I can't believe that my sanity lies in abandoning you.

I glance around the deserted  fairgrounds as I leave the property. I almost welcome the distraction that Troy and one of his Anarch recruitment speeches would bring. Something that would divert my intentions.
Divert my intentions? Shouldn't the fact that Alex is trusting me be enough? Shouldn't it be enough that he expects me to come back to him? Come back whole, and unharmed?
My stomach feels like a hollow pit, and I can't tell if it's from hunger, or...

I halt my progress, realizing my body is betraying me, taking me north. To Baltimore. To him. Rocking back on my heels, I try to stifle the cry that escapes my lips.
Please. I don't want this. I don't want this suffering. I don't deserve it. 
And yet, my feet begin moving again. Taking me to my teacher, and his lesson. Self loathing rises in me like bile.
Idiot. He'll know. He'll follow you. He'll try to save you and he'll get hurt and it will be YOUR FAULT.
I rub at my face and start to run, increasing my speed in anticipation.
Isn't this why I go to him? Because, I'm a cold, heartless beast. A monster. I need to be punished for every horrid, atrocity that I've committed. That includes hurting Alex.

It seems all too soon that I arrive in the city. Passing the storefronts and empty restaurants, I make my way into Little Italy. The church looms in my view, the interior still lit with a soft glow. I know that Tommy is inside. Pacing or praying. Possibly expecting me. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I was stronger. And yet, as far as I've came, my feet don't take me any further. It's as if there's a gentle hand, holding my arm, pulling me back. Drawing me from danger. I can hear Alex's voice in my head, more comforting and trusted that any other.
Go back to him. Let him help you. Let him fix you. Don't do this.
I take a step back, then another. I know that even a glance of Tommy, even a whiff of his scent will sway my resolve. Turning my head away, I make the first healthy decision in decades. My body is a blur as I race back towards Crownsville. Back towards Alex.

He's bewildered as I crash back into his room, a hurricane of tears and guilt and fear.
"Alex, I'm so sorry! I lied. I lied to you. I thought I couldn't help myself, but I can. I don't want Tommy. I don't him to hurt me anymore. Please help me, Alex. Please."
He pulls me into his arms, his presence easing my terror. His words assuaging my guilt.
"I understand. I forgive you, Madelyn. I love you, you're safe."
I fold into him, squeezing my eyes shut and burying my face in his chest. I won't hurt him anymore. I love him, and owe him my full devotion. I hear his voice from somewhere above me.

Fool. 

The air in the church is stifling and thick. I blink, pressing my back against the wooden door as the parishioners finish their prayer, no voice standing out as much as Tommy's baritone.
"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."
My guilt threatens to swallow me, and the only thing that will bring me peace is the sting of a whip. The bite of a blade. The strike of a fist.

God, help me.

https://youtu.be/S9Qrvxa-n20

I didn't want to know. I just didn't want to know.

At the Anarch barony, I sit on Alex's futon, watching his back as he fiddles on his computer. I can almost feel my influence wearing off as the oncoming storm of his emotions creep back into the front of his mind. His hands clench around a hank of cords and wire, wrapping them with unneeded vigor. A foot kicks out, sending a pile of empty bottles skittering out from under the computer desk. I pull my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and attempting to curl myself into a unnoticeable, nonthreatening ball. My eyes stick to Alex, my expression fearful, yet expectant.

The building is quiet, he and I being the only occupants. The silence is broken as Alex sweeps his arm across the desk, sending his possessions across the room and into the wall with a deafening crash. I flinch, shrinking back against the couch, briefly squeezing my eyes shut. He remains unnervingly silent, resting his elbows on the now bare table. His hands clasp together behind his neck, his legs bounce furiously with anger. My voice is a whimper as I speak his name.
"Alex?"
He sits there, unresponsive for several minutes, before moving his hands and rubbing at his face. "Do you love him?" he asks, his quiet tone failing to mask the anger and pain behind it. "Please, god, just give me the truth Madelyn. If you have any love for me, tell me honestly." He doesn't look at me, and I'm glad, knowing my words will hurt him enough without the stricken expression that accompanies it.
"...I do." My voice is near silent, and I pray he mistakes it for his imagination.
He winces, not saying anything for a few moments. "Why?" he asks quietly, the anger in his voice dulled, as the hurt replaced it.
My thoughts turn to a mantra of apologies, unheard and unspoken."I don't know. He took care of me when I was dead...whatever I was. He was there when everyone else left me." I squeeze my knees closer to my body, repeating myself."I...don't know.."

He lets out a very audible groan and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. After several silent moments, he asks a question that hits me like a shot put to the gut.
"Did you ever love me?"
I let out a strangled sob before I can help it. In a blink of movement, I abandon my spot on the couch, kneeling prostrate at his feet.
"Alex, please don't say that. I love you...nothing...no one can change that." I reach for him, but quickly pull my hand back, holding it in my lap. "I never meant for...anything. I told you. I told you, I'm poison. I'm sick.." 
I drop my gaze, trembling. Selfishly, I want to run from the pain. His pain, that I caused him. He turns his head slightly, wincing as if I struck him. His eyes stare forward, until finally he pulls them down to look at me.
"I need you, to put yourself in my shoes, Madelyn. What if you learned I was sharing a bed with someone, and I wouldn't tell you who, and I tried to keep it all a secret. And you found out not from me, but from them. I don't know what I can trust from you..and I don't know if I'm being the biggest blind fool in history for thinking you actually care about me."

Oh god. Is this what Tommy told him? What he thinks?
My voice is strained as I reply, "That's not..."
I cover my mouth with my hand, looking nauseated. "That's not what...you don't understand."
He looks down at me, leaning in his chair. "You're right, I don't understand, because you haven't told me anything. I'm literally just going off of things that I'm putting together. For the love of god Madelyn, please tell me I'm wrong, please tell me I'm not a fucking idiot for holding out hope that you love me."
My response is immediate, unhesistant. "If there's nothing else I'm sure about, the fact that I love you has never been contested. Never." I hold my head in my hands, still knelt at his feet. "I tried to protect you. If you knew.." I continue in a near silent tone."If you knew what I let him do to me..."
He moves down to the ground next to me, listening, holding out his hand and gently rubbing my knee. "Ok, I believe you" he replies. "I need to know. I need you to let me in." His expression is pained, and my insides seem to twist. "I'll. .I'll make you a deal. If you talk to me tonight. I will not go after him tonight, or tomorrow night. I will not take any action against either of you for a period of time. But...things could change, and ..there might be a point, when a confrontation is needed. But not tonight, not tomorrow, not the night after that."
I give a quiet whimper at his touch, my own hand twitching towards his, convulsively. Again, I keep my hand in my lap, feeling frightened to return his affection.
"You can't..you can't go after him, Alex. Do what you want to me, but please..." I trail off, shuddering as I imagine all the ways Tommy could bring about his death.
"I can't make a promise that I won't go after him ever...forever is a very long time. But, I will not go after him now if you tell me everything. No matter how bad it is. "

All the vivid, harsh memories of Tommy's lessons flash through my mind. At the end of each recollection I see his hazel eyes burning into mine. I swallow, reflexively. "It's not his fault." My voice is low and shameful.
I can almost sense Alex's disgust as he replies, "I doubt that very seriously, but tell me your side of this...please..." He reaches out and gently touches my cheek. "If you can't go into details, I understand. Just...an overview."
I place my had over his, pressing my face into his palm. I avoid his gaze, my voice timid. "He hurts me." Even quieter. "...I let him."
He strokes his thumb along my cheek, listening to me and nodding. "He hurts you physically Sexually?"
I hear the struggle to keep his voice even, and wince. "Both."
He nods, not changing his position or demeanor. "Why do you think you deserve this? More importantly, why is he the "enlightened" one to deal out repentance? You have to see the hypocrisy...a man says you need to repent, when he himself is a monster."
I grit my teeth, speaking through a clenched jaw. "I deserve it because I'm a monster. He understands because he is, too." Blinking my eyes rapidly, I try to fight the tears that threaten to spill from them. "He says he loves me." The words sound just as stupid and unbelievable as when Tommy speaks them to me.
"And you say you love him. Do...you like what he does to you?" I know that if I were to peek into Alex's thoughts, they would be broiling and churning with his struggle to remain stoic and calm.
I whisper, "....no."
He nods again. "Sounds an awful lot like Stockholm syndrome." 

