There's nothing left to lose. The fight never ends. I can't face the dark without you.

Hood pulled over my hair, I make my way through the empty street towards the dark and currently vacant club. Passing by the front doors, I pause, remembering the security measures. I contemplate, picking lightly at the front of my sweatshirt before guilt wins over as the predominant emotion. My hand drops to my side and I move towards the garage entrance. A single car is parked at the far end of the garage. Abandoned, by the look of it. I move towards the entrance, punching in a code and quickly swinging the door shut behind me as I enter the living quarters of the club. It's the same as it always is, except empty and devoid of comfort.

I breathe in through my nose, inhaling only a faint residual scent of my best friend. Frowning, I reach behind my back. The blade becomes visible as I place my hand on the hilt, pulling it free from the harness and relieving myself of it's weight. Swinging it in front of me, the blade makes a shrill sound as it briskly cuts through the air. With a sigh, I lay the sword on a table, stroking my hand over the metal. It's perfect. Beautiful, even. But Sailix's hand should be gripping it's hilt, not mine. I stare down at the weapon, swallowing the lump in my throat and standing, useless, in the middle of the room. I did what I came for, I should just go. 

Instead, I unzip my hoodie, pulling it off and tossing it across a chair. Settling down on the couch, I tuck my hands under my thighs in a meager attempt to avoid them turning against me.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Sailix."

The sound of my own voice makes me jump. Peering around the room, I sigh again.
"We'll be making our move, soon." Fighting to keep the sorrow from my tone, I continue speaking to no one.

"I've never been out of the country. It'd be exciting if I wasn't so sure that I'm going to fucking die over there..." My brief burst of laughter sounds more like a sob.
"I could really use...I really need your help. I told you I can't do this without you. I'm running out of reasons to try. I'm about to walk into a war zone and I...I always thought you'd have my back."

I curl my shoulders in, cowering as my voice grows more frantic.

"All I have is Tommy. I know he can survive without me, but I think we all know I can't survive without him. So I'm going to go over there...I'm going to fight for him. I'm going to fight to keep him alive but who is fighting to keep me alive? Who...who cares enough to have my back?! Who cares enough to make sure -I- stay alive?!"

The tears start, again. I almost bruise my face, angrily wiping the moisture from my cheeks.
"I let you in. I showed you my scars and you said...you said they were beautiful. But you chose him over me! As if...like he's less of a monster than me. Like he's the preferable option."

My wail echoes in the empty room, even as I bury my face in my hands. All I can see is Sailix's eyes, burning into mine like a literal fire. I feel them on me, but when I look up, vision blurred with red tears, I'm still alone. I wipe at my face again, halfheartedly, before rising from the couch. Leaving the sword on the table, I make my way towards the exit, pausing for a moment. My hand creeps to my throat, rubbing the tag on my collar between my fingers. I turn my face up, setting eyes on the security camera facing the door. Staring at it for a moment, I struggle to keep my tone and expression calm and even. 

"You don't have to lie to me."

With that, I swing the door open, punching the code to lock it and stepping out into the cold.

https://youtu.be/BjrtITY69q0

The midnight hours come slowly creeping when there's no one there but you.

Another group of party-goers make their way past us, giving us wide berth and wary glances. Giving me wide berth and wary glances. Untouched glass of wine in his hand, Tommy keeps me at his side. He should be melding well with the guests, would be, if not for the garish monster hanging off his arm. I stare down at my scuffed boots and fishnets, out of place among the stiletto heels and dresses that probably cost more than I've ever been worth as a person. Slavco and Kirkpatrick run a poker table, and I'm at least relieved to see that Kirkpatrick put a fresh shirt over the claw marks across his chest. Tommy mentions the name of some senator or governor entertaining a group nearby, his expression eager and animate as he leads us closer. I drag my feet, releasing his arm and mumbling something about going to the bathroom before moving away from both he and the group of Kine.

