cracked, shouts and the hum of old televisions echoed from the windows, while gloomy teenagers and weary homeless people huddled in the alleyways. Sophie dreamed of escaping this place, of one day renting something more decent. For now, though, she had to make do with a cramped room on the seventh floor of a dilapidated building, where drafts swept through the corridor at night.

Today, she was returning home from school. A bag full of textbooks hung over her shoulder, and she instinctively clutched it to her chest, quickening her steps. With each block, the trash piled higher, and fewer passersby were seen on the empty streets. Sophie felt uneasy; it seemed to her that someone was following her. She glanced over her shoulder: only a couple of homeless people rummaging through trash bins and a shabby entrance were behind her.

"Just paranoia… I'm probably just tired," she tried to convince herself, gripping the pepper spray tighter. Its cold surface offered some reassurance.

Suddenly, her phone rang loudly, the shrill sound startling her so much that she nearly dropped her bag.

"Damn it!" Sophie cursed, pulling out her phone on the go. The screen flashed with Tyrone's number.

"Hello, Tyrone?" she answered, slightly irritated. "Why are you calling? You scared me to death."

"Why are you so nervous, gorgeous?" came the familiar, slightly hoarse voice from the other end. "Listen, there's a party happening. It'll be fun. Should I come pick you up? Unless your nerd boyfriend will get jealous."

Sophie rolled her eyes, scoffed, and raised her voice a bit: "What, again without a date? Or have the other girls finally realized what a quick shot you are?"

A pause hung in the air; Tyrone clearly hadn't expected such a comeback. He huffed and, now irritated, replied, "Funny. But you weren't complaining when you jumped on me a week ago."

Sophie smirked, her lips twisting into a playful grin. She stopped by a fire hydrant, surveying the road ahead.

"I just love it when you get angry, Tyrone. It's so exciting. Alright, stallion, come by at six. Just don't be late like last time."

He sighed heavily. "Just dress normally, okay? Don't show up in those rags again," he grumbled through clenched teeth, and without waiting for a response, he hung up.

Sophie shook her head, put her phone back in her bag, and muttered to herself with a grin, "Damn jerk. But at least the guy has money."

She crossed the street, quickening her pace as an old car passed by, blasting music and emitting smoke from the open windows. For a moment, she thought she saw someone dart behind her; she turned again, but the street behind her was empty. Only the wind stirred the trash bags and rustled a newspaper on the doorstep.

"My imagination is running wild," Sophie thought, pulling her hood tighter.

At that moment, across the street in a dark alley between two buildings, William lay in wait. His breathing was erratic, barely restrained—a cloud of steam billowed from his mouth, and his eyes glowed with an unnatural light. He didn't take his gaze off the girl, his claws slowly scratching the brick wall, leaving barely noticeable grooves.

"There you are…" he whispered softly, watching as Sophie approached her entrance. His mind raced between the desire to see her and the urge to disappear, fearing something terrible might happen.

Suddenly, she stopped, turning slightly as if sensing something was amiss. Her heart raced, and she gripped the spray so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Hey! I'll call the cops, creep! Get lost before I kick your ass myself!" she shouted into the darkness, trying to sound confident.

In response, there was only the echo and the rustle of a plastic bag rolling across the asphalt.

Sophie stood there for a moment, then, frustrated, turned away and hurried toward her entrance, hastily pulling out her keys from her bag.

Meanwhile, William, trembling, slowly retreated deeper into the alley, unable to tear his gaze away from her figure.

******

Upon entering her home, Sophie immediately slammed the door and checked that the lock clicked shut. Her heart raced, and her hands trembled. She hurriedly drew the curtains, even the one she usually left slightly open in the kitchen, and turned off the light in the hallway. The apartment fell into semi-darkness, with only her phone illuminating her hands as she nervously scrolled through her call history.

Sophie dialed Tyrone, pressing the phone to her ear very tightly.

"Can you come over earlier?" she managed to say, trying to sound like her usual self, but her voice still trembled. She struggled to keep from shouting.

"Wow, can't wait, huh?" Tyrone laughed on the other end. "Or are you already scared to be alone, princess?"