His whisper is barely louder than my own. "I love you. Thank you for telling me this...this helps me." He sighs heavily.
"I'm sorry." A red tinged tear manages to escape from one eye. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry that you have to be in love with me."
He wipes away the tear with his thumb and looks at me, trying to catch my eyes with his. "I just wish you had told me sooner. I'm sorry that this is happening to you. .I...I love you so much."
I return his gaze, tentatively. "I love you, Alex. I'm sorry...I'm so sorry." I lean forward, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my face to his chest.
He returns the embrace, holding me tightly. "I'm sorry too. Sorry that I can't fix all of this ...that I can't make you happy..." My brow furrows as he kisses the top of my head and holds onto me. "We all do horrible things, we are all monsters...our fights against them our own."
I pull away  as much as I'm willing to, looking incredulous. "You do make me happy. You're the only thing that does make me unconditionally happy."
"I hope I can always make you happy." He whispers, gently rubbing my leg. "We will get through this, we will over come this. We will do this together."
I hold my forehead against his. "I'm glad one of us has a positive outlook."
"I'm wholly surprised it's me," he whispers, kissing the crease in my brow. "I promised I wasn't going to leave you willingly, I intend to keep that promise."
I try to relax in his arms. "Over the decades, I've learned not to hold anyone to their promises." I state this sad, but as a matter-of-fact. "I'm sorry I...fucked with your head." My tone and expression match in their guilt.
"I know where it comes from, and maybe you saved me from doing something stupid last night. But, try...not to do it...maybe. I just am afraid of being controlled, I guess." He slowly stands up, offering his hand to me. "I want to lay down, and I want nothing more than to hold you while I do that."
"I just didn't want you to get hurt. Or...anyone."
I take his proffered hand and climb to my feet. Squeezing his hand in my own, I reply, "I would like that."

He walks us over to the pulled out futon, shutting off lights and turning his monitors off as we move. He sits down, the springs squeaking, and gently pulls me down with him. His arm curls around me, as we settle onto the mattress together. "That's all I want as well, for you not to be hurt. My situation is easier, in that regard. I only care about you not getting hurt."
"I'm..." I pause, resting my head on his chest. "I'm strong, Alex. I've handled a lot, and can handle a lot more." I curse myself inwardly, as my voice betrays my attempt at honesty.
He gently runs his fingers through my hair, eyes closing as he speaks. "You are incredibly strong, trust me, I know." He gives a soft laugh. "I want you to believe in your words, I want you to believe that you are indeed strong but, I think this is going to a test of your inner strength rather than your physical strength."
I sigh lightly, my hand resting on his waist. "I can't do it without you. I have no reason to want to do it without you."
He moves his head, lowering it to kiss my lips gently. "You have me, for as long as I'm on this earth." He falls silent. "...and for as long as there are Taco Bells."
I kiss him back, my mouth curling into a smile against his lips. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck, mumbling. "Tacos and velociraptors, the basis of any lasting relationship."
He laughs softly. "It's a solid foundation." He smiles and rests his head against my, eventually drifting off to sleep. Tucking myself into Alex's embrace, I squeeze my eyes shut against any intruding thoughts or emotions.

As I lose the battle with my own consciousness, I hear the impossible words, spoken from the text message sent before any of this.
"Good girl."

Two worlds are warring in me. Both sides are losing, patience has died.

These are two worlds that never should collide. 

The minute Tommy walked in, the second I caught his scent in the room.
No.
Alex's eyes boring into mine. Concerned. Angered. Furious.
No.
Pyotr, towering before me with his questions.
No.
Sailix's obviously comfortable familiarity with the priest.
No.
I couldn't let them get hurt. I couldn't let them hurt him.

"Who is he? How does he know my name?"
Because he heard me speak it in my sleep, while wrapped in his arms. Because you were in every tear that fell as I relented to his body pressed against mine. Because it was the agony I felt as he dug his fingers into my wounds. Alex. My Alex.

The smug smile on Tommy's lips. Like the victor in a battle that has yet to begin. No starting pistol. No first punch thrown.

I can't let him get hurt.

I reached in their heads. Flick flick. Like a light switch. Dulling emotions. Deadening anger. Call it energy efficient. I watched them leave me. My friend, my father, my love. Alone by my own hand. But not alone.

Not alone.

Tommy's hands on my shoulders, his lips against my ear, his words. He was all around me and they were gone and I trembled and shook and fell apart.

His good girl.

I'm sorry Alex. I love you.

I deserve this.

https://youtu.be/KXBsbbHqqFg

Who will slay this thing. I forgive you. Who will play the butcher and end my suffering. I forgive you.

I love you.
Alex's words, clear, in my head. Almost enough to make me stay. His concern. Tybalt's. It's almost enough. I wrap my arms around him briefly, the feeling adding another tether to my already dragging feet.
"I love you, too."
And quickly, so quickly, I exit the room and the building and the property. I sever the link between their minds and my own, terrified that a stray lamentation or hint to where I'm going will pass on to someone. I slip from view and run, knowing where my feet will take me. My phone goes off and I peruse the message. It's from Sailix. More concern. More undeserved concern from people who care for me. After a few responses, I toss the phone into the nearest body of water. I try and fail to erase their minds from my thoughts. Pyotr. Undeserved loyalty to me.

I'm a monster.
All I deserve is pain.

There's no telling how long it takes, but I arrive outside of the church. I stay back. Stay hidden, and listen to the sounds of a sermon. His voice. I might as well be standing outside of that bomb shelter, waiting for cold gray eyes and the blade of a knife. Are they not one in the same? Do I not heed his call as well as I did my Sire? I breathe in deeply, awakening my hunger. My instinct tells me to take everyone. Slaughter the congregation. Slake my thirst and evoke the Father's wrath. It's what I need. I need him to beat and berate the sickness out of me. To stick his fingers in me and rip the illness from my core. My diseased insides.

I sink down to my knees, feeling each chunk of asphalt press into my skin. This little pain, little sacrifice, it isn't enough. I push my palms into the ground, wanting skin to break and blood to flow. I hear the church doors open and I look up, seeing masses of bodies exiting the building.

And there.
And there.
My savior.
My devil.

Without warning, thoughts come forefront like a book falling onto its spine and spewing pages. My chests aches as Alex fills my mind. His words and his smile and how healthy he makes me feel. My eyes focus on the tall, dark haired priest. His smile is natural and easy as he shakes hands, and offers his embrace to the departing crowd. He would mock me, if he knew how I yearned. He'll tell me how wrong I am for thinking I could have someone clean. Someone not like me.

Go back to him, Maddie. Let him help you. Choose help, not hurt.
My mouth still tastes of Alex's blood. I still feel the tear of his skin between my jaws.

Never. I will never hurt him again.

The irony of that statement hits me like a bullet. Flinching away from the feeling, I stand and brush myself off. I pull my hood up, drop all concealment, and wait on the sidewalk for him to notice me. Shifting from foot to foot, I still as his eyes meet mine. Warmth radiates from his glance, even as he turns to a small group of women, speaking to them in Italian and sending them through the church doors.

I wait, and Tommy draws near with a wide smile.

"Hello, Madelyn. Welcome back."

You sink into my clothes, and this invasion makes me feel worthless, hopeless, sick.

I exit the doors of St. Leo's, forcing myself to walk slowly and calmly down the stairs to the sidewalk below. I talk a few steps away from the church, and peer over my shoulder warily. Seeing no one, I slip into Obfuscate and run blindly from the buildings. As I run, words repeat in my head like a mantra.
I can't. I can't. I can't. I can't.

Almost subconsciously, I allow my feet to take me in the opposite direction of my home, knowing Alex would be there. Knowing there was no way I would ever allow him to see me like this. Knowing I can't allow him to find out what I just let happen to me.
I can't. I can't.

I head to a residential area, the smell of Kine coming from each house turns my stomach, despite my own lack of blood. Pinpointing an empty house, I make my way to the side of the building, pry the plywood from a window, and haphazardly climb in. My shirt snags on a splinter of wood and I gasp, falling to the carpet and staring at the small tear, horrified. Peeling the shirt from my torso, I fold it into a neat square. I unzip my boots and take them off. Standing and removing the skirt and modest undergarments, I fold them as well and hold the clothing to my bare chest.

They smell of blood.
They smell of Tommy's hands.