I try not to feel hurt as he seems to not notice my departure, greeting the humans with his television smile and contrived charisma. I chalk it up to his lack of socialization and make my way out to the boat's blissfully empty deck. The air is frigid enough to keep the ones that still notice such things inside. I make my way to the stern, trying to block out the sound of the music pumping through the boat's speakers. Leaning against the railing, I breathe the smell of saltwater through my empty lungs, watching Tommy through the windows of the cabin. Within the spare minutes of leaving his side, he's already collected a flock. He speaks animatedly, gesturing with his wine glass, seeming to summon a round of laughter from the surrounding mortals with no effort. A young woman slinks up to him, speaking close to his ear with a suggestive smile. He returns the smile, placing his hand on the small of her back. Turning away quickly, I direct my attention out to the water with a clenched jaw.

I watch the foam and waves left in the boat's wake, resting my feet on the safety railing and holding my hand out into the air. I force my fingers to unclamp from a fist, wincing as my nails retract from the skin of my palm. Small drops of blood well up and drop down into the waiting water. I turn my eyes to the skyline and concentrate on fighting down the seething jealousy and envy. Wasted emotions, especially considering everything going on. I try to force myself into at least an attempt at tranquility, if anything, to accomplish Tommy's request before we joined the Caitiff's boat party. I shake the blood from my palm and grip the railing, closing my eyes and letting the wind whip at my face. I try to imagine being one of them inside the cabin. Classy and rich and content on spending my night gambling and imbibing in booze and recreational drugs. Perhaps watching the sun rise over the water from the warmth of a fur coat or a lover's arms. I cock my head to the side, trying to hold the fantastical image as the music plays on.

Forcing air dismissively from my lungs, I open my eyes, rolling them at myself. Resting my chin on my hand, I'm about to settle into my fallback plan of brooding alone when I feel hands grip my hips firmly. Tommy lifts me from my perch on the railing, turning me to face him with ease. I drop my hands to my sides, glancing up at him almost guiltily. His hazel eyes meet mine with warmth and affection as he gently pulls his fingers through my windblown hair. A familiar song comes over the speakers, and he kisses me, stating "We're dancing." I balk slightly, glancing nervously towards the denizens of the party. Tommy's expression grows stern, and he repeats the order. I allow him to move us onto the open part of the deck, unable to keep a smile from my face as he steps away, my hand in his, only to pull me gracefully into his arms. He leads, holding me close as we step and spin to the music. Singing along to the song in a deep baritone, Tommy brushes my hair from my face, trailing his fingers along my scalp and resting his hand at the base of my neck before pulling my lips to his. I set my palms on his chest and my cheek against his shoulder as he places another kiss on my forehead and whispers that he loves me. I close my eyes, feeling safe and almost normal. My gratitude seems to cover a vast list of concerns as I murmur, "Thank you, Tommy."

https://youtu.be/6cMaXOl04qQ

Still enough, although I know you're not begging. Still as the thoughts running through your mind.

It's been hours since Tommy retreated into his study. Little noise comes from the room, save for almost rhythmic scratching of pencil on paper. I refrain from my restless pacing, Gadzooks following closely at my heels as I make my way down the hall. Tommy's door is open, and I leave Gadzooks in the hallway as I cross the threshold into the room. Kneeling by his feet, I glance at the piles of maps that Tommy is fixated on. With a compass, he draws several wide and intersecting circles. He retrieves a bullet from his revolver, placing it at the center of one of the circles. I settle back onto my heels, turning my attention to his face, watching in silence as he continues to work. His expression is exhausted, almost drawn. Hesitant, I quietly inquire "...what are you doing?"
He highlights a line on a spreadsheet, then ticks off a corresponding place on his map. Before reaching for his compass, Tommy replies, "Marking radar stations in San Lorenzo."
"Oh," My brow furrows."Why?"
He traces another circle after measuring on his compass. "To keep you safe."
I lean forward, looking at the map again, still uncomprehending. "How will that keep me safe?"
Tommy points with his fingers to a place on the map just above Florida. Then, he pulls his finger down through the gulf of Mexico, then in the space between the circles he's drawn. I frown, feeling perplexed but not wanting to press him with more question. He sets the compass down. "Your plane will have to avoid the radar stations, little one. If not, you may die."

