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That's Not My Name	By : marksandspence Category: S through Z > True Blood Views: 6314 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I have not created the True Blood (credit to Charlaine Harris & Alan Ball) or BtVS universes (credit to Joss Whedon) and do not have any claim on the characters other than the ones I have added. I make no money off of these stories.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4
A few days pass. Peia rarely leaves the bed and has not left the townhouse. During the days, when Eric is next to her, she makes mental plans for getting up and out. Tomorrow night, I’ll go for a walk. Tomorrow, I’ll go get a coffee. But once he has gone off to Fangtasia, the air feels too thick, the bed too clingy. It feels as if spider silk is attached to her arms and shoulders and then to the bed frame – she can stretch it to reach the bath, the kitchen, but it never breaks. It never lets go and the further she moves, the stronger the pull to return. Eric has been remarkably patient. He asks no questions, always waiting for her to talk, to want to get up. Days must pass quickly for someone who has endured hundreds of thousands of them. She has not wanted to talk, to tell him the story. She will. As soon as she goes for that walk. As soon as she can think clearly again.
“I am going to go out today.” She says, as if these words were not unusual. “Could you leave a key for me?”
Without saying a word, Eric reaches for the pants he has just taken off. He fishes in the pocket and pulls out a set of keys. Freeing one from the ring, he says,
“The key is for the outer door. You will need a swipe card for the inner.”
He pulls out his wallet and tosses a card on the bedside table.
“You will not go far?”
She shakes her head. Incapable, she thinks.
“If you wait until dusk, I can accompany you.” He offers, hopefully. He is still skeptical, but encouraged that she is attempting plans.
“I’d like to see the sun. Vitamin D and all that.”
“You should not be without me when night falls.”
He has not yet gotten the information he needs to assess how much danger she is in from this sheriff in California.
She nods. Good thing he does not know that the ‘they’ she referred to before are not limited by sunlight. Unlikely that they would have tracked her after everything that happened. Spike would see to that, certainly. She shakes her head. But can I be sure?
***
She opens her eyes a few hours later, feeling strong. She extricates herself from Eric’s arms, sits up and reaches for the keys on the bedside table. The spider silk is gone, her movement toward the door unimpeded. She is careful to slip through the door quickly, in case they forgot to close any of the outer blinds last night. She locates the large handbag she brought with her from California, tucked neatly in the closet by the door. Inside is a wallet, a small wooden box, a canvass bag containing some silver chains and a few other bits and bobs, including an athletic bra and underwear. She pulls these on, then frowns at the only other clothes she brought with her – the ones she wore that night. She forages through a nearby laundry basket, pulling out a pair of Eric’s track pants. Just need a scissors. She eventually cobbles together an outfit and heads out the door.
She squints at the sun for the first few steps, but then feels her eyes adjust and relax. The air is humid, but reasonably cool for Louisiana. The afternoon haze keeps the sun from beating down too strongly. It makes her skin tingle. She first walks slowly, then briskly. Then after a mile or so, she starts to jog. The wind feels cleansing. As the sweat starts to bead on her forehead, she picks up the pace. She has always loved running – loved the clarity the physical exhaustion brought. But since that night – the night of the failed turning – she has had to run so much further and faster to tire her body. In California, sometimes she would run for hours if she had the time. Today, her limbs and heart complain quickly, but she keeps on running. For the first time in weeks, she feels nearly herself.
She runs in no particular direction, following whatever roads appeal. Soon the buildings and houses disappear and the road is surrounded by trees. She keeps running and after some time, houses start to appear again and she comes through the heart of small town. She starts to feel thirsty and decides to stop to get some water. She sees a bar up ahead – Merlott’s. That is Sookie’s bar. She contemplates turning around, but now that she has slowed to a walk, her thirst has become overwhelming. She continues forward. As she enters, she is relieved to see it entirely empty. She walks up to the bar and rings the little bell. A man steps around the corner.
“Can I help you?”
Out of breath and wiping sweat from her head with a napkin, she asks
“Can I please get some water? I’m happy to pay for it.”
Sam looks her over. She is dressed in only a sports bra and oversized track pants, both of which are soaked in sweat.
“Looks like you need it.” He fills a large glass and passes it to her.
She pulls some money out of her pocket and sets in on the bar. He waves it off.
“No need for that. Maybe just stop back when you’re ready to eat.”
“Thanks.” She gulps down the water.
“Where you been running?”
“Came from Shreveport.”
“Shreveport? That’s a good fifteen miles from here. At least.” He sounds impressed.
“I like to run.”
“I hear that. I enjoy a sprint through the woods pretty regular.”
As she sits and her heart begins to slow, Peia feels a weight descend. Her gut clenches. She needs to go soon.
“Sookie works here, right?”
“Sure. You a friend of Sooks?”
“Sort of. When is her typical shift?”
“Late. She usually comes in around 5.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll stop in another time.” She slips off the stool.
“You leavin’?”
“Gotta get back to it. It’s a long run back to the city.”