The room feels devoid of air, and despite my lack of need for it, I feel like I'm suffocating. My chest heaves, and the whistling whine of breath coming from my lips hurts my ears. My skin is clean, thanks to Tommy's thorough bathing, but I smell it. I smell him on me and hear his voice and feel his...

Thick, gelatinous fluid splatters onto the floor and my bare feet. The speckles of red stand out starkly on my white flesh. My stomach churns again and I fight to keep down the remaining vitae in my system. I wipe my mouth and stumble further into the house, leaving bloody footprints in my wake.
I can't. I can't. I can't.

There's cold tile under my feet. I reach out, placing the neat pile of clothing on a closed toilet seat. I avert my gaze to the floor in the dark room, feeling around until I touch the smooth expanse of the mirror. My fist pulls back and smashes into the glass. Shards of the reflective surface embed in my knuckles, and I welcome the pain. Shaking my injured hand, sprinkling blood on the porcelain furnishings, I climb over the lip of the tub and slide the glass door shut.

My desperate panting echoes off the tile, and I force myself to stand despite the deep set ache below my waist.
"I needed that. I needed what he did to me. Because I'm sick, and dirty, and bad. Because I'm a monster."
I let out a keening wail, and spin the hot water tap.
"I'm a monster and I deserve to be hurt."
The spray of the water hits my naked body, warm at first, but quickly growing to a scalding shower. Steam fills the small, wet closet. My already abused flesh begins stinging, and then burning as the unrelenting spray falls over me. I press my hands to the wall, holding myself up, making myself endure the agony.
Just like when Tommy pushed the hooks into my...
The bottom of the tub swirls with red, as I once more lose the battle with my churning gut. Finally succumbing to weakness and blood loss, I slide down to the tub floor. Using my foot to press the drain stopper in, I watch my skin turn crimson as the level of scalding water grows higher. I try to ignore the tears that trail down my cheek, telling myself it's from the shower. When the tub fills to the brim, I turn the water off and soak in my pain.

I clench my eyes shut against the tears, but the effort does nothing to halt the memories. The barbed whip yanking at my flesh. The lights glittering off of a heavy ring as it flies towards my face. The empty wine bottle. Tommy, standing before the bloody altar, his face and clothes stippled with blood as he unbuttons the tented front of his trousers.
"Please don't hurt me anymore."
My agonized begging is answered by nothing but more pain. I sink down until only my face is above the rapidly cooling water, refusing to move. Refusing to leave.

More noticeable than the ache in my body, is the ache in my chest.
I want Alex, and his comfort.
I want Tybalt, and his vengeance.
But what sickens me. What repulses me, is that more than anything, I want Tommy and his pain.

"I love you, Madelyn, and will not let you be left out alone."

His words echoing in my mind, I plunge my head under the water and hold it there.

I'm gonna get defiled. In your world I'm naive like a lost child.

It's raining buckets as I wander the streets of Baltimore. Metal blares from the headphones tucked under my hood as I make my way down the street to Tommy's church. I've been avoiding the priest lately, avoiding the confrontation involving dead Kindred that once more walk the streets. Rubbing at my forehead, I stare up towards the towering cathedral. The doors are propped open, despite the dark torrent of rain. I inhale deeply, tasting Tommy's scent coming through the archway. With only the slightest hesitation, I walk through the doors.

At the front of the room, a dark haired, dark garbed priest stands at a bare altar. He kneels, the sounds of his joints cracking reaching my ears as I approach. Tommy crosses his arms and bows his head, seemingly oblivious of my presence. I stare at his back, my brow creased as I pull my hood down and tuck my iPod in my pocket. Nudging Tommy gently with my foot, I speak softly, as to not disturb the silence of the church. "All that praying you do...don't think it's making a difference."
Tommy responds with a voice not above a whisper. "Not praying, just talking to myself."
I raise my eyebrow, unseen by him. "Is there actually a difference?"
"Not for me." Tommy states with a sense of finality.
Some of my trepidation escapes me as I reply, staring down at him. "Obviously. What were you praying to yourself about?" 
Still on his knees, weight leaning on his forearms across the altar, Tommy merely replies: "Purpose."

"Heh. That." I lower myself to the ground at his level, sitting adjacent to him. "I saw an old friend of ours, Tommy." Anxiety creeps into my voice, as I fail to retain a casual tone.
"You have friends?" His response has little humor, and the words draw a grimace from me.
My mouth opens to reply, but I quickly close it again. I pause, shoulders sagging, ashamed of the hurt that I can't hide from my tone. "...yes." I fight to sound more assertive as I continue. "This...friend. It's weird, because you said that you killed him."
Tommy's body stiffens visibly, and he begins to stand with a shuddering movement of his legs. "A friend of yours that I killed?"
I watch him from my spot on the floor. "Pyotr."
Tommy freezes mid-rise, then laughs loudly from deep within his stomach.
"Oh! You almost had me worried. Of course you've seen Pyotr, Madelyn." He turns to look down at me, adding, "You poor thing."
I don't drop my gaze, despite his condescension. "No. No, Tommy." I try to entice bravery into my own tone. "Something is...no. I think...I think you're confused about a lot of things."
Concern crosses Tommy's face like a wave, beginning at one eye and passing over the rest of his countenance. "It's okay, my dear. It's all alright. I believe you. You're alright." His eyes water lightly in the light of the church.
My reply is automatic, tinged with anger. "Stop it." I climb to my feet, placing my hands in my pockets and shaking my head. "I don't need..." I pause, steeling myself. "I don't need you to believe me."
He reaches his hand out for mine, replying, "What matters, my dear, is that you believe you. That you are willing to believe yourself."
My own hands clench into fists in my pockets. After a moment, I extract my right hand and firmly take Tommy's. "You're insane."
He smiles knowingly and places his other hand over mine. "No, Madelyn. You're worth it."
"Stop," I repeat. "I'm trying to put my life together, and I can't..." I trail off, looking down at my hand between his. "Everything you say to me is a fucking lie, isn't it?"
He seems unconcerned by my accusation, replying, "I would never lie to you, Madelyn." His hazel eyes stare deeply into my green ones, preventing me from looking away.
"You have and you did and you are." I pull my hand back. "I just want to know why."
Tommy's brow furrows and he steps back. "Madelyn, I'm trying to help you. I know it's hard for you to distinguish fact from fiction, and I'm sorry for that, but I'm trying to make it easier. You just need to trust me."
My voice rises, growing manic. "No, you're not! I'm the one trying here, and all you seem to be doing is convincing me that I can't do it. Is that..is that what you need to do to keep your head on straight?"

Tommy is silent for a moment, then his visage turns from a look of concern to that of anger.
"I gave you years from my life to bring you back, Madelyn. I gave you that body and worked endlessly to provide for you. This is what you do? How you repay me?"
My lip lifts in a bitter snarl."Provide...what? You've been telling me I'm dead for over a decade, and and...You don't care about me, I'm just a fucking pawn for you! I'm not. I don't owe you anything."
"You were dead, and now look at you! Traipsing around in your new body, and now you're too grand for Father Maletoni!" He raises his hand and snarls back at me.
My own hands shake as I shout in his face, "I'm not dead!"
"Not anymore you're not you ungrateful little shit!" I don't dodge or move as his hand swings down, striking me against the cheek. I know he can see the fear clear in my eyes as he grips my chin, pulling my attention to him. "I didn't want to have to do this Madelyn, but you're losing control. How is this body I gave you going to work if you disobey me?"
"Disobey you? You're not.." I clench my jaw, pulling my face from his grasp. "You don't control me."
"I don't control you, I'm just protecting you. You need to understand that I might not be able to bring you back again." His concern once again changes to avarice and disgust. "Your inability to see that far repulses me, Madelyn."
"Your denial of your own fucking insanity makes me..." I rub at my bruised cheek with a shaking hand. "I'm putting my life together, and none of it is thanks to you. None of it! Tybalt says.." I trail off, covering my face with my palms.