Sophie gritted her teeth, nearly losing her composure. She clenched and unclenched her fist, her nails digging into her palm.

"Just, damn it, get here, okay?" she hissed. "I… I'll do whatever you want, just don't take your time."

A satisfied chuckle came from the phone. "Oh, look at you, being so compliant today! Alright, I'm on my way!"

Sophie pushed through her inner tremors, hung up the phone, and for a moment leaned her forehead against the front door. Then, still in her shoes, she walked into her bedroom, stripped off her jeans and t-shirt, chose a simple black dress, pulled on a leather jacket, and tied her hair in a messy ponytail—just in case it got in her way. She glanced at herself in the mirror and saw a pale, anxious face with bloodshot eyes.

"I should go to church on Sunday," she exhaled, trying to dispel her anxiety with a joke.

******

Outside, in the pouring rain, William stared at the door to her entrance. His clawed hand slowly rose to the doorknob—his fingers trembled, claws scraping against the metal. A sinister smile played on his lips, revealing sharp, overly long teeth. Wet hair clung to his forehead, and droplets trickled down his neck.

A hoarse inner voice echoed in his mind, tearing at the remnants of his sanity:

"Come on, open it. She needs to understand who's in charge here... You'll show her what she means to you..."

Fragments of images flashed before his eyes: Sophie in his grasp, her terrified expression, blood on his claws, her scream mingling with the rain.

His hand closed around the doorknob, muscles tensing in anticipation. The metallic taste filled his mouth, and for a moment, it felt as though he would truly lose control...

Suddenly, a sharp flash of pain pierced his consciousness. William drove his claws from his left hand into his right palm, drawing blood and causing him to hiss through gritted teeth. Blood dripped onto the concrete, the crimson drops mixing with the rain.

"I did it..." he exhaled, a half-mad grin spreading across his face, frozen in relief and pain. "I... haha, can stop myself..."

At that moment, the distant sound of an engine reached his ears. He released the doorknob and retreated into the shadows, pressing his bloodied hand against his chest.

******

A dark ford mustang pulled up in the yard, avoiding puddles. Tyrone stepped out—tall, broad-shouldered, with a buzz cut and a confident stride. He adjusted his jacket collar and knocked loudly on Sophie's door.

"Come on, open up, baby! Your prince on a black horse has arrived for your gorgeous ass!" he shouted, glancing around and smirking to himself.

Wiping away the wet tears from her cheeks, Sophie quickly slipped on her sneakers and grabbed her bag. She took a deep breath, trying to calm the remnants of fear, and opened the door. In the light of the hallway lamp, Tyrone looked almost like a movie hero, but all she saw was the familiar goofball, oblivious to anyone else's pain.

"Thanks for coming," Sophie whispered, hugging him around the neck and quickly kissing his cheek. Her lips trembled; the old anxiety still lingered inside her.

"What's wrong with you?" Tyrone pulled back slightly, looking into her reddened eyes. "Sophie, are you okay?"

She smiled as best as she could, quickly brushing a tear from her lashes. "I'm fine, just… let's get going, okay?" She hurried to take his hand, as if afraid to let go.

"Of course, let's go, kitty," Tyrone wrapped his arm around her waist and winked. "But maybe you should text your nerd? He might show up and start bothering us. I don't want that idiot ruining our evening."

Sophie smirked, recalling the painful breakup, and with feigned indifference replied, "Relax, we broke up a long time ago. Now I can be with whoever I want. Tonight—it's just you."

She pressed against him, trying to hide the tremor in her hand. Her voice took on a cat-like purr: "So, ready to go, stallion?"

They disappeared into the darkness of the yard, unaware that glowing, predatory eyes were watching them from around the corner.

******

William wandered the night streets like a ghost, lost among peeling facades and trash bins. Tears burned his eyes, mixing with the raindrops and the salt of his anger.

He barely dragged his feet, stumbling over cracks in the pavement. His head buzzed with pain and rage. It felt like his heart would burst out of his chest—or, conversely, dissolve somewhere in the dark void.

