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.

Everywhere now reminding me I am not who I used to be. I'm afraid this has just begun. Consequences for what I've done.

I keep thinking that if I don't open my eyes, I'll be OK. The smells, sounds, feelings...why should I open my eyes and add horror to yet another sense? Masochist. Always the masochist.

I force my eyelids open to no surprising sight.

The same concrete walls, the rusted bed frame in the corner. Shackles hanging from various spots around the room. The floor, its color indistinguishable save for the smears and stains of blood. My blood, of course. I shudder, wrapping my arms around myself, as if physically attempting to hold in the terror that creeps from my pores. At least I'm alone. Or am I? The steel table that normally holds an array of blood letting and similar items of torture is covered with a thick sheet. The shapes that tent the fabric hint to a vaguely humanoid shape underneath. I look away, shaking my head. Nope. No reason to look under there. In fact, why don't I just turn my gaze from everything but the door. I know it's heavy, locked, and impossible to budge when I was, what I was...before. I'm stronger now. I cross the room with a bravery I don't actually feel.

Again, no surprise when the door swings open before me. The surprise is who is on the other side.

"Tommy!" The priest strides into the room, alleviating only the most minuscule amount of fear. His expression is severe, unsmiling. He sets his eyes on the shape on the table, and then to myself. I shrink away until his lips turn up into the horrifying mockery of a smile that I'm used to. He gestures me forward, into his embrace. I comply despite my misgivings. His cold lips press against my forehead, and I'm almost comforted until I hear the slam and click of the door being pushed shut. I glance up, hoping my fear isn't as obvious as I think.
"No, Tommy, you don't understand. We need to get out of here. If He comes here..."
Tommy presses a finger to my lips. "Shh, Madelyn. We have work to do."
I blink, confused and wary. He pushes me away, stepping towards the table. Without knowing why, I shout "Don't!" 

He pulls the sheet off in a cloud of dust and exposes the being beneath. She appears to be about seventeen. She's tall enough so that her feet dangle slightly off the table, her athletic frame is chained to the cold steel. Her soft brown hair frames rounded features. A light fringe of bangs fall above bright green eyes, held wide open despite the body's inertness. The sight of her sends a shock wave through me, and I back up until the back of my knees hit the dirty mattress. I don't have to study the body to know little features such as chewed finger nails, and a small scar above the top lip. Tommy caresses the girl's face almost affectionately.
"I've found her, Madelyn. The perfect body for you." He looks to me. Smiles. "I told you I would bring you back."
My hands grasp at my sides, seeking the comfort of my knife, my notebook, my iPod...anything. Instead, I clench them into empty fists.
"I'm not dead. I...how did you find her? She's been hidden..."Tommy ignores the sputtered questions, gazing at my bound doppelganger. He seems displeased, even as the girl turns her head to him, expression showing the inquiry that I previously voiced.
"No, no. She isn't right. She isn't ready. Not yet." He glances around the room, contemplating the surroundings. He nods to himself, and begins unchaining the body. I only watch, unsure or unwilling to approach or intervene. When the body is released, the brown haired girl sits up, sliding off the side of the table and falling into Tommy's arms. Her face is all trust and innocence. He seems pleased, as he leads her over to a pair of hanging shackles. I want to call out to tell her to run, but I fear her fate will become mine. I bury my head in my hands as Tommy wraps the cuffs around her wrists. Falling onto the bed, I mumble to myself, trying to ignore my environment in hopes that it will prove to be just another delusion.

The abrupt sound of a sharp, metallic snap brings my attention forefront once more. The Necromancer, my friend, my lover...he stands before my hanging twin. The wooden handle, the nine silvery strips of cord, they're all so familiar. The thin wound seeping blood from the girl's back is familiar, as well. He hits her again and I jump from the bed, a shout of objection on my lips. Tommy turns to me, his face and his collar already speckled with minute traces of blood. His face is a snarl as he points to me with the hand not clutching the whip.
"Madelyn Alexis DeWittier, move no closer."
I'm halted in place, his will forcing me into immobility. No. No. He can't do this. HE CAN'T DO THIS. He smiles, pleased once more. "We must make her perfect. He scars must match yours. Your beautiful scars." His arm rises and falls, tearing strips of skin from the girl. Not a sound escapes from her lips. My maker would be so proud. With each blow, the stripes on my own back sting and tingle. With each blow, the smell of blood grows stronger. I watch the silent torture, meted out by the man who I deluded myself into trusting. The priest pants with exertion, a fine mist of sweat beading on his forehead. Abruptly, he tosses the blood stained whip onto the floor. "Close," he mutters. "Not quite ready, yet."