I feel the impact of his fist against my hands, dropping them to my side as I flinch. All facade of courage falls from my expression as he strikes me again. "Don't tell me what Tybalt said." Another strike. "Where was he when you were wandering around in Hell?" Another strike. "Where the hell was he? Fucking some dumb whore!"
I cower from his onslaught, backing up until I hit the altar. "He didn't..." I curl into myself, whimpering. "...please, Tommy."
"No, this is what you need. This is what you understand when you get like this, isn't it?" He kicks me, then snarls at the scuff on his shoe created by the act. "Look at me."
I comply, my eyes darting back and forth frenetically. "N..no." I wrap my arms around myself. "I need to go. This isn't...I can't."
He reaches down, grabbing a fistful of my hair. "You will listen."
I gasp, reaching up to grab his hand. "I can't, please. Please."
"I suppose this is my fault. I knew you weren't ready, weren't strong enough. I put you in that body before you were ready to transition. I can correct this, though. I will teach you control." He attempts to pull me up with a strength obviously supernal in nature.
I stiffen in his grasp. "I am strong." My eyes drop to Tommy's feet. "I'm not gonna let you treat me like this." I know the tremble in my stance and voice belies a different truth.
He holds my hair, smacking my face again with the back of his other hand. "You made me do this. No complaining about it, now. Take it and be better for it." He succeeds in pulling me to my feet.

My hands drop back down to my sides, and I reply in barely a whisper. "...yes, sir." I stare at my feet, standing before him like a wounded animal.
He snarls through his nose again, then states, "Dogs aren't permitted to be about with the door open. Go close it." He turns and opens the drawer in the altar.
I stare at him, as if trying to muster some sort of defiance. Dropping my eyes once more, I turn to do as he orders. There's a cracking sound a few inches behind my head, and I freeze in place, only daring to look over my shoulder. "Dogs aren't permitted to don clothing. Fix that, first." There's another snap as Tommy exercises his arm with a four-headed whip. Sickly jagged hooks dot the tips and the length of each head. "You are going to learn, Madelyn. I will show you how I learned to forgo the blood. You will learn to see clearly."
My stance chances, as I fight the urge to flee. "No," I repeat, unconvincingly.
"Learn!" He swipes the whip across my chest. The thick fabric of my hoodie takes some of the blow, but I yelp in pain, nevertheless. My feet move of their own accord, drawing me near the door with less speed than I'm capable. I stop at the open doorway, back turned to Tommy. With just a moments hesitation, I close the doors, cowering against them, refusing to look at the priest. The whip lashes at the air again. "I told you to do something. Comply or be educated." I shake my head back and forth, holding my hands to my injured chest. I hear him raise the whip, as he brings it down with all of his strength. It strikes the already scarred flesh of my back, and even the fabric of my sweatshirt can't cushion the blow. My trembling legs fail me, as I fall to my knees. His voice is deafening as he commands me. "I will lay your skin to tatters and flay you if it is necessary. I will wear your fucking face after I rip it off your skull. Comply!"
Bowing so that my hair obscures my face, my hands rise to pull the zipper of my hoodie down. My voice is quiet, frightened and childlike. "This isn't real."

Tommy approaches me, eyes bearing down and whip in hand. He grasps my hair again with his left hand and holds me still. "This is your life and you're living it, here, with me. I will make you better."
On my knees, compliant at his feet, I roll my eyes upwards to his face. I know my expression shows terror, familiarity, and acceptance, in turn. Sweatshirt unzipped, I let the fabric slide off my shoulders, exposing pale, scarred flesh. "Yes, Tommy."
Tommy palms one of the hooks from the whip and lays it upon my left shoulder. "The rest of it, now."
Still keeping my eyes on his face, I reach around to unzip the back of my skirt. "I have to..." I swallow, needlessly. "May I stand?"
He digs the hook into my shoulder, attaching it like a marionette string. "Yes, good girl." I whimper, rising from my kneel. I clench the fabric of my skirt to my waist, before letting it fall around my feet, gracelessly. Tommy tugs on the whip lightly to lead me along. "Do I need to place another hook in you, or will you come when I pull your leash?"
"I'll follow." I whisper. I move with him, glancing down at myself shamefully. My stance and posture are child-like, a stark difference to Tommy's. His shoulders are high and squared as he walks me back up to the empty altar.
He points to the barren altar that matches me in my bareness and commands, "Over."
I pull back a fraction, expression contorting with my fear. My words come out as a mewling beg. "Don't make me. Please."
Tommy takes me by the back of the head and forces me over the altar, pulling the whip enough to rip the hook from it's tether. I yelp in pain, but don't struggle against him. Bent over the altar, blood trickling down my shoulder, I sputter out an apology. "Louder, Madelyn." From behind me I can hear him suckling the meat and blood from the small hook. His hand no longer holds my head, but I feel the heat from his presence behind me.
I raise my head slightly, palms flat on the wood. "I'm sorry Tom.." My voice catches, "..sir."
His hand lightly places itself down on the skin between my anus and womanhood. "I never wanted to do this, but you rebel against me at every turn. Take a deep breath, Madelyn."

My body goes rigid as I feel his hand between my legs.
"No.." My voice is panicked. "No!" I pull my body from the altar, pushing back against Tommy.
He responds with a hard strike against the right side of her buttocks. "Don't make this worse, Madelyn. Don't make me make this worse."
I remain upright, tense, but not struggling. "Please don't. Don't do this." I whisper.
"This is for you, Madelyn. If I don't place these nice hooks through the lips of your cunt, how are you going to learn?" He places a light kiss in between my legs, his nose brushing against me.

I grimace, losing the fight with own terror as my eyes well with red. Crossing my arms over my chest, my legs tremble as I fight down nausea."...don't hurt me."
"I have to help you, Madelyn. I suppose that I could find another way, but those might be even harder for you. Do you want me to try something else, Madelyn?" He stands, whip in hand, behind me. "I worry that you're only going to make this worse for yourself."
My tone is pleading. "I want you...I want you to stop." I turn slightly to face him, backing away as much as I can. "Please, Tommy? I don't deserve this."
"You're worth it, Madelyn. I'm sorry that it hurts, but you do deserve it. Every effort is worth it for you. I'm willing to make that sacrifice, because you are worth it."
When I back up, he snaps the whips many heads against my bare stomach. My hand darts out of it's own accord, as I attempt to catch the whip and wrest it from his grasp.Tommy loses his grip of the whip when I catch it. "Madelyn, stop before I have to hurt you."
I clench the whip in my first, panting slightly despite my lack of breath. I step further back from Tommy, brandishing the weapon with unconvincing threat. He makes a small seemingly ritualistic gesture with his hands, stepping within an inch of me with semi-supernal speed. "Madelyn, you will stop. Madelyn, you will give me back the whip."
My name on his lips does nothing to calm my terror. I draw the whip close to my body, my eyes wide. "I don't.." My body  shudders, as I drop her gaze from Tommy. "I want to."
He places a hand under my breast, softly rubbing the skin with the space between his fingers.
"Madelyn. There is freedom in submission. When this is over, you'll thank me, and you'll be free to go out into the world and live a better life. Give me the God damned whip."
His touch is gentle, but I grimace in pain. I hold the whip towards him, my fingers still clenched tightly.
He places the hand not on my breast around the whips exposed leather. He tugs at it. "You will do this." Still avoiding his eyes, I loosen my grip, one finger at a time.

Tommy takes the whip, then points back to the altar. "You will go back to the altar, or I will visit upon you a lesson that will leave you begging me for a return to death. Defy me again, or place yourself over the altar so that I can begin helping you." There's a flash of defiance in my expression, stunting what would be immediate movement. Just as quickly, it's gone, as I once more drops my eyes and move in the direction Tommy points. He follows me closely, examining my flesh from behind. He peers at my scars, and tongues the open corners of his lips. "Return to your position over the altar. Spread yourself widely. I will not abide the fat of your buttocks interrupting the lesson." I do as he orders, squeezing my eyes shut as I place my palms and elbows on the wood, once more bending over. I spread my legs slightly, my knees shaking. "To think that we could have been done by now if not for your disobedience truly hurts me, Madelyn. Be still and spread yourself farther." He squats behind me and begins loudly licking the hooks at the end of the whip. I can feel the heat from his mouth close behind me, and the light misting of saliva specking off of the metal onto my back-side. My only response is a whimpering pant as I slide my booted feet further apart. Tommy is lax in the beginning of his work. He suckles loudly on the first hook, then places his left index finger under my groin. He is gentle, parting my lips and taking one between two fingers. I dig my nails into the wood as he places the point of the hook against my flesh. "Breathe deeply.", he states. I ignore his words, my needless breath whistling rapidly through my lungs. The barb penetrates my skin, and I jerk slightly, biting back my howl of pain. I press my forehead against the altar, hard, as I squeeze my eyes shut. Tommy, smiling, kisses my backside as he prepares the second hook. "Good girl." I don't reply, managing to keep my body still in preparation for his next move. He makes a large licking sound as he places one hand on my butt cheek, spreading it away from the center. "This is becoming troublesome, you should know. Quite an irritation." He places a saliva covered finger from his left hand quickly into my anus after releasing the cheek with the right. Then, nearly a second after pressing the finger up to his knuckle, he applies the second hook into my skin, parallel to the first. A small, frightened sound escapes my lips as my back arches slightly. The red tinged tears that have only threatened to fall from my eyes before now leave tiny dark stains on the altar. "Yes, that's Tommy's good girl."
He begins a rhythm of pumping with two fingers inside of me. The other hand picks up another hook and places it in his mouth. "We're almost done with this part, now. Almost done."
"P...please." My voice is timid and weak. I still hold my position, save for my hands that curl into claws by the sides of my head.
After a moment, he places a hook through the skin adjacent to the first. "Yes, daddy's good little girl. She's almost done with her lesson." 