"Ooh," I repeat, with slightly more understanding. Leaning lightly against the side of his chair, I turn my face to the doorway, watching Gadzooks lick her paws. "So you're not...you're staying here?"
"I don't know, yet. He hasn't said anything. Just keeps having the big guy send me documents." Tommy presses his hand against his face.
My gaze grows unfocused, mouth still pulled into a frown. "Do you want to go?"
"No, little one." His voice is muffled slightly by his hand.
"I..." I close my mouth, not finishing the sentence. I turns to face Tommy, my expression concerned. I rest my cheek against his thigh with a small sound of distress. His hand comes down to cup the back of my head, stroking gently. "I don't want to go, either."
"You don't have to, little one," he replies. "I can handle myself against him."
In a tone lacking certainly, I reply: "I know you can," I look up at Tommy from my spot at his feet. "But I can't let you...I can't not do everything I can to keep you safe."
"You need to learn to let me go, if it's my time to go, little one," Tommy states with a sigh. His tone is tired, unnaturally so, and oddly monosyllabic.
"No," I reply, feeling almost angry. "No. I'm not going to. I'm tired of having to let go. You deserve a place in this existence more than I do. When I.." I swallow a gulp of air down my throat, "..if I have to die again to keep you alive..."

My words are cut off abruptly as Tommy takes his hand from the back of my head, picks up his revolver, and smashes the handle of the gun down on my skull. Plainly, and without much ado, he states, "No." I cry out in pain, holding my hand against my head and staring at Tommy, almost comically confused. From the doorway, Gadzooks begins barking, but I still hear Tommy clearly over the din. "You are not permitted to die, little one. Never again." He places the gun onto the table, kisses my hand before resuming his drawing.
Dropping my hand into my lap, still feeling dazed, I reply: "Then why..." I hesitate. "Why, when it comes to the possibility of you dying, do I just have to learn to let you go?"
As he traces another circle, Tommy states, "Because you are unique, beautiful, worthy. I am replaceable, monstrous, and lacking in purpose. You are alone in the wonder of your creation, little one."
Almost scoffing, I counter, "That's wrong. You're...wrong. Are you actually crazy?" As soon as the words escape my lips, I regret them. "I'm sorry, Tommy."
"No." Again the gun is brought down on the top of my head.
Blinking away tears of pain, I scoot away from Tommy, speaking over Gadzook's frantic barks. "..why did you hit me?"
He replaces the revolver onto the table, then continues his work. "You will not deny me in this, little one. You may not realize your worth, the cosmological improbability of your existence, but you will not insult me for being aware."
Shushing the dog, I stare down into my lap, contemplating for a moment. I pick my words carefully as I respond, "I wouldn't ever insult you, Tommy. It's got nothing to do with insult. It's...it's fact. You can survive without me. Thrive, even. I couldn't...I can't. I'm nothing on my own." My tone becomes one of sad resignation. "I've long since accepted that. I think maybe it'd be good for us if you did, too?"

Tommy places a hand on his revolver, then beckons me over with a slight jerking of his neck. "Come." Flinching, I move to his side once more. He leans down to kiss my head. "I don't enjoy hurting you, little one, but you must learn to accept what I say as truth. It is my truth, my perception."
"But..." Feeling wary, I don't continue. My posture remains rigid, as I fight against the desire to retreat.
Tommy replaces his compass and pencil on the table, then turns his chair to face me. He spreads his knees, retrieving his revolver and beckoning to me. "Come, little one. Closer."
I glance at the gun, then at Tommy's face. Hesitating, I ask in a soft tone, "Do I have to?" 
He points the gun at the floor and fires a round, his expression suddenly malicious. I jump at the sound, and hear Gadzooks's frightened yelp as she retreats down the hallway. I move closer as Tommy requests, my form still rigid and fearful. He opens his revolver's chamber, takes out the spent shot, and replaces it with one from his pocket. "Place your mouth on the gun, little one."
I recoil, responding immediately. "No,"
He shoots the gun at the ground, again. "You choose now, when both our lives depend on our mutual trust, to defy me?" he shouts the question above the sound of the shot. Under the malice, this time, hurt crosses his features for a moment.
I yelp, moving close between his legs. "I'm...I'm sorry." My tone is mewling, my lip trembles slightly. "I'll do what you say."