I want to shrink away from him as he approaches. His once handsome face is stippled with her blood, his eyes are dead and empty. He places a hand at my hip, running his fingers down my thigh and calf to grip the hilt of the knife sticking out of my boot. Pulling the blade out, he places a frigid kiss on my unresponsive lips. I taste myself in her blood. His absence is no more comforting then his presence, as he walks back towards his hanging victim. Facing the girl, he grazes the flat side of the knife against her face. She leans into the blade, as if it's a caressing hand. I'm frozen, whether in terror or compulsion, as his trails the blade in a familiar path down her body. With his free hand, he lifts the hem of her skirt. With the hand gripped around my blade, he draws the knife point up her now exposed thigh. He looks to me, his face melding into the one I've expected all along.
"She has to have ALL of your scars, monster."
He begins cutting and I begin shrieking and

I wake up in the bathtub, scream still ripping from my throat. I toss my clean, but nonetheless unwelcome knife across the room, where it clatters onto the porcelain. Pulling my notebook and iPod to my chest, I clench my eyes shut against anything that may want to creep from them, and for the third time this week, await the sound of Tybalt's concerned entrance.

Poison to everything I touch. The things I've done, so ruinous.

It's raining again, or maybe it never stopped. Either way, I pull my hood over my hair and stomp away from Tybalt's mansion. I feel weak. Used up. Lets not pretend that I don't know why. I fade from view as I make my way towards the more populated part of the city. Not bothering to look up from my feet, I follow my nose, and the smell of fresh, rich, flowing blood. A shudder goes down my spine, as the scent grows stronger. I hear them. Cars full of tired Kine coming home from their night shift jobs. Wayward teenagers, prowling the streets like they own the night. I chew at my lip, near famished, creating a bloodless wound in the soft flesh. Even hidden from their sight, the humans seem to unconsciously shrink away from something monstrous that stalks among them. At that, I'm torn between glee and sorrow.

I turn my head towards an ambrosial smell, my mouth practically watering. A couple is exiting some high end restaurant, and for a moment I'm perplexed by my ravenousness. Then I see it. Nestled, sleeping in daddy's arms. All cherubic curls, tiny sneakers, and Osh Kosh B'fucking Gosh. The purest, sweetest manifestation of innocence. Every bit of what am I focuses on the child, every voice is silenced, every bit of misery is culled. I see the couple approach their car with my coveted treasure. What to do. What to do. I have to be careful, any sloppiness will certainly come back to plague me. I tear my attention from the child, focusing on each adult in turn. With little effort, I prod and tweak around in their minds, dulling their emotions into a colorless glob of nothing. The woman opens the car door and plops into the seat, not bothering to close it behind her. The man opens the back door to place the child in a car seat, and I approach. He glances up at me, stepping an inch back and knocking into the side of the car. His expression can only be described as a calm terror. I stifle a snicker and speak directly into his thoughts. "Give me that." I point a gloved hand to the still sleeping child. He falters slightly, and my lip lifts into a hungry snarl. With a shaking grasp, he hands the child to me, almost appearing relieved once it passes from his possession, to my own. I take a few steps back, clutching the sleeping parcel, and fading from his sight. I only watch a moment, as he shrugs slightly and leans against the car door.

The smell of sweet blood overpowers my thoughts, and I have to take off running at an impossible speed, just to keep from tearing my meal...and the masquerade... to shreds. I cut through a neighborhood, following my senses to an empty, abandoned house. Several thick boards block the back entrance. I pull them off, one handed, jostling the child enough so that it starts to stir. Small sounds of fear and disgruntlement begin to come from the warm mass in my arms, and my mouth drops open in hunger. So young. So innocent. Memories of the young children my maker brought me to feed on flash through my head. For once, they do nothing to dissuade me. If anything the visions entice me further. I wrap my hands around the warm bundle, holding it to my chest. It's tiny features are ambiguous to me. The child is almost unnoticeable as a living being. It's nourishment. A vessel of pure, untainted sustenance. I bring the bundle to my face, inhaling the fresh aroma of it's flesh. The sweet nectar issuing unrestrained through tiny veins. My lips meet the smooth, unflawed texture of it's skin, and my teeth are in the small throat before my fangs even fully elongate. The saccharine liquid flows unbridled into my mouth and down my gullet. The small body empties within minutes but the time trips longer through the throes of my ecstasy.  When the veins finally run dry I toss the drained corpse into onto the dirty carpet. Not a drop wasted. 

I wander the empty house, my head almost buzzing with the silence and satisfaction. Every fear and delusion is a far whisper, barely even a tickle in my consciousness. Barely even a muted groan. I glance over the walls, reading graffiti-ed messages so fresh I can smell the flavor of the Kine that wrote them. I'm fine and full and happy until my green eyed gaze passes over the cracked, yet reflective surface of a darkened window.