As the words are spoken from Tommy's lips, it incites rage instead of fear. My submissive, accepting posture stiffens. My clawed hands clench into fists and my right foot pulls back to kick out at the priest. While being kicked back, he pulls the whip back with him, ripping out the hooks. Tommy screams in a rage, throwing his weight behind another crack of the whip at my back. "I can't believe this, you little shit. You need this!"
I let out my own scream as the whip hits my already abused flesh. I feel my own blood pouring from the wounds between my legs. My eyes wide and red rimmed, I turn, expecting the steel gray eyes of my Sire. "You bastard, you can't do this to me again!"
"I know I can't! There was a plan, Madelyn, there was a method! You've ruined it! I don't know if I'll be able to complete the lesson. You might not ever be better if I don't do this for you!" Tommy snaps the whip to the side. "You will return to the position and I will find a new way to help you. I won't give up on you."
"No." I reply plainly, no hint of pleading in my voice as I stand before him, naked, bloodied and bruised.
"You're better than this, Madelyn. You deserve to be better. Let me help you. Let me heal you." Tommy approaches me and places the whip on the ground. His eyes look over my wounds with interest. I flinch away as he approaches, covering my chest with crossed arms. He raises a hand, not to hit but, to wipe some of the blood from my shoulder. "Madelyn."
I part my lips to respond, pause, and then speaks. "Tommy." My head lowers, as tears trail matching red lines down my cheeks. As I turn my gaze to the floor, he strikes me with the back of his hand. I cry out, holding my palm against my aching cheek.
"Madelyn. Back over the altar. Face up, this time."
I wipe at my face, staring at Tommy as if I can't comprehend his words. "Face up. Madelyn, I will not repeat myself a third time."
I take a few steps back, before falling to my knees at his feet. "Please," I beg. "Please don't do this anymore. Don't hurt me anymore."
He places his foot against my chest, pushing me onto my back. I fall, kicking my feet under me as I try to crawl away from him. He bends, taking one of my legs under each of arms. "Madelyn," he states without emotion.
I struggle against him, shouting, "No!"
He retains his hold, his arms tightening as he repeats me name. I continue my struggling, meeting his eyes with little hesitation until he drapes himself over me. "Stay still." His fangs graze against my side, next to my left breast, and I freeze when he bites down. His tongue darts over the wound while he lightly sucks blood from me. His hands, not as tightly gripping, grasp at my waist. I feel no pleasure, simply repulsion as I turn my head away from him and towards the church doors. He drinks for a moment, before raising his head with a sound of disgust. "You taste like absolute refuse. No, I'll have to do this a more traditional way. Get up on the altar."

"Yes, Tommy." I press my lips together, attempting to extract myself out from under him.
He stands and retrieves the whip. "Now." I glance at the door one more time, before walking back over to the altar, climbing onto the wood and leaning back. I shut my eyes, my lips moving without making a sound. Tommy walks to the edge of the altar and spreads my legs wide. He examines the ruined flesh between my legs. "Heal yourself. I won't be touching a cunt that's so used up and worthless." Not opening my eyes, I expend enough blood to heal my extensive wounds. My thighs tense up, and I can't help but draw my legs closer together. Tommy unbuckles his belt, then unzips the front of his slacks. With his hands, he begins testing the flesh between my legs. He examines me like a doctor, like a scientist, or like a voyeur. My lips stop moving, and I quiver at the sound of his zipper. I shrink away from his touch, as much as the table's surface will allow. "No," he states. He sticks his fingers in me, filling both my orifices and stilling my movement as he grinds his thumb into my anus. "Find yourself a place of comfort, Madelyn, because I have no intention of stopping before you are well." My expression becomes sickened, my face contorting with how tightly I close my eyes. Tommy, dutifully, removes his fingers from me and replaces his thumb with his cock. He pulses slowly, picking up the bottle of sacramental wine with the hand that doesn't hold up my leg. "You're doing well, Madelyn. Very well. Almost done." I cry out at the violation of my body, quickly covering my mouth with my hand. Despite my closed eyelids, a tear still leaks from the corner of one eye. My other hand lays dormant, balled into a fist by my side. I hear a scraping sound as Tommy peels the paper label from the wine bottle with his nails, continuing to pump into me. I struggle to keep my body stiff and unresponsive during the assault. I hear the gurgle as he drinks from the bottle, twitching as he pours some of it over my crotch, working it into my flesh with his knuckles as he forces himself inside of me over and over. A pained moan comes, muffled, from under my hand as I flinch from the feel of his body on mine. He places the mouth of the bottle against my womanhood, slowing his thrusting. "Breathe for me, Madelyn. It's almost done." I force my eyes open, turning my head towards him with a herculean effort. Still covering my mouth, I meet his eyes and accede with his request, pulling air deep into my lungs. Tommy presses the bottle's neck far into me as he pulls himself out of my anus. "You're doing well, Madelyn. Almost done." My stomach contracts with the forced breath that hitches in my chest. I fight down nausea and clench my hand tighter against my mouth, still holding his gaze. He looks down to me, his eyes filled with sympathy and compassion, even as he presses the neck of the bottle in and out of me. "You are brave for not leaving, Madelyn. You are strong for enduring. There is freedom here." 

Despite my fear and disgust, I can't help but feel mollified. I remove my hand from my mouth, holding it to my chest, lips quivering slightly. He removes the bottle from inside of me and stares deeply into my eyes. "Speak."
"Thank you, Tommy."
"I do this all in remembrance of you." He leans down to kiss me, and I accept, managing to scrape up a modicum of passion. His expression is alight with good intention, and he pulls away from me after placing a soft kiss between my legs. "I have a shower you may use before you go, if you wish. I have also clothes for you if you wish to have them. Next time that you come, we may have to disrobe you far before we begin our work." 
I sit up, my shoulders curled inward, my head bowed. "I...may I have the clothes?"
"You may." Tommy leaves to the side room, and I remain on the altar, pulling my knees to my chest. He returns with a plastic pail of water, a sponge, and a shopping bag. A towel hangs over his shoulder. Looking at me, he places the items on the floor, filling the sponge with water from the pail. "Lay back, Madelyn." I reluctantly release my hold on my legs, leaning back tentatively. He pulls my boots off, sponging my feet with the warm water. He moves up my to my calves, cleaning off all traces of blood and wine. The front of his trousers are still tented with his erection, and I look away, embarrassed as he adjusts himself.
I speak quietly as he cleans me. "I'm...I'm sorry. You don't have to do that."
"I do. You've been through an ordeal, and I'm happy to help." He moves up my legs, cleaning my skin and kissing it in a paternal manner. "Next time, I'll prepare a large bath for you with hot water. This experience, while horrid, does not have to be without pleasant reprieve."
"Thank you." I reply, softly.
Tommy continues, washing between my legs. He adjusts me slightly, cleaning under my thighs. I turn my head away for this act, a small crease forming between my brows as he cleans deeply to remove all wine residue. Pleased with his work, he moves up to my stomach. "You're a good girl, Madelyn. We're going to make you well again. I swear that to you." He washes my stomach, then my breasts, taking care to constantly wash the sponge out so as to clean me thoroughly. There's something behind  his eyes when he states, "I'm so proud of you."
My eyes tick back and forth, studying his face. With effort, I turn up the corners of mouth slightly, "Thank you."
Tommy moves to my shoulders, pulling me up to a sitting position. He washes my back with the warm water. "I bought the clothes for you about a year ago. I'm glad to have had the chance to give them to you, now."
I hold my hands in my lap as he cleans, my voice a trifle more steady as I speak. "I'm glad that I'm here to receive them."