"Damn it... that fucking bitch!" he spat out. He pressed his face into his palms, his nails leaving red marks on his cheeks. In the distance, under a rickety street lamp, a few guys were playing with a ball, their laughter and shouts echoing.

William laughed loudly—hysterically, madly, his voice breaking into a falsetto:

"Well, genius, are you satisfied? It was clear from the start! A cunt like her doesn't need pathetic losers like you—spineless and broke!"

He waved his hand toward the yard, where dim lamps glowed in the windows.

"Yeah, I'm just a lucky guy! I was late, you see! I could have been in time, but instead, call Tyrone to solve your problems, and I'm left in the trash!" He mimicked Sophie's voice with a melodramatic, false pitch: "Oh, William, you don't understand, it's so hard for me!"

He kicked an empty bottle, sending it clattering into the bushes. Anger filled him from within, bubbling like a volcano. William stepped into the shadow of the archway, glaring at the peeling walls.

"Just look at the hole that slut lives in!" he shouted, addressing either himself or the ghosts of the night. "Even rats have a better life than this whore!"

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until it hurt. He wanted to howl, to smash everything around him, but he merely cursed and flipped the bird toward Sophie's house.

"Fuck you, you hear me?!" he yelled, his voice cracking into a rasp.

William's outburst did not go unnoticed. On the basketball court, three guys stopped playing and turned to him.

"Hey, psycho, who are you talking to?" shouted one, tall and wearing a red hoodie.

"Forgot to take your meds, loser?" chimed in the second, short with bleached dreadlocks.

"Hey, maybe it's his mom who's sick? Give us her number, huh?" the third laughed, slapping his knee.

William, barely breathing, slowly turned to them; there was no fear in his gaze—only exhaustion and biting anger.

"Maybe I should give you your dad's number? Oh right… he's getting fucked in prison," he replied, surprised by his own sharpness.

The guys fell silent for a moment, exchanging glances. The leader's face twisted with rage.

"Listen, you piece of shit," stepped forward the one with a gun, "What did you just say about my father?"

He pulled a gun from under his jacket and, without hesitation, aimed the barrel directly at William's face. The other two immediately positioned themselves on either side, alert like street dogs.

"Speak now, smartass!" the leader hissed, pressing the cold metal against the boy's forehead. "Or have you swallowed your tongue, boi?"

On a normal day, William might have trembled and begged for mercy, but now he felt no fear. He regarded the guys with a strange, inhuman calmness. Inside, something whispered sweetly and enticingly:

"They're just meat. Play with them. Leave a mark."

He slowly smiled, revealing his teeth.

"Do you solve all your problems with guns?" he asked, staring directly into the eyes of the guy with the weapon. "Or do you just have complexes because you can't do anything in life?"

The guys exchanged glances, not expecting such a response. The leader angrily shoved him in the chest.

"You've completely lost it, Snow White!" he shouted. "Last time I'm asking: do you want your brains to stay here, or will you apologize?"

William exhaled slowly, not breaking eye contact.

"Apologize?" he repeated, his voice low and hoarse, tinged with metallic notes of madness. "For what? For the fact that your daddy couldn't teach you how to be a man? Sorry that your father is a loser and you grew up a dumb thug waving a gun at every opportunity."

He laughed sharply, throatily, like a beast, and stepped forward. The two guys behind him froze, exchanging worried looks—their laughter suddenly silenced. This wasn't how someone afraid reacted. They expected anything from the street kid: pleas, attempts to run, tears—but not this icy calm.

"Dude, maybe we shouldn't?" whispered the tall one in the red hoodie, tugging at the leader's sleeve. "Let's go already; he's really not all there."

Benjamin frowned and glanced at his friend, but seeing William grinning—his fangs glinting in the dark—only fueled his anger. He took the gun off safety, his finger resting on the trigger.

"Ben, don't," the guy with the dreadlocks muttered fearfully, backing away.

But it was too late. William swiftly grabbed the leader by the wrist, and he howled in pain; the grip was inhuman. The gun fell onto the asphalt with a dull thud.