And I see her. The ragged, unkempt clothing, hanging off a skeletal frame. Ribs laid open and bloodless from a gender-less chest. Matted clots of pink hair surround a dark gaping maw of nothingness where my face should be. There's a strangled howling of a sick animal nearby. The pained keening of a fox with it's paw in a trap. I want to turn to see what it is, but I'm stricken by the horrific reflection that stares me down without sight. "Who are you," I cry, but the mocking response from the window answers my question. That wailing again, answering another question as I fall to my knees. "Real, or not real? Real, or not real? Real, or not real?!" As I pray, I pull my K-bar from it's spot in my boot. I drag the blade against my cheek, my chin, my forehead. I want to fix what I saw. "Real, or not real?"

It hurts, I bleed, I plead.
"Mongrel. Tommy. Tybalt. Pyotr. Law. Dad. Master. Anyone."

"Help."

Fading, falling, lost in forever. Will I find a way to keep it together? Am I strong enough to last through the weather in the hurricane of my life?

In the lull at Elysium, unnoticed by the other Camarilla members, I Obfuscate and slip from the building. Despite the lack of devastating events, I need to get away. Reappearing a few blocks down, I climb into my unlocked, piece of shit Jetta. The old car still smells of mildew and shows signs of disuse. Starting the engine, the Genesis CD in the console starts playing and brings me a modicum of comfort. Pulling my notebook from the back of my skirt, I lean back in the seat and spread it open on my lap. My brow furrowed, I scrawl a few notes into it. My hand shakes slightly as I cross a few things out. I should be happy for a few spots of clarity, but no. I was really hoping some of this stuff wasn't real. Closing the notebook and turning up the radio, I pull from my spot and make my way home.

It's only after I reach the entrance to the winding road that leads to the house, that I remember Tybalt's offer. The woods loom ahead of me, and flashing back to the last time I rode up here after an Elysium, my hands begin shaking on the steering wheel. No. No, that didn't happen. If I did, I wouldn't be here, and I am. Knowing I should just turn around and head straight to Tybalt's manor, I press down on the gas and head up the road anyway. The windshield wipers squeak back and forth, barely clearing the rain from the glass. My eyes similarly tick back and forth, my senses alert to anyone or anything following me. I reach the paved driveway in front of the house and turn off the car. I'm alone out here, I know it. And yet. My hand freezes on the door handle. I can't bring myself to open it. My quiet whimper is heard over the tap of rain on the hood. What if? What if it's the same, all over again? I lift the handle, and halfheartedly push the door open. Nothing happens, so I step out. Holding the door open like a shield, I breathe in deeply. I smell nothing but the stink of my own fear. There's no one out here. Nothing attacks me.

With a strangled sob, I plop into the dirt next to the car. Leaning against the open door, I curl my knees to my chest and squeeze them. "Real, or not real? Real, or not real?" The words quickly become a mantra, as my clothes and hair steadily become more soaked by the rain. Part of me is tempted to call out to Tybalt's mind, but I keep my thoughts reigned in. He doesn't need this. 

I sit in the dirt I died on. The spot I was killed. Nothing happens. Did anything ever?

I reach behind me, into the car, and grab my notebook. Hunching over the pages to protect it from the rain, I write the nights activity, the people I met...anything I can before the lines of reality begin to blur.
Call me Al. Who?                                  Sabbat in the sewer.
             Sailix: Manservant. Assamite. Gay?                     Art: Toreador. Nice. Warm.
Cally: Nos. Prince(cess?)Nice.                Grendel: Nos. Really Nos. Likes rats. Nice.
                                Michael: Gangrel. Sheriff. Tybalt's friend. Impetuous. 
Got to keep my knife.              Scourge. Rictus, too.       Iskander: Assamite. Nosy. Primogen.
                                     Scum dude: Famous. Masquerade breachy? Gay?
Did that one guy hit on me?
I scrawl a sketch of a tire and try to ignore the shaking in my hand. The pencil snaps in my grasp, and I squeeze the splinters of wood into my flesh.

Dropping the shards of pencil in the mud, I force myself to my feet and slide into the driver's side once more. I almost expect to see my chainsaw sitting chummily close on the passenger seat, but no. I start the car, and without thinking too hard about it, head down the driveway. Tybalt will take care of me. He'll keep me safe. I hear an all too familiar chuckle and my foot reflexively hits the brake, the car skidding and mud splashing onto the side window. "No. No, no, no. Not you. Not real." I continue driving, only just managing to ignore the voice that hisses dissent in my thoughts, telling me that Tybalt will abandon me just like Mongrel, or worse, he'll end up delusional and dangerous like Tommy. When I finally pull in front of the sprawling manor, I only spend a minimal amount of time to plaster an attempt at a natural smile on my face, before joining my Lasombra friend in his home.