Tommy completes the task of cleaning, then places the towel against me, draping it over my chest to guard my modesty. "I will leave you to change alone, if you'd like. If you prefer, I can dress you. I know you may be exhausted."
My hands raise, still shaking, to touch the towel's softness. "Could you dress me? Please?"
"Yes, Madelyn. I would be glad to."
He places his hand before me, and I take it, accepting his assistance. He gently pulls me off the altar, taking the towel from my chest and drying me gently. Retrieving the clothing from the shopping bag, and asks me to raise my arms. I comply, standing nude before him with my hands skyward. He pulls a thin black t-shirt down my arms and over my head, straightening it out over my breasts. He retrieves a pair of modest white undergarments, instructing me to raise each leg in turn as he pulls the fabric up my thighs and onto my hips. I keep my gaze ahead, toying with the bottom of the shirt as he holds a plaid skirt against my waist, zipping it and momentarily struggling with the buttons and clasps. when complete, he asks, softly in my ear, "Are these to your liking?"
My head cocks to the side when his lips are at my ear. I turn my attention to the clothing, and then to Tommy. "Yes, they're perfect." I hate the sickening adoration in my tone as I continue, "Thank you, Tommy."
"You are welcome Madelyn," he states with a sense of tired finality. "I would have procured a brazier, but I was not aware of your size. Next time, we'll have to ensure that your clothes aren't torn by the lessons."
I nod, staring up at him. My posture is still subservient, as I gently chew on the inside of my bottom lip. Tommy walks around me, then places a hand to my chin. "Return to me when you feel confused again. If the world begins to terrify and afflict you, know that I will be here. You have a place in my home, and I will always be willing to teach you. I love you, Madelyn, and will not let you be left out alone."

A small, pleased, shameful whimper escapes me as he speaks his piece. I step closer to him, placing my palms and head on his chest. He places his arms around me, hands on my waist. He's silent, nose buried in my hair. I wilt in his embrace, my unbridled tears soaking the front of his suit coat. He supports me, lifting me in his arms and carrying me to a pew. He settles onto the cushioned wood with me in his lap, cooing to me like I'm a child. "You're alright, Madelyn. Everything is okay."
"I know," I respond automatically. "I'm sorry I...bled on you."
"It is of no concern." He preens my hair, breathing in my scent.
In a small, quiet tone, I inquire, "Do you really love me?" Before he can answer, I speak again. "I'd like to stay here with you. For the day."
Tommy responds equally quietly, as if careful not to disturb the atmosphere of the chapel. "I do, and I'm happy that you wish to do so."
I nod, my head still in his lap, my expression relatively relaxed. He grasps onto me, standing. Moving slowly, not to disturb me, he carries me to a bedroom hidden within the chaotic architecture of the chapel. Pulling the sheets aside, he places me into his bed, humming a hymn as he does so. "Stay as long as you like, Madelyn. You and I, Madelyn. No two are as one in desire and intention as we both to each other." He stares at my prone form, appearing to drink in my countenance.
My forehead remains creased with tension, as I ask, "Will you.." I hesitate. "Will you hold me?"

"Yes, my little monster. I will lay with you until the sun swallows us whole." His words make me flinch, my body stiffening. He discards his filthy, blood stained attire, climbing behind me in his briefs. His hand rests on my hip, and I place my own over it, forcing myself to relax into his embrace.

Before I drift off to sleep, I roll over to face him, my cheek pressing against his chest. He kisses my forehead and places a hand behind my head. The comfort and security of his presence serve to lull me to sleep, and the last words I hear from him are, "You'll never be left out alone, Madelyn. I love you."

https://youtu.be/eOXOh9V2wFA

Save me if I become my demons.

My thumb hovers over the send button on my phone, as I stare down at the device with concern. Part of the reason I keep coming back to this old house is the safety and assurance that no one else knows where it is. I can escape, and hide, and...

Gritting my teeth, I send the message, giving Alex the knowledge and location of my home.
"Jesus Christ."
I toss the phone onto the half broken patio chair, where it falls through a hole in the seat and clunks off the floorboards. Forcing air from my lips, I blow my bangs out of my face and pace the porch.
Should I clean the place up?
I peer around at the dilapidated old Victorian. A lost cause, mainly due to my lack of skill in drywall and masonry. Feebly, I glance at my own clothing, satisfied by the lack of dirt or bloodstains marring the fabric. Shrugging, I sit on the step, leaning against the railing and stretching my legs out in front of me.

After an indistinct amount of time, I shake out of my mini fugue and turn my head towards the sound of a car pulling into the private road leading to the house. As the sound draws closer, I sniff the air, catching the familiar scent of Alex's Camry. A few minutes pass, and the headlights illuminate my own rusted vehicle, and the surrounding area. I watch as Alex exits his car, reaching into the back seat to grab his usual backpack and a smaller bag. My expression falters, torn between being pleased to see him, and wary of a visitor to my home. He moves towards the house, greeting me, his tone jovial.
"I think I've read several creepy pastas about this place. Did the Blair Witch give you a good deal on it?"
I smile somewhat hesitantly, and glance over my shoulder at the house.
"Didn't used to look this spook-tastic, but I guess it's a good place to fulfill my goth kid stereotype."
He smiles as he stops at the bottom of the porch, looking up at the building.
"Nah man, it's great. What alternative kid hasn't fantasized about living in the Addams family house?" He looks toward me, giving a small nod "You look cute, by the way...I'm hitting on you." he adds, motioning for me to follow him. "I need another set of hands, just passing things while I have a look under your hood." He smirks. "Not hitting on you, but eh? "
The smile that spreads on my face is face less strained as I comment, "Smooth, Alex. Super smooth." Nevertheless, I rub at my cheek, as if hiding a blush of color that doesn't appear.

Rising from the step, I make my way to the Jetta, reaching to open the driver's side door. My hand pauses, and the corners of my mouth draw downward.
The door should be open. I never shut it after I died. Real, or not real?
Alex moves over to the Jetta as well, setting down his bag, and kneeling down to take a look under the car. He shakes his head a little and is moving to open his bag when he notices me paused at the driver's side door.
"What's up?" he asks casually, opening his bag and removing a small flashlight, turning it on and shining it down under the car.
I pull my hand back as if burned, clutching it to my chest. Hearing Alex's voice, my attention switches to him. I stare at him blankly, my expression frightened and uncomprehending. I blink, and shake my head slightly. My lips part as if I'm going to speak, but instead I quickly swing the car door open, reaching inside to push the hood release.
"Sorry," I mumble, not looking at Alex. "Had a...moment."
I feel his eyes on me, peeking through my bangs to see him nod and stand up. He fiddles under the hood, flipping the latch.
"No problem, moments happen. If you're not comfortable with any of this, just let me know and we can stop, or I can work alone, no prob." He props the hood up and shines the flash light down, hands moving over some of the rusted pieces as he started to pull out leaves and other debris.
"What year is this? Do you know? "
His voice is casual, and I almost want to breath a sigh of relief.
"It's a 2002." I place one of my hands flat against the window, trying to ignore the images of my own death flitting around in my subconscious. "And you're good. It just...I.."
I glance at a spot on the ground. The spot when I fell after they beat the strength from me. I flinch, as the mini confession creeps from my mouth. "Some weird shit happened last time the car actually drove. I'm still trying to work out what it was."
He nods, attention still on the engine. "Well, if it's any consolation, it's going to be awhile before it drives again. You have some time to try and work through things." He leans forward, shining the flashlight down into the guts of the car. "Gurl, you got coons in you undercarriage." he says jokingly, giving a small laugh. "Not really, but definitely some chipmunks."
I smile, but the smile is brittle. "Yeah, they fucked up my upholstery, too. That, and the bloodstains."