Tommy ejects the spent ammo again, and fills the revolver to it's previous capacity. His voice is almost concerned as I meet his eyes and shamefully part my lips to allow the barrel between them. "Be careful, little one. The barrel is warm." He presses the gun further into my mouth. "There's six bullets in the chamber, little one. Does it frighten you to know that all of them are filled with ammunition that would sear your flesh?" I start to nod, tasting metal on my tongue, but something breaks through the terror and shame, and instead I shake my head 'no'. "You didn't trust me, just a moment ago. Are you lying to me, little one? Does this frighten you?
You may be honest. Tell me, are you too afraid to trust me?"
I hesitate, my hands crossed in my lap. When I speak, my words are muffled by the gun barrel. "I trust you, but, I can't help but be afraid." I add, in a softer, but no less honest tone, "I'm sorry."
Tommy tilts the gun to the right side of my mouth, pressing the barrel against my cheek. Then he pulls the trigger. I scream out in pain, unable to take my eyes off of Tommy. Betrayal and acceptance cross my features, in turn. He turns the barrel to press against the inside of my left, unwounded cheek. "Are you going to run away from me, little one? Will you run from me, or will you stay?"
A small, fearful sound escapes from deep in my chest. Nevertheless, I keep my eyes on Tommy and reply, "...I'll stay."
He pulls the trigger again. I don't scream this time, but my face becomes a rictus of agony. He keeps the gun in my mouth, staring down at me, unmoved by my suffering. "Are you going to run from me, little one? Are you going to stop trusting me, leave me, and let him kill me?"
His words seem to cause me more pain than my wounds, and I mumble desperately, "No...no, Tommy. Never."
Tommy, not moving, responds. "Take your mouth off the gun and prepare yourself for me in your room, little one."
Blinking, I comply. "How would you like me to prepare myself, sir?" I flinch as I speak, the holes in my cheeks pulled as my jaw moves.
"Disrobe yourself, and redress. Wear the brassiere, the black lace, that I bought you. The dress, black, the strapless one. Then the training underwear I bought you last year. The one you wore when you were a shaved little child unable to do anything but crawl on the floor."
I frown, dropping my eyes to the ground. "Yes, sir." 

As I leave the room, I hear him empty the gun onto the floor and the sound of him refilling the spent chamber. Gadzooks remains hidden deep in the house, still cowering away. In my bedroom, I remove my clothing and redress as Tommy instructed, folding my discarded clothing neatly. I wait in the middle of the room, shifting from foot to foot until I hear Tommy coming down the hallway. Stilling my movements, I avert my gaze to the floor between my feet. He strides over to me with confidence and authority. "Have you done what I asked, little one?" he inquires, staring at me with inquisition. I nod, swallowing a gulp of air needlessly down my throat. "And what," he asks, "were you told to do? Tell me, and show me. Slowly." He stands back, removing a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaning the barrel of his gun.
Without fanfare, I pull the top of the dress down slightly, so that the black lace can be seen underneath."I put on the bra and the dress, and..." Expression uncomfortable, I lift the side of the dress, exposing the childish undergarments. "I put on the underwear. Like you told me to."
"Good. I can't my little girl getting scared like she did with Bernito and pissing on the floor. Get over here, on your knees, and unzip me." His smile is ever present, tongue quickly lapping at the scars on his mouth. I cringe, glad my horrified expression is hidden from Tommy. I move towards him, sinking into a kneel and unzipping his pants with trembling hands. I hear him pulling the hammer back of his gun."Unbutton, little one, then remove my cock and use your tongue."
"Yes, sir," I state, in almost a squeak.
My hands unfasten the button of his shorts, reaching for flesh behind fabric. Gripping around the base of his cock, I run my tongue along his length with a pained grimace. Glancing up, I see no pleasure in Tommy's eyes, only pain and pity. "Do it better, little one. I need it wet, I need to feel-" he cuts himself off. I comply with as much vigor as I can manage, whimpering as the movement irritates the wounds on my cheeks. "Less tongue, little one, more mouth. Improve, or you'll not be feeling my cock in your pussy." He leers down at me, instructing with a chuckle in his tone. Much of the previously present pain seems to have left his expression. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking him deep into my throat as I desperately try to please him. Tommy gives a small grunt of satisfaction. "Better, little one. Much better." 