I hope someday you wake up from the terrible dream of watching one of your kindred fall. It takes a lot of dust and grind, to leave the world you love behind.

The rain is coming down hard enough to bend the leaves and branches. I sit on the porch steps, my feet hanging off just far enough to be spattered with drops. Inhaling through my nose, I smell nothing but wet soil, the woods are devoid of life. Well, except the life sitting here on these splintering wood stairs. Pulling my legs to my chest and wrapping my arms around them, I lay my head on my knees, squeezing my eyes shut.
I'm alive. Real, or not real?
Lifting my head slightly, I peer through the pink fringe of bangs at the white Jetta moldering in the driveway. The door still hangs open on rusty hinges.
I died there, didn't I? Did I? 
I remember stepping out of the car, oblivious to the danger until it was too late. Two, three, four Sabbat attacking me. I don't remember. I don't remember. I remember dirt and darkness. I remember the gray, lifeless landscape of the Shadowlands. That guy, the smart ass that told me where I was. I remember being in the dark. I remember burying myself.

I pull my feet up and out of the rain. According to my new buddy Alex, it's less than a week before the city's Elysium. Chewing my nails, I try to remember Alex's face. He was real, right? My brow creases with the attempt to discern the difference between delusion and reality. I stop chewing my nails when I notice the trickles of blood coming from the masticated flesh of my fingertips. There. I'm bleeding again. That's certainly real. I stare at the seeping red fluid. "But, Tommy said..." No. No. There's my mistake again. Tommy is just as fucking crazy as I am. I chew my lip. Isn't he?

Sighing, I wipe my bloody hand on my hoodie and pull a tattered notebook from under my seat on the steps. The paper is full of my own scrawled handwriting. I turn to a page with Tommy's name on it. The notes are as scattered at my thoughts.

Tommy will bring me back from the dead Not real.                    He cares. Real, or not real?
Killed Pyotr. Real.                                He ate Pyotr. Not real.
He wants to hurt me. Real, or not real?                      Made me hurt Mongrel. Real, or not real?
Crazy. Real.               The God thing. Not real.             Lover? Consensual, or not consensual.
The barbed wire. Not real.                      Stronger than Franco. Real, or not real.

I close the notebook, and my eyes, This was supposed to help, but it doesn't. I place my hand in my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the outdated iPod that I cling to like a godamned life preserver. What the fuck am I going to do in Baltimore. What the fuck CAN I do, except get myself killed. Actually killed. Staring out into the rain, I've no desire to move from this spot. The house at my back holds nothing for me, anymore. The few things that meant something have inexplicably disappeared, if they ever existed at all. My news clippings, my skates. The blank scraps of paper torn from a sketchbook that still hold that haunting cinnamon/clove smell. The sound of the rain doesn't quite mask the quietly pained whimper that escapes my lips. Resting my head on my knees once more, I link my hands together behind my neck and force my thoughts out until my senses tell me the sun will rise soon. Even though there's more than enough time to dawdle, I pick up my notebook and zip into the house in a blur of motion. None of the lights are on, but I know where I'm going. My footfalls echo in the mostly empty room, as I close the door behind me. Climbing into the cold, porcelain bathtub, I pull my hood over my head. Double and triple checking my pocket for the iPod, I pull my K-bar from my boot. Curling into a ball with my notebook under one arm, and my knife clenched in hand, I close my eyes and wait for the days sleep to pull me under.

https://youtu.be/CwJpa1J3nRs?list=PLK8WUhlDQgCYbLNLbABOu2gj7Aapy4O7y

Feeling freezes so I know it must be time to leave you, dear. Everything's warm when your heart grows cold.

May of 1973.