I lean against the side of the car, head turned to watch Alex as he tinkers."I think I died here."
His hands move over the battery, flipping the small covers and shaking his head some. He stands up and moved back to his bag. "What can you remember? That you're comfortable with sharing, of course." He pulls out a rag and several tools, going back to the car. He hands me the flash light, and I stare at it, uncomprehending. "Shine it right there." He points towards the engine as he takes off his sweatshirt, an old white t-shirt adorning his upper body.
I point the light where he directs. "I remember coming home from Elysium. Didn't feel like hanging around Tommy or Simon. I..." My forehead creases, as I internally flinch away from the memories. "I don't know how they could have followed me. There were three or four...and as soon as I got out of the car I couldn't move." I watch the beam of the flashlight jitter slightly. "It was the Sabbat, and the Cam killed all of them they could find afterwards. But...how many times can someone die?"
He leans back over into car, unscrewing something and remaining silent and engaged as he listens.
"If you had asked me that in 1977, I'd have said only once...but, here we both are. If we can be living, mythical creatures from fantasy, god damn, any fucking thing is possible." He falls silent for a minute before adding. "I am just as clueless as to what could have happened, but ..you're here, right now. And, I selfishly feel lucky as shit for that."

I'm glad that the small whimper I hear is only in my head. I open my mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. The beam of the flashlight quickly becomes ineffective as I slides down the side of the car, sitting cross legged in the dirt. "That. Honestly fucking bamboozles me."
He remains stationary, leaned over in the dark, his hands remaining on the parts he had been fiddling with. He's silent for long enough to entice a slight panic in me, before I hear him chuckling. "I am so, utterly bad at this." He stands up, moving to the side of the car and crouching down to my spot in the dirt. "I literally can't articulate the things I want to right now, to you. I'm angry," he says,  pulling his eyes to the woods around them. "I'm angry that someone hurt you the way they did. I'm angry, that I couldn't help you then. I'm angry, that I...can't take your pain, and the shit you're feeling away right now." He pauses, looking back to her. " But mostly? I just want to hold you, without seeming like a dweeb."
His words seem to absorb into my brain, reminding me so much of...
No. Don't go there. Stay in the now.
I cling to the flashlight, as if it's a life preserver watching Alex closely, even as he looks away.
"Alex, I don't think you know what you're getting into with me. I...I'm a mess. And it's contagious. I'm not like..I'm not the kind of person people want to stick around." I chew my lip, still clutching the flashlight. "You're really great, and I don't want to ruin you. I can't not, though. I don't think I have the capacity to...not." I lower my head, thinking of Law, thinking of Mongrel, and shamefully dropping my eyes from Alex's.

I feel him watching me, knowing he's listened to every word. He moves so that he's sitting next to me on the ground. "I might be socially retarded, but I know that I can't change what you're going through right now. I know you are working through things I can't fathom." His hands fiddle with the screw driver he had been using earlier as he speaks. "But, I also know how I feel about you, right now, at this moment...and there is a very short list of things that would make me not want to be around you any more." He smiles a bit "Nothing needs to happen between us, Madelyn. Nothing that hasn't already happened. First and foremost, I'm your friend. I will never consciously force you to do, or feel anything you don't want to...but,  I can't help but care for you. I'll be here, for as long as you want me to be...in whatever capacity we both can give." He rests one of his hands next to mine, cautiously running a finger over the back of my hand.
As he speaks, I pull my knees to my chest, resting my forehead on them and hiding my face behind a curtain of pink hair.
Oh, how the past harmonizes.
It draws the familiar fear and ache that I told myself I'd cut out of my emotions. Feeling his touch on my skin, I release my grasp on the flashlight and tentatively take Alex's hand. My grip is firm, relaying a strength I don't really feel. I lift my head and turn to meet his eyes, hoping terror doesn't show in my expression. "I'm scared, Alex."
He holds onto my hand, rubbing his fingers over mine as he watches me. He looks out over the dark forest, and at the tiny bugs that crawled amongst them on the ground. "That's totally understandable. I probably would be too. I'm afraid that I could lose you, to something I can't fight.." he falls silent for a minute. "But, I'm right here..and although I might not be able to fight the demons you have following you, I will not let you fight them alone. If you don't want to." He intertwines his fingers with mine, holding onto my hand.
"Heh. I don't want to. I've never wanted to, but somehow I always end up alone." My hand tremors slightly in his. "I don't want to hurt you. For once, I don't want to hurt someone who's helping me. I...I don't even care if I get hurt. Like, if you decide you're fed up and just like, go your own way. S'fine. I understand. But, you can't let me hurt you." I rub vigorously at my face with my free hand.
"I know I'm talking in circles. I'm sorry. I just...don't want you jumping into the pool without knowing what's in the water." I make a face, disapproving of my own words. "...shitty..metaphor."
I meet Alex's eyes, reaching out to his mind with my telepathy, but not actually conveying any message.
"I know you don't want to hurt me, probably just as much as I don't want to hurt you. Everything we do in this after life is dangerous, the fact that I haven't been burnt to a crisp yet amazes me. What I'm trying to say is...I know. I know that you're in a bad position right now. I also know that I don't -want- to walk away." He looks up, returning my gaze and letting me reach into his mind. "I've been alone for a very long time. It feels really nice not to be." He forces a small smile on his face. "I don't really want to go anywhere else."

Staring at him in disbelief for a brief moment, I rub at my cheeks again, feeling embarrassed. "Christ, I'm glad I don't blush anymore." I scoot closer to Alex, relaxing slightly in his proximity. "Thank you. For not running away. For not -wanting- to run away. For...y'know.." I shut up before my shame gets the best of me.
He moves closer as well, letting his arm rest in my lap as he holds onto my hand. "All the color went to your hair...heh it must be one of those rare blood traits." He chuckles softly. "Thank you for trusting me enough to let me stay." He falls silent for a minute before he whispers. "I don't know why you're so worried about me, anyway. I'm the Hardcore Anal Vixen of Baltimore. I'm not the hero this city deserves, I'm the hero this city needs."
I burst into genuine laughter, adding "With great anal power, comes great responsibility."
He joins in my laughter. "Oh man, I'm not ready for this kind of anal responsibility."
We laugh together, and then with little planning and sudden movement, I lean towards Alex and kiss him. My senses come to me far too quickly, and I pull away, making an indiscernible noise, and resting my head against his shoulder. The sharp pain in my forehead tells me that it's less like a gentle resting of the cranium, and more like a smushing my face against his arm to mask my embarrassment. He sits there, looking shell-shocked, but blushing. He raises his arm and places it around my shoulders gently as I bury my face into his shoulder. I feel him kiss the top of my head, and bite my tongue against a pleased whimper. "You look really cute tonight," he whispers, quietly.
"So do you." I reply, muffled, into his shoulder. Telepathically, I continue, "Suave and smooth are two words that apparently aren't in my vocabulary."
He chuckles "Gurl, I'm literally the most awkward thing to ever be immortal." He looks back out into the woods " I'd ask if you'd want to stay up and watch the sun rise, but I'm dark enough as it is."
I snicker a little, still muffled by his arm. "Burnt to a crisp isn't a good look for me."

Eventually, I turn my head to stare out into the woods as well. We sit in silence, his presence enough to keep my voices at bay, at least temporarily. When I sense the dawn closing in, I wordlessly rise to my feet, wrapping my fingers around Alex's wrist and pulling him up with me.
Don't let him say anything. Just let him follow. I don't think I can verbalize what I need, right now.To my relief, he follows quietly. I lead him into the house, passing the bathroom with only the slightest hesitation. My bedroom is mostly bare, save for the notes and drawings tacked to the wall. Releasing his wrist, I sit on the bed, looking down at my feet.
"Will you stay with me?"
I squeeze my eyes shut until I hear his voice.
"Yeah."
Peering up through my bangs, I smile slightly as he climbs into the bed next to me. Laying on my side, I curl against Alex's body, rest my head on his chest, and await what will hopefully be a dreamless sleep.

Dearest helpless. Intent's not as bad as the action.

Deep in the woods, deep where the canopy of trees block all but the barest scrap of sunlight. A spot where the dirt seems freshly turned. The smell of earthworms still hanging, moist, in the air. Buried under the soil are scrawled words on a sheath of paper. Words, meaningless to anyone other than the writer, or intended recipient.

Meaningless still, even then.

"Mongrel,
           The chances of you actually reading this are slim. Mainly because I have no intention on tracking you down again. No. I think we both know how that turns out.

I'd like to say I hope this letter finds you well, but of all the things I am, a liar isn't one of em. I guess for as long as you exist happy, without me, I'm far too selfish to wish you well. Selfish enough to hope that pretty boy merc up and leaves you. Selfish enough to hope you spiral down into a self destructive pattern. Selfish enough to hope that someone follows you while you head to your empty house. And beats you. And kills you. And leaves you for dead.