Before withdrawing himself from my mouth, he rests the hand with the gun in it on my shoulder, firing a bullet into the back of my calf. My eyes snap open and my face turns up to him. I blink back tears, managing one agonized word,"..why?"
Tommy steps back, then once again releases the chamber to replace the spent shot. "Pull yourself up, little one. Tear your dress up and plug up your mouth with it. Place it deep enough down that I don't even have to hear a murmur. Then, you are allowed to get on the bed." 
I keep my eyes on Tommy for a few moments, knelt, with my palms braced against the floor. With effort, I force myself to my feet, keeping the weight off my wounded left leg. Dropping my gaze to my hands, I begin shredding the dress, placing the pieces in my mouth like a gag.
Tommy watches me with mild amounts of satisfaction, his eyes moving from my face, to my breasts, and down to the rest of my body. "Next, the brassiere. Sit down on the edge of the bed and show me your breasts. Any more hesitations, little one, and you won't get my cock in your adorable little pussy." Frowning, I avoid his gaze and move to the edge of the bed, settling onto the mattress ungracefully. My hands move to lower my dress and remove my bra, exposing my chest. Tommy follows my to the bed, cock erect and revolver in hand. "Continue to suckle, little one. I'm still not convinced you deserve my cock. For your sake, convince me." My mouth still stuffed with the shreds of my dress, I look up at Tommy through the fringe of my bangs. My expression turns unsure. Tommy smiles, jovial despite my fear. "I gave you two new holes, little one. Use them."
I put my hand to my face, gently touching one wounded cheek. Almost regretfully, I shake my head, bowing my face as I do so. "You won't fuck my cock with your wounds, little one?" Tommy asks, calmly and slowly. I shake my head again, shoulders turn inward in shame. Tommy looks hurt, merely commanding "Then turn over and get up on your knees, little one. If you would rather use those holes, I will oblige you."

Still shaking my head slightly, I nevertheless turn over without meeting Tommy's eyes. Pained, I keep my weight leaned on my right leg as I kneel. I feel his hand between my legs, mutely staring down at the mattress while Tommy chides me. "With all the misbehaving you're doing, I may have to restrict your clothing for quite a while, little one. I may have to begin treating you like my whore instead of my lover. Would you approve of that?" He begins to pull down the undergarments. I shake my head again, making no sound and keeping my body as still as possible. "I love you, Madelyn, but you insist on denying that. You act ungrateful, you push my buttons intentionally, and you act like a child when I tell you to take my cock."
Tommy rips the underwear, placing two fingers inside me. I close my eyes, hoping he doesn't notice the involuntary stiffening in my posture. "You had a choice between my cock and this gun, little one." He cocks back the hammer again. "And you chose incorrectly."

Giving in to my terror, I whimper through the wad of cloth in my mouth. I tense as I hear the sound of the gun, balling my fists in expectation to another bullet. Instead, I feel cold metal pressed roughly between my legs. Tommy thrusts the barrel deeply inside of me, vigorously violating me as he growls, "Do you want me to blow my load, little one? Is that what you want from me?"
I choke on the gag, shrieking as my fists slip on the mattress. Pawing desperately at the fabric in my mouth, I spit the gag out, tearfully begging. "Tommy, please...please stop! Please don't...don't make me...please!"
Tommy withdraws the gun, only to force it into my ass, pulling up hard on the handle. I feel blood streaming from between my legs as he rips the flesh between my legs with the weapon."Is this better Madelyn? Is this what you wanted when you decided to disobey me?" I sob, incoherently pleading with him and struggling as he holds me with his free hand. Tommy's voice is heard clearly over my screams."If I were to unload in you, there wouldn't be any difference in what you are. If I shot this into your cunt, you wouldn't get pregnant, you wouldn't have a child, no family, just a cunt filled with either a bullet or my cum. You have one purpose, and it is to serve Thomas Maletoni!" I press my face into the bed, wailing and still struggling feebly. He continues to force the gun into me over and over again, pressing his erection against me as he does. "Beg me not to fucking kill you, Madelyn. Beg me not to fill your fucking guts with fire and beg me to fill you with my cock."
I sputter out: "P-please Tommy...sir. Don't..." but a shudder wracks my body and I'm unable to continue.
Tommy presses the gun harder into me, then retrieves it to replace it with his cock. He rides my torn and worn flesh, holding me by my hips with the revolver balanced on the small of my back. "You are welcome for your life, Madelyn. You are welcome for your purpose. You are welcome for my cock." I remain on my knees for him, yet almost completely unresponsive save for the faint sounds of my sobbing into the mattress. Tommy continues thrusting into the bleeding ruin between my legs. With a groan and a shudder, he ejaculates, holding me firmly by the hips. I attempt to move out from under him, and he grips tighter. "No, little one. You can't leave me, you will stay here until the dawn comes. You and I will be intertwined, and I will always be inside you."
"...please" I whimper, trapped in his grasp, utterly broken.
He smacks my bottom with a flat palm, and replies, "No, little one. This will continue to happen if you don't learn to accept your role. I attempt to coddle you, I know, but this is a reminder.
I love you, and you belong to me. You will obey."