"Madelyn, I love you."
The three words seem to echo around the room several times before settling into my psyche. When they do, I extract myself out of Law's embrace. "...what?!" I spit out, taking another step back.
"I said, I lo..."
Almost slipping into my defensive crouch, I hastily interrupt the Gangrel when he starts to speak again. "No, Law. I heard what you said, I just, what the fuck?!"
He laughs tentatively at my sputtered outburst, the laugh trailing off as he reads my expression. "This shouldn't come as a surprise darlin'. After all, why else would I put up with your, well..." A glance at the boarded up window. Broken just a night or two ago during one of my episodes. 
"Maybe I figured you were a masochist." He attempts to step closer to me, possibly to pull me back into his arms. "Or a moron." He only just manages to mask the hurt expression that wants to show when I retreat back, creating more distance between us. Those three words keep bouncing around my already frazzled skull, and I have to shake my head in a failed attempt to clear it. "Law, you must be out of your fucking mind."
His aura churns sickly as he replies, voice laced with bitterness. "That would make it easier, wouldn't it? Easier for you. Then you wouldn't have to come to terms with the fact that you're not really the monster that you claim to be."
I flinch a bit at his words. "This isn't a good decision for you."
He scoffs. "Decision? Darlin', love isn't a god damned decision. Even you should realize that, as skewed as your sense of reality is."
That twangs at a nerve. "Gee, thanks Law." I spit out, angrily.
He sighs, holding his hands out in supplication. "Mad, look, let's not start flinging insults at each other. I don't expect you to reciprocate. You know I'd never push you into anything." His eyes settle on mine. "It's just something I wanted to.." he gestures with a hand. "..articulate. Nothing has to change." 

I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to continue looking at Law. His sincerity seeps into my thoughts, triggering the gag reflex of my emotions. No way. My eyes snap open, and settle on the Gangrel. He perches on the side of worn couch, his expression concerned. "Y'alright, Mad?" 
I shake my head, pinching my lips shut against any words that could incriminate me. Taking a few jerky steps out of the room, I'm unsurprised to hear Law's footsteps following. Without turning around to acknowledge him, I lurch over to my boots laying by the door, and in one swift movement, step into them and zipper them up. It's then that he reaches out to grasp my shoulder. For the first time in many months, I flinch away from him. I don't see the wounded look on his face, just as he misses my own stricken expression. His hand pulls away. "You're not running off, are you?"
I turn to face him, attempting to keep my face placid. "I just need to...go for a little bit. Go for a walk or," I shrug, stiffly.
He still looks worried. "You know I didn't mean to.."
I cut him off with a wave of my hand, speaking more calmly than I feel. "I'll be back, Law." My eyes flick down, just for a moment, betraying the honesty I try to convey. I reach out, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. "I'll be back." I hold his gaze this time, and he seems placated. Dropping his hand, I turn and fling myself out the door, into the dark and damp, wishing to get far from his benevolent gaze.

I'm almost proud of myself. I manage to make it several miles from the house, before collapsing on the moist dirt between a cluster of trees. What do I do, now? How could he spring something like this on me? How the fuck can he think he LOVES me? I know I should get up and keep walking. Keep walking until I'm out of his reach. Instead of rising, leaving and breaking my word, I pull my knees into my chest and bury my face against them. GET UP. "Noo.." I almost wish I'd slip into a episode. A tiny part of me wishes for my maker's hissing voice in my head. Anything, anything to point me in a sensible direction. I ignore the moisture in my eyes, on my cheeks, telling myself it's from the rain. There's no phantom words of wisdom, no threats of danger. I can't figure this out on my own. Please. I desperately glance around at the surrounding woods, as if some figure will step out and tell me how to live my unlife. I'm smart enough to not be disappointed when there's nothing and no one coming to my rescue. Maybe because I just ran from the one who's willing to rescue me. Scooting back in the mud, I lean against the tree behind me, my clothes and hair slowly getting soaked in the downpour. I stay there for hours, adjusting my position only to curl into ball in the dirt. It's only once the rain stops, that I mindlessly climb to my feet and trudge back to the house.