“Should I tell Sookie you stopped in?”
“That’s okay.”
She starts to walk toward the door.
“Thanks for the water.”
The tightness in her chest is making it hard to breath. She feels a bit dizzy. She tries to jog when she gets out the door, but she finds it difficult to keep a straight line. Soon she feels hot tears streaming down her face. She forces herself to keep moving. This time, she pays no attention to direction and loses track of time. Soon she finds herself back in the woods, a different one. She sees some water up ahead – a pond, a lake? She stumbles toward it. Before she gets there, she looks up and sees an old tree house. Without thinking, she quickly climbs up the ladder. She sits looking out over the water, hugging her knees to her chest. The tears flow freely now, she sobs while her muscles tighten. She has no idea how long she has been there when she hears a truck engine. Then a door slam shut. She tries desperately to stop herself from crying as the footsteps approach.
I should get up and leave.
Soon a face pops through the floor of the tree house at the top of the ladder. It’s Terry.
“You alright up here?” He asks, knowing the answer.
“Is this your tree house?” She responds in a shaky voice, managing to hold back more tears, but still frozen in the same position.
“Sure is. But you can use it.” He approaches her cautiously.
“I just came across it and I wanted to be alone.”
“Okay.”
“And now I can’t seem to move.”
“You don’t have to move.”
She is shaking now, her mind scattered and flitting. She whimpers.
Terry looks her over carefully with concern. He spies a tattoo on the underside of her wrist. It is familiar somehow. Where has he seen it before? It is a design, like a set of vines, but there are letters embedded. Ah, he sees them now. PTSD. Someone at one of his group therapy sessions at the VA hospital must have had it. He kneels down beside her, his eyes wide.
“Were you in the war?”
She looks over at him, frowning in confusion. He motions to her wrist. She looks down.
“No. Something else.” She feels the need to explain. “In case I forget. Sometimes, I…”
“I know. It’s OK.”
“But it’s not that. I’m just…sad.” Or is it something more? I feel so cold. Why am I here?
“That’s fine. But either way, you’re lookin’ like you may be headed for something worse. You’re not breathin’ real regular.”
She nods.
“Why don’t you try to take some deep breaths for me.”
They are shaky at first, but she manages a few deep inhales and exhales. Her muscles start to relax. The shaking dissipates.
“Do you have your pills with you?”
She shakes her head. She ran out months ago.
“Is there someplace I can take you? Someplace that helps?” He is relieved that she is more focused in the moment, but still concerned. He has seen the process before. “It’ll be dark soon.” He continues.
She glances over, taking in his genuine concern. Something about him feels familiar, soothing.
“Could you give me a ride back to Shreveport?” She asks, tentatively.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
She nods and lets him help her up. They get into his truck and drive off. They don’t speak on the drive much. As they are pulling into the city, she asks,
“Is there a good place, a good doctor? I’m new here.”
“Outside the VA, I’m not real sure. I can ask around.”
“Thanks.”
He pulls over at her indication. He grabs a pen and searches the floor for a scrap of paper. Finding one, he scribbles something down.
“Here’s my number. Call if you need help. Anytime.”
She takes the number and smiles, appreciative. She gets out and waves. He smiles, awkwardly and drives off.
As she walks down the sidewalk, she catches her reflection in a shop window. Her eyes are puffy and red. She looks at her watch. It is almost dusk. Crap. She forces herself to walk around the block a few times, hoping the cool air will help erase the physical signs of her despair.
Cucumbers – isn’t that what the magazines suggest?
She stops in a small shop. No produce. But she finds some cucumber cream and a lipstick and figures that will have to do. She heads straight back to the townhouse, fumbling for the key as she approaches nervously. The instant she has closed the outer door behind her, Eric appears in the doorway to the bedroom. She had wanted to have a few minutes to prepare, acclimate. To her surprise, the sight of him is more calming than demanding. She exhales loudly, not realizing she had been holding her breath.
She manages a small smile.
“Hi.”
He is suddenly only inches from her. The quickness of his movements should be unsettling, but she feels her body react positively to his closeness.
“You smell of salt.”
“I went running.”
Do tears and sweat smell the same to a vampire?
“You are feeling better.”
“Better.” She repeats with just enough tentative inflection to convey the difference between “better” and “all better”.
She wants so badly to bury her face in his chest, to feel his skin on hers, but instead holds back, fighting.
“I should shower”, she suggests as a convenient way to escape the decision.
He looks at her with increasing hunger.
“Should I join you?” Eric responds, cautiously.
He, too, restrains his urge to act uninvited. He knows to tread lightly with this one.
A moment passes while she considers this, conflict and confusion devouring the seconds. He is, of course, asking for more than the contact they have shared these days.
Instead of waiting for an answer, he moves in to kiss her. She awkwardly backs away, clearly not ready.
What is this? Why am I here?
She mumbles a “sorry” as she pushes past him on her way to the shower.
He is frustrated, but not surprised. He knew better.
- 3
- 4
- 5
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That's Not My Name