With a sob, I reply, "How can you say that you..." I hitch in a needless breath. "You don't. You can't love me."
Tommy rests both hands on my hips, gently. "We're monsters, Madelyn. We don't love the same as the Kine, but I love you as only God can love his children."
I try to move again, overcome with memories from decades ago, desperate to escape. "...you're just like him." I succumb to tears once more.
"It's okay, little one. You're right, but it's okay to hate God sometimes. This is the love we share, and we will share for eternity."
I shake my head at his misunderstanding. "No. No, you're wrong." Tommy continues to rock inside of me, petting my hair and holding me in place. "Stop," I beg.
"No," he states, retrieving the revolver. "Little one, you are mine. You must accept this. We belong to each other, we belong together."
"I'm yours. I'm yours and you know I'm yours.." My words come out unsettled and quiet. "I won't run. I won't leave you. Please, just let me.." I trail off.
"You can't leave this room. You know that, little one? Even if you leave, you'll never really leave. We've never left, and we'll always be here." He pulls himself out of me.
I give a sickened moan at his words, but remains still. "May I move...please?"
"Yes, little one."

I crawl away from Tommy to cower against the headboard. I force my eyes to him, unable to keep the image of my maker from my thoughts. He pulls his zipper up, his slacks soaked through with my blood, the gun still help lazily in his hand. "We'll start again tomorrow, little one."
My gaze grow more frightened. "No, Tommy. Please. Why...why do you need to hurt me again?"
"I don't plan on hurting you, little one, but you need to learn to listen. Obedience is paramount to survival."
"I'll be good," I insist, cringing weakly against the headboard. "I-I'll be good for you."
"I hope you will, little one," Tommy smiles offering his hand to me. "Or I will fill your guts with fire."
I'm unable to return the smile, wary and hesitant to take his hand.
Tommy stands, flourishing his coat and pointing the gun in the air, he exclaims: "This! This is what I mean, little one. You didn't learn anything! You must learn to accept without hesitation, to embrace without a single lull in action. That is how we survive."
I turn my face away, burying it in my hands. "I can't...keep doing this. I can't. I can't do it again..." I repeat this as a mantra, curling into myself, voice growing more and more desperate.

Tommy returns to my side, pressing the gun against my clavicle. "Madelyn, I love you. I love you more than anyone has loved before. There is a world of horror and terror outside these walls, but this is our sanctuary. I will protect you, but you must endure what I demand. That is how we survive." I look to him, whimpering like a prey animal, hoping he can't see my urge to pull away from him. He smiles in appreciation, and irrationally, I feel fractionally less frightened. "If I pull this trigger, you could die. You could die and be lost again to the other side. This close to death, does it terrify you as it does me? Do you fear the moment when you no longer live? Does this make you wish to run? To run and sleep and hope that the world will fade if you just fucking leave it alone?"
"S-stop. Please? You're scaring me, Tommy." I shrink away from the feel of the gun, staring up at Tommy with frightened, tear filled eyes. My voice is small and childlike as I continue. "I'd rather die for...for you. For you, over anything else."
"I don't want you to, little one. I don't know... I don't know if I'll be able to put you back together, again. The first time, it took so much. I'm not strong enough, I don't have anything left to give up." He tosses the gun to the floor, part of the handle breaking as it hits the wood. "You're all I have, little one. We have to be as one, now."