Tracking mud into the empty den, I pause only long enough to pull my boots off and toss them in the general direction of the front mat. I breathe in through my nose, and follow the familiar scent to Law's bedroom. A light can be seen in the hallway, and when I enter the room, he's sitting up in the bed, staring at me. He doesn't bother to hide the concern in his expression as I stand at the foot of the bed, my clothes dripping rhythmically onto the carpet. His golden eyes survey me, but he doesn't move from his spot on the bed.
"Mad? Darlin', are you alright?"
My eyes drop from his, and I stare at the ground. I raise my hands to the collar of my shirt, awkwardly opening the buttons without looking up. The wet fabric laying open over my bra, I slide the shirt down my arms and drop it onto the floor. Still refusing to look up, my hands start shaking as I untie the drawstring on my muddy skirt. In a blur of movement that I don't see, Law is in front of me, holding my hands still. "What are you doing?" I halfheartedly attempt to pull my hands from his. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring up at me until I meet his eyes. I chew my lip, and gently pull one of my hands free. Placing it on the back of his neck, I bring my face to his, my mouth to his, and kiss him with as much passion as I can fabricate. His accedes, and I use the distraction to shimmy my skirt down my hips to join my shirt. He pulls back and I see the hunger in his eyes, how he's holding back. "You don't have to do this, darlin'" I take both of his hands, drawing them around me in an embrace. Without thinking, I climb onto his lap. Now, there's a tremor in his hands as they press lightly into my hips. "I don't -have- to do anything. I want to." His lips part, as if to argue further, and I interrupt him with another kiss. He groans into my mouth and pulls me farther onto the bed, rolling me onto my back. Law claws at my remaining garments, and I'm saved the trouble of removing my own clothes and his. I physically respond the best I can, using his fire and passion to numb my mind into a fog as the night turns to teeth, tongue and hands.

~~~~

The room is quiet and dark. My clothes long since forgotten on the floor, I'm suddenly over aware of my nakedness. I pull the covers up to my shoulders and roll over to face the door. Law shifts slightly, his body close to mine, but not touching. Sunrise must be near, and I'm shamed to feel grateful that he'll be losing consciousness before me. I start to relax, mistaking his silence for sleep.
"I love you." His soft voice makes my body tense in a way that I pray he doesn't notice. I bury my face deep into the comforter. After a few minutes of silence, I speak one dreaded syllable, muffled by the blanket.
"Why?"
He doesn't respond right away, but draws closer. I can feel the breath from his words in my hair.
"Because I know who you are under the crazy. Beautiful, and fierce." 
I don't even realize that I'm shaking my head in dissent until I feel his hand stilling the movement. I squeeze my eyes shut. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I'm weak. A monster. "There's too much dark."
His voice drags a bit, as if he's fighting the oncoming torpor just to spew this fiction. "I want your dark. I know the light underneath it."
I pull the comforter from my face, repeating my words from earlier. "You're out of your fucking mind." I hate that beneath the bewilderment and denial, there's this spark of something in my chest that makes me desire something I probably can't feel. He chuckles a little from behind me.
"Maybe I am, darlin'. Doesn't change anything." He pulls the covers down slightly, his fingertips grazing the skin on my back and shoulders. When he speaks again, his voice lacks the humor it had just a moment ago, but is rife with gentleness. "You scars run deep. Even the ones I can't see." My brow furrows, and I find myself wanting to draw away from his touch. "I know I can't fix them, but I want to make them hurt...less. I want to try." A slight growl creeps into his tone. "If I didn't suspect that you already did it, I'd like to tear the person that did this to you into unrecognizable shreds." 
Despite the sensitive subject matter, his soft touch lulls me into a sense of security. Is he strong enough? I cut that thought off, refusing to entertain the notion that there could be a happy ending for me. His hand stills, coming to a stationary rest on my side. He's quiet, cold and finally asleep. Clenching the covers to my chest, I stare blankly into the dark room. Fighting the pull of sleep myself, I speak aloud to the silence. "I'll only hurt you. I can't not. There's nothing in me to love." I'm already making plans in my head, even as I drift into unconsciousness. "...sorry you're too stupid to realize that."

I wake up before full nightfall, taking advantage of his heavy slumber to gather my few belongings. My mind is unusually clear and quiet as I stealthily move about the house. Slipping into Obfuscate, I'm off of the property and out of Law's life before he even fully wakes for the night.

Why would I want to watch you, disconnect and self destruct one bullet at a time? What's your rush now, everyone will have his day to die.