Or something.

I'm getting off track.

It's easier to be bitter and angry towards you. Otherwise, I've gotta admit stuff about myself that I don't want to. You know how stubborn I am. You remember.

And yet, every time I hate you, I think of you first. Because regardless, I would have died that night. I would have died a quiet death, just to protect you from harm. If those Sabbat fucks had laid a hand on you...well. You know. You've seen me in action.

I digress. 

Or maybe I don't, since I don't even know the point of this letter. It's not like I need to cause you any more pain. Bitter as I am, I'd rather leave the hurting you part to someone else. Hell, maybe afterwards you'd let me fix you, for once.

And there I go again.

You've playfully and not playfully accused me of a lot of things. Stalking you. Haunting you. But really, who's haunting whom? Because it seems like no matter how much I try to blame you for this whirlwind of fuck-all crazy my life(?) has become, or how often I blame you for letting me die...I would still kneel at your feet, should you ask it of me. That word. That fucking word. I really CAN blame you for this one.

Love.

I'm never not gonna love you.

Should I curse you? Should I thank you? You certainly didn't save me, but god damn if you didn't make me feel something other than wholly absorbing blood lust and insanity. Ironic, that you kept my voices so quiet sometimes, and now that's all you are. A voice in my head. A stray whiff of clove and spice. Just strong enough to make me want to hit you and hug you. Because fuck, I still love you.

I'm pathetic.

I want to say you'd be proud of me, if you saw me now. I'm making something of myself, again. Letting people in. I'm stronger. Well, in some ways.

This is stupid. This is pointless. You're not gonna read this. If you ever did, it wouldn't matter. If you came back too, chances are I'd lose it completely.

Whatever.

                                                                                Never not yours,
                                                                                     Maddie"


https://youtu.be/7Gm8-V1Mhu8

I look around but it's you I can't replace. I feel so cold and I long for your embrace.

Every breath you take,
Every move you make.

I creep around the house, peeking into each room.
I know you're here. You're always here.
I'm greeted by nothing but silence and emptiness. Chewing my fingertips, I pause in the hallway.
Why is he hiding? Why has it been so hard to find him, lately?
I come back into the living room, plopping cross legged on the dirty carpet. On the coffee table, my magpie-like collection of belongings are spread around the wooden surface. I peer at a new addition, a small computer part, smuggled from the floor of Alex's Camry. The smallest smile sneaks onto my face, but seems to melt away just as quickly.
None of it is enough.
I sit on the carpet, still as the hours pass and the shadows crawl across the wall.

Every bond you break.
Every step you take.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand up without warning. My spine stiffens, my senses becoming alert to every movement in the room. I breathe in through my nose, shivering when the scent hits me.
He's here.Keeping my eyes on the floor, I speak in a quiet tone.
"It's you, isn't it?"
I'll be watching you.
I feel his hand on my shoulder, the weight of it as familiar as it ever was. Without him asking, I rise to my feet.
"You came."His firm grip turns me to face him, his other hand lifting my chin so that I meet his cold gray eyes.
"You asked me to, monster."His voice, his stare, everything about him sends that old shock of terror through my system. But, beyond the terror is that sick sense of comfort. The familiarity of my blood on his breath.
"I'm lost. I...I don't know what is real anymore. You're...you're the only constant that I have."He pulls me close, clenching me in his embrace. His lips brush the side of my face, and I flinch despite the danger I know that can bring.
"You're shorn, little sheep. The flock departs, leaving the lamb to fend for herself."I shake my head.
Not what I want. Riddles and metaphors. I need...His hand slides from my shoulder, to my throat. His fingers dig into my flesh, as an edge creeps into his voice.
"I know what you need, monster. But, if you wish to skip the chase and go straight to the capture.."

He lifts me with one hand, his strength contradictory to his lithe frame. With little effort, he heaves me down, the coffee table smashing under me, my belongings scattering onto the floor. It's then that I realize how foolish I am. Once again, I strode headlong into my own destruction. He bends down, and I turn my face away. He ignores me, reaching for the notebook that's wedged under my right elbow.
"No!" 
He strikes me in the face with the leather cover, cutting off my cry of disdain. His long fingers pick through the pages as he chuckles, low in his throat. His steely gaze leaves the pages, and falls on me. He tosses the book back down at my feet.
"You've been trying to forget me. Real, or not real?"
I swallow hard, wanting to lie. Even if the pages didn't confirm this, he would know.
"Y...yes."
He flicks his foot through the detritus of the shattered table, shaking his head.
"Ungrateful little pet. Ungrateful BRAT!" 
His foot catches me in my ribs, and I feel something break, puncturing some vital organ than lay dormant in my torso. I attempt to lift myself up, and his foot comes down hard on my chest. Whimpering, I unwillingly look up at him.
"I make you, I CREATE you, and spit in my face! I guide you, and come when you call. I am the only one who has never left you to snivel and sob on your own!"
I try to sputter out a response, and he's on me in an instant. My body pinned under his, my wrist bones grinding in his fists, I beg in my head for him to let me go. He laughs in my face, his carrion breath pulled down my throat as I gasp, a hot fog in my lungs.
"No matter what you are, you will always be mine."
His jaws clamp into my neck, consuming me like the night he took my life. I grow weak, not even noticing as his weight is lifted from my body. Silently sobbing, the vitae slowing leaking from the wound on my neck, I realize that there is no screaming myself awake this time. I am conscious, and alone. I claw in the splinters around me, pulling close the bits of my belongings that I can reach.
I draw my knees to my chest and remain there, soaked in my own blood, until dawn.

Oh can't you see, you belong to me.

Oh no, here it is again. I need to know when I will fall in decay.

Why do I keep coming back here?
I climb up the porch, heading straight to my old bedroom. As usual, the old Victorian is silent. The air is stale, and everything is still in its state of disrepair and disuse. I flop down on my mattress, sending dust flying everywhere. The walls are covered with my own scribbled handwriting, the words mirroring the haphazard notes in my book. I stare at them blankly, glad to be alone, glad to be away from the influx of strangers that ebb and flow from Tybalt's home. Away from inquiries, and concerned glances.

I roll over onto my stomach, resting my head against the moth-eaten pillow. My clothes still smell faintly of spray paint, which brings a smile to my face. Of all the new (and real) people, Alex seems to be one of the easiest to be around.
Reminds me of Fate.
My smile fades a little. I know Fate was real. I know she was my friend. The ever present fog that muddles my memories prevents me from making any further comparisons between my past teenage friendship, and my present one.

Old friends. Old family.

I feel the comforting press of my notebook against my hip. Comforting, despite the fact that my notes do nothing to confirm or deny what is real.
Like Pyotr. Oh god, that couldn't have been him.
I close my eyes, still seeing the impossibly tall silhouette of the Russian Brujah. Still smelling the scent that told me it really was him. I spoke his name to Tybalt, but left before he could inquire further.
"He can't be back." I laugh aloud at my own spoken words. After all, are I supposed to be dead?

Rolling over again, I gaze up at the ceiling, chewing at my fingernails.
If I was never dead, where are these memories from? 
They're too real, far too real to be hallucinations. The only person to back up my memories is Tommy, and he's proven time and again that his sanity is as unstable as mine. There's Mongrel, but...

I glance towards the mirror that hangs backward on the wall.
If I was never dead, why do I still see her in the mirror, instead of me?
Her image, decayed and radiating every bit of evil I've denied. 
I saw her, every time she mocked me. Every time she pushed me to give in to her. Every time she hurt Mongrel.
Flinching, I look away from the blank frame.
There's no way I would have done those things to him. No matter how much he hurt me. No matter the fact that he left me alone. No matter the fact that he let me die.

My teeth miss the corner of my nail, ripping open a flap of skin on my thumb. I stare at the small bead of blood that wells in the wound, before wiping it on the dirty blanket under me. I know I should go back to Tybalt before he worries. I know, soon enough, he'll start searching for resolution to the questions I won't answer for him. Questions I can't answer for him.

Tired of my own thoughts, I fish my iPod from my pocket, place the headphones in my ears, and attempt to let the music lull me into comfort. I briefly glance at the title of the song that plays, and scoff.
Heaven's A Lie. Irony.