I stare at Tommy, my mouth opening slightly, as if to respond, but I close it after a moment. A bevy of emotion crosses the forefront of my mind. With a sense of surrendering, I move away from the headboard and hold my arms open to Tommy. He falls into my embrace, grasping tightly to me. "I need you to be mine, Madelyn. That's the only way I can keep you safe. If you're gone, then all of this was for nothing. All of it."
I pull Tommy to my chest, clinging just as tightly to him as he does to me. My hands still retain a slight tremble. "I'll always be yours. I owe my existence to you. Everything I am...everything I have is yours." I place my palm to his cheek.
"I am nothing, now, little one. Caring for you is all I have left. My business, my home, my own soul. He's taken everything from me, and I can't go to Hell just yet. I want our time together, I need you to live."
Tommy's words draw fresh tears from me. I kiss him gently, my own tone is soft and full of crooning adoration. "He won't take me from you. No one will. I'll fix this, Tommy. OK? I'll fix this for you. Everything I can do...I'll do it. I won't let anyone hurt you."
"There's nothing that can be done, little one. I gave up everything so that he would teach me to bring you back. Everything. There's nothing left to fix. There's just this house, this room, and that stupid fucking gun."
Tommy begins to heave, his chest rising as he coughs up blood. Panicked, I pull my hands from him. "Tommy? What's wrong?!"
He vomits off the side of the bed, the blood pooling onto the hardwood. He idly wipes a hand across his mouth, attempting a smile through blood red teeth. "Nothing, little one. Just anxiety, you know."
I wipe at his face with a shaking hand. "Tell me what I can do to help you, please?"
Licking his lips, Tommy grins unnervingly. "I'm fine," he states, "Right as rain."
"You're lying to me," I reply, sadly.
"I am, little one. Lately, any time I've exerted myself, I have problems keeping blood down."
I frown. "Don't...don't do that, then. Feed from me. Let me take care of you." 

I hesitate slightly, moving closer to him and pressing my wounded face to his shoulder. He places his arms around me. "What the hell happened to us, little one?"
"Hell. Hell has happened to us." I settle into his arms with a slight grimace of pain. "I'm used to it. But you... you deserve better."
"No, little one. We deserve better. We deserve a peaceful home, parties with neighbors, a decent wedding."
I blink, taken aback. "...what."
Tommy continues, "All the parts of a real life. I always wanted that. My father wanted it for me, but I was too busy trying to break out into the family business to realize what I was leaving behind. I'll never have a wife, a regular job, and the one child I ever had I left for dead in the fucking desert."
My expression grows rife with pity, both for Tommy and for myself. "I wish I could give a real life to you. Or at least see to it that you could have all that." Staring past him, seemingly at nothing, I continue. "I stopped wanting anything like that before I was even embraced."
"You would have been a wonderful woman, little one. You could have grown up to live a life of worth." 
I shake my head. "You don't know that."
"I do. The mind you possess cannot be an accident of the Embrace or the curse of Malkav. Women of intelligence go on to do grand things."
I shake my head more vigorously, looking down at myself, disgusted. "Doesn't matter. It's too late for any of that. Too late for me to be anything but..."
Tommy, with his eyes closed, kisses the base of my neck. "You can't judge yourself by the life that could have been, little one. None of that is your fault. We can only make due with what we have. I just I had hoped that life would be simpler once you were back with me."
His words bring a small, pleased whimper from my lips. "It is my fault. If I were stronger, I would have been able to...to do more. To save them. To save myself." 
"Would you have been able to save yourself from you? If you were the one committing the atrocity? Or, more realistically, would you have been able to stop /me/ if you were mortal?"
"It doesn't matter. I should have done more. Died, if I had to. It'd be better than being how he made me."
"No, it wouldn't have been," Tommy states, plainly. "You've been dead, and you know it's something worse than this life. Infinitely worse."

I don't respond, simply keeping my head against his chest, feeling his arms encircle me. My mind attempts to creep to dangerously dark corners, but each time I look up, keeping my eyes on Tommy's until my thoughts clear. Tommy holds me for hours, silently. He breathes, out of habit, the rhythmic rising and falling of his chest comforting me. The pain and fear don't dissipate, but seem to dull. As I feel sleep begin to take hold, I whisper to him, my voice muffled against his shirt. "...you remind me of him." 
I don't give context to my words, but Tommy answers just the same, his tone benevolent even through his exhaustion. "Is that why you love me?"
"No," I reply, the one syllable word hanging in the air, unfinished, as we both succumb to sleep.

https://youtu.be/p8T0nzX0Tmw

I don't know how this is going to end. I don't know how this is going to change. I don't know how this is going to feel, but everything comes down to this.