"You... bastard... let go!" Benjamin gasped, trying to break free, but William squeezed his hand so hard that he nearly fell to his knees. There was a crunch, and his arm hung limply like a rag.

"You're so fragile," William hissed through gritted teeth. "Want to see what happens to bad kids?"

The guy in the hoodie lunged at him with a knife, but William, without even looking back, kicked him sharply in the groin. He collapsed to the ground with a scream, curling up and clutching himself as if trying to gather the shattered pieces of his own dignity.

"Damn, he broke my balls!" groaned the guy, rolling on the ground.

The third one, with dreadlocks, started to run, but William grabbed him by the collar, spun him around, and punched him hard in the face. There was a crunch, and teeth spilled into his palm.

"Chew on this," William said coldly, shoving the knocked-out teeth into the bleeding mouth of the guy. "Protein is good for growth, you know?"

"Please... don't..." he gasped, choking on blood and tears.

Meanwhile, Benjamin, with one arm hanging uselessly, crawled toward the gun, his breath hitching with pain and fear. But just as his fingers nearly reached the weapon, William stepped on his palm, crushing it until the bones creaked.

"Oh, don't rush," he hissed, leaning over the leader. "You know, I'm having one hell of a bad day. First, I got sick, then I found out I was cheated on, and now here you are..." There was so much pain and rage in his eyes that even the streetlights seemed to dim.

"Please... we won't do it again..." Benjamin rasped, curling into a ball.

"You won't?" William laughed, hysterically, his voice breaking. "What if I'm sick? Is that a reason to mock me? Is that a reason to screw around with everyone, like she did?" He clenched his fist, bringing it down on the guy's ribs. A crunch echoed, and Benjamin screamed.

"You... psycho... let go..." the guy with dreadlocks whispered, pressing his bloodied mouth.

"It hurts so much!" William leaned in, his face just inches from theirs, his eyes shining with a yellow flame, a low growl emanating from his throat.

******

At home, a warm light glowed, softening the shadows on the walls. When William returned, the clock had just passed midnight, but voices still filled the living room; his parents were awake. His father laughed at something on the screen: the TV was showing yet another sitcom, drenched in artificial light and laughter. William glanced around the familiar surroundings but barely registered anything; fatigue weighed heavily behind his eyelids, and his thoughts tangled.

He carefully removed his sneakers, tossing them with the others by the entrance, and walked through the hallway, trying not to disturb the calm of the late evening. A floorboard creaked underfoot, echoing softly.

"My whole body aches," he muttered to himself, rubbing his neck and yawning widely. "I need to buy an energy drink tomorrow... otherwise, I'll fall asleep right at my desk during class."

The aroma of chamomile tea wafted from the kitchen. Hearing his footsteps, his mother came around the corner, a mug in hand and a soft, slightly sleepy smile on her face. She wore a cozy floral-patterned robe, and her hair was gathered in a messy bun.

"Will, did you go out?" she asked quietly, careful not to wake his father, who was already starting to doze off. She looked relaxed, and her voice was warm.

"Yeah, just getting some fresh air," William replied, trying to smile as carefree as possible. "You sit over textbooks, and it feels like your brain is boiling."

His mother stepped closer, hugging him with one arm while gently smoothing a stray lock of hair off his forehead with the other. Then, almost casually, she sniffed the air.

"At least you didn't drink today," she said cheerfully, winking.

"Mom, I promised," William feigned indignation, but there wasn't a trace of annoyance in his voice. At that moment, he felt oddly light, as if he had shed an invisible burden from his shoulders.

His mother smiled wider, motherly warmth radiating from her, and lightly patted him on the back.

"I believe you, son. Go to bed, okay? Don't forget to have breakfast in the morning, and don't be late for university."

She kissed him on the cheek and returned to his father and the television, humming a tune to herself.

As he climbed the stairs, William paused for a moment, leaning on the railing, and let out a relieved sigh.

"At least I didn't kill anyone today," he whispered to himself, allowing that thought to warm him before sleep.

He entered his room, closed the door, and listened to the muffled voices of his parents downstairs, finally feeling safe.