Tossing my iPod onto the table, I rise from the couch to pace the living room, again. Christ. He said he was coming over, where the fuck is he?! My mind goes to the worst place, like always. I can't help but imagine him caught, killed, or worse. Chewing my already mauled fingernails, I jump at the sound of a knock at the door. "'Bout damned time..." I mumble to myself, before swinging the door wide. A dark eyed, blue haired Lasombra stands on the porch. I open my mouth to chastise him on his lateness, and close it again as I take a deep inhale of his scent. Cocking my head to the side, I speak his name in inquiry "Tybalt?" He stumbles past the threshold, kicking the door shut behind him. When he speaks, his words are pain filled slur. "They killed him." I blink in confusion, but miss the chance to respond when the door is once more flung open. Mongrel barges in, crying, "MADDIE?!"  he stops short, catching his breath at the sight of Tybalt, eyes wide and mouth open. Tybalt looks up as the door opens. Seeing Mongrel, his eyes go hard. What. Shit? What? My eyes widen at both Mongrel's appearance and Tybalt's words. "Nice to see you got my message." Tybalt snarls to the Gangrel. Turning his attention back to me, I try to hide my shock, and the hint of elation I feel at Mongrel's presence. "The fucking Russian killed Hanzel. For helping me." Gulp. Guess I'll be next on Pyotr's list. As if just realizing his surroundings, Mongrel shakes himself, looking around and shutting the door behind him with unnatural speed. Fucking showoff. His hand flickers to his side to his weapons and he circles around the wall with his back towards it, "... T-Tybalt?" My eyes tick back and forth between the two, muscles tense, ready to spring if either of them show a sign of malevolence. Tybalt looks back at the Gangrel, noting his defensive posture.  "Don't bother."

Tybalt flops down on the floor, pulling a bottle of wine out of his hoodie. He uncaps it and begins drinking, adding to the already pungent stench of booze. Settling my gaze on Mongrel, I speak quietly. "Put your guard down. If he was gonna do something...you know you'd be dead already." The Gangrel's attention focuses on Tybalt, his thumb tracing the metal of his gun "... Maddie, are you okay?" His voice has a protective sort of growl to it, drawing a twinge from deep in my chest. This is going to be a fun night. I swallow unnecessarily, before settling onto the carpet beside Tybalt. Glancing up at Mongrel, I respond "I'm fine." before turning my concern to the plastered Lasombra at my side. His eyes are glassy, his expression distraught. Even the shadows are him seem to stagger and falter. Tybalt looks very pointedly at the Gangrel. "Were you involved in it? They melted his fucking car.  I can't even bury him because his ashes are fused to the metal." I flinch, hoping Mongrel gives an answer that won't lead to bloodshed. "Who? Hanzel? No. I had nothing to do with that." He eases up from his crouch and allows his coat to drape again. The guarded snarl quickly faded into a joyous one as he flung himself at the Tybalt and pulls the seated Lasombra into an embrace, "It's true! You're alive!" He visibly stiffens, pushing at Mongrel."Get. Off. What the FUCK makes you think I want to be hugged by Pyotr's personal fucking hatchetman?!"  he snarls. He makes the attempt to stand.  It doesn't work. Probably for the better. "Easy Tybalt" I put my hand on his shoulder, exerting only enough pressure to keep him seated, while still offering consolation. Tybalt takes a deep, purposeful breath, and much to my relief, nods.

Mongrel looks hurt but detaches himself and stands, taking several steps back. His face becomes unreadable. "...fair enough." He looks me over, and I see through his attempt to keep his expression blank. I turn my eyes away from his concern. Tybalt points a wavering finger at the Gangrel. "Don't go anywhere.  I didn't text you to bitch you out for something you didn't do." I furrow my brow, looking to Tybalt as he continues."I'm a bit..." Well, damn. I guess Tybalt snitched on me. "You texted..." I let my words trail off with a huff. I can feel Mongrel's eyes boring into me, even before I meet his gaze. "So, you almost walked into the sun?" There is no emotion in his voice, and I can't help but sigh, loudly. I ignore Tybalt's off putting chuckle beside me, and give a non-committal shrug. The laughter just as quickly leaves Tybalt's voice as he warns, "You need to get her out of town, Mongrel. The Russian is killing people for associating with me." Both Mongrel and I disregard his words, continuing our stare down."Uhuh. And you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself..." there is a tinge of anger in his voice but he retains his poker face. I exhale loudly, grabbing Tybalt's bottle and taking a hefty swig. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" No thanks to.. I cut that thought off, pleased by Tybalt's brief distraction. "Ummmm...sure.  Have a drink, Maddie." I smile a little, replying "Thanks" I take another swallow from the bottle as Tybalt fishes his cigarettes from his pocket. I hold the bottle in my lap, watching him try to light one. "Madre de noche...." he throws the lighter at me.  "Light this damn thing. Wine tax." I scowl, but do so, keeping one hand wrapped around the neck of the wine bottle. Mongrel turns a cool gaze to Tybalt, "You know that now that I know this I am obligated to kill both of you?" His voice falters on the last few words. His stoic face fails and all of his emotion shows through. Sighing heavily, he continues, "Which is why I could use one of those too." Mongrel goes into the kitchen and returns with a mason jar filled with clear liquid.