I climb from the passenger seat of the Lincoln, the feeling of Tommy's cold lips on my forehead quickly replaced by the sting of frigid wind. Scanning the darkened grounds of the park and seeing no one, I make my way to the top of the hill. A single bench juts from cracked concrete, and I hop onto it, sitting on the back of it with my boots resting on the seat. From my vantage point, the harbor is a black, undulating mass, lapping at the sea wall with each gust. A peek at my phone tells me I have at least an hour before my company will show up, unless they're here already, unseen. Unconcerned, I wrap my arms around my knees, staring down at my bare skin as if waiting for goosebumps to appear. A glance at the gold inscribed knife handle sticking from the top of my boot sends a shockwave of pain through my already bruised chest. I reach down and graze it with my fingertips, concentrating for a moment and feeling the same sorrow and despair from Sailix's memory. I pull my hand away, flinching.

Picking up the sound of activity, I cock my head towards the east side of the park. The sound is human, moving away as if subconsciously repelled by the monster in their midst. Paranoid, sending a stream of thought towards the street, I make sure Tommy is safe and undisturbed in the Lincoln. Fear of leaving him without my protection overwhelms any apprehension I have to bringing him along with me. My gut churns nervously in anticipation for tomorrow night's meet. Having him near so many potential enemies. Having him near...I cut off that train of thought with a shudder, fearful that even thinking his name is an omen.

But here you are, guard dog. Recruiting for the devil.

The words echo in my thoughts, the voice guttural, tainted with evil and only vaguely feminine. I press my forehead against my knees, closing my eyes against any visions or apparitions that may come along with the voice.
"I have to do this. More people will die if I don't, than if I do."
The voice laughs at me, just like she has so many times before.

What if you die, little guard dog? Little wraith? Who will be first to claim your soul? He knows your name, remember?

"Tommy won't let that happen." 
But, how many times can I expect him to save me? How long can I expect him to keep his word? What makes Tommy any different from every other person who has promised to love me, just to abandon me once they see the true cost of their affections. Beneath my closed eyes, there's an empty bedroom rife with the smell of cinnamon and clove, a tear stained letter, a pile of ash.

And yet you're willing to sacrifice the few that are left.

Whimpering, I push my right hand from my chest with my left, sheathing my claws and trying to heed Tommy's command to not hurt myself anymore.
"If we all work together...I can make sure to keep all of them safe. This doesn't have to be a death sentence. I can fix this. I can protect them."

Like you protected Alex? Like Sailix? What about Marina...like you protected her?

Fresh grief tears at my insides, and I relent and open my eyes to my accuser. She stands before me, a corrupted doppelganger whose black, gaping reflection stares back at me in every mirror I look into. Her arm is held aloft, spots of rot staining her flesh. Her index finger and thumb point at me in a sideways 'L'. She cocks her thumb, the trigger, and I cringe back from the gunshot shattering the silence. I see Marina falling back from me on the bed, a dark hole punched between her eyes. Her face suddenly inanimate before a wave of Tommy's hand dissolves her corpse into something less than dust. My horror, even as he sets the revolver down and wraps me in the safety of his arms.

"Nooo...that wasn't my fault. That wasn't my fault! I told her not to, I tried to stop her."
The doppelganger's faceless maw radiates smugness and delight. I lean forward, reaching out with my claws to clutch at her. To hurt her and try to absolve my own conscious. My fingers slip through nothing, and nothing is what I see before I link my hands behind my neck and press my head against my knees once more. I don't raise it again until I hear the sound of an engine cut off, and a set of doors open and close. The wind brings familiar scents to my nose. I swallow needlessly, lifting my head and forcing the best attempt at a casual civility to my face as I feel them draw close. My eyes are pulled to the harbor and it's restless waters, before I glance towards my Sabbat allies.
"Oh, hey. You're here..."

https://youtu.be/UA1XlmvQkiI