"Empty night... obviously I've had more than I thought I did." Tybalt shakes his his head, struggling to get his lighter back in his pocket. He looks to Mongrel as he reenters the room, "Yeah.  Obligated." His words are bitter. I take another drink, feeling the tension in the room and shuddering."Get your head out of your ass, Mongrel. You're working for a fucking monster." Mongrel crosses the room, sitting down against the wall and taking a sip from the jar, his voice is calm, "You know what, Tybalt. Go fuck yourself." Great. Now they're slinging insults like a bunch of teenagers. I stare down the neck of the wine bottle, mumbling to myself."Oh...this should be fun." Mongrel continues in an undertone, "I've had just about enough of the two of you- Tybalt and Pyotr. Fucking children sometimes." Tybalt laughs again, that same, off-putting laugh.  "A bit too late for that, don't you think?  I'm pretty fucked already." The both of them continue, talking over each other.
"How's that? You're still alive, ain'tcha?"
"But do go on.  Tired of us, you were saying?" I rub my face vigorously, their intertwining voices setting me on edge. Mongrel quiets down as Tybalt carries on. ".... for now." He's not wrong. I don't voice my opinion aloud. Mongrel's voice becomes soft, his eyes are sad, "This city is falling. I don't know how I-" Tybalt motions for me to pass the bottle. I pout, briefly, taking another sip before passing it over. He takes a long drink and sets it between us.

It's uncomfortably quiet for a moment. I sigh. "S'not the city that's failing...it's the people in it." Tybalt looks to me, an almost insulting expression of surprise on his face. "Might be the most truthful thing I've heard in awhile." My lips twitch up in a smile, remembering Pyotr's words. "I'm apparently shockingly insightful at times.." Mongrel frets, "How are we suppose to survive against all that assails us if the clans are constantly at odds with each other?" He smiles at me, and all of the sudden my smile feels brittle. I drop my head slightly. "And you are very often insightful, Mad--" He flinches and takes a swig. I sneak a glance at him from under the fringe of my bangs."Malkavian here, and I'm rarely at odds with anyone." Mongrel speaks softly, "Peace offering?" He closes the lid on the jar and rolls it across the floor to Tybalt and I. My head cocks to the side, Tybalt is whispering something, almost inaudible. "...out of...shut up...leave..." He doesn't seem to be speaking to either Mongrel or I. Mongrel glances at him curiously, "Though it seems Mr. Tybalt is a bit uh..." I snap my gaze to Tybalt, watching him carefully. "Who are you talking to, Tybalt?" He squeezes his eyes shut, hard. "Get the FUCK out of my head, you diablerist piece of shit!" Mongrel stands, on guard again. I keep my eyes on the Lasombra, head cocked, almost feeling sympathy pains. "...only one diablerist piece of shit I know." I glance at Mongrel again, accusingly. "shoulda let me kill him." Tybalt seems to get under control. "...the alcohol helps. It makes it easier for me to make him leave." I look at Tybalt sympathetically. "...sucks not being alone in there, doesn't it?" From the corner of my eye, I see that Mongrel relaxes a bit and leans against the wall, arms folded. He looks back at me. "There's one that I don't mind being up there, and if she knew how drunk I was right now..." I smile, kindly, cutting him off. "...she'd probably understand." He laughs again, and I'm relieved when it's a normal Tybalt chuckle. "Yeah.  She understands everything else. Hanzel was teasing me about her for weeks. Apparently she was getting the same sort of thing from Marcus." He grins.  "Everyone knew but us, apparently." My return smile falters a bit, and I fight the urge to look at Mongrel."It's always good to have someone like that." Tybalt's eyes narrow, he doesn't miss the falter. Damn it.

From across the room, Mongrel clears his throat, "Well then, if Maddie isn't going for a walk in the sunshine any time soon and you're not on fire, I think I'll go. Sorry for the intrusion." His voice is gruff. Before he can step away, Tybalt points to the Gangrel. "And thatsh why...madre de noche I did NOT just slur. That. Is. Why. I. Texted. You." I look down at the floor without a response. I don't want to hear this. Mongrel pauses, "...pardon?" Tybalt's voice is stern. Hardened. "Walking out that door is a poor decision, Mongrel. I'm not going to stop you from doing it, but I will tell you that it's a poor decision." I start getting that caged animal feeling, and fight the urge to dash off into the bedroom."And what... do you expect me to do?" Mongrel says through gritted teeth. I slowly rise to my feet, mumbling something about my iPod, which is clearly sitting on the floor next to me. Tybalt's next question stalls me, and I can't help but flinch. "Do you love her?" Mongrel is quiet for a moment. Too quiet. I know I should walk away. "What, have you taken up couples counseling, Tybalt?" The Lasombra doesn't back down. "I've taken up not letting other people make dumb mistakes unless I don't like them." Mongrel snarls and whips around, spitting his words at Tybalt. "DO NOT presume to know how I feel or... what is right for me." He looks to me, "...OR her." I just want to disappear at this point. I stare at my feet, willing them to sink into the floor as Tybalt continues his tirade. "I'm pretty sure that things that lead to her wanting to get a suntan aren't really right. Just my opinion, but suit yourself." I finally speak, keeping my voice low in attempt to hide the pain in it."Tybalt, just...It's OK. Just let it go. I've gotta...I'm just going to go...pee." I shuffle my feet forward few steps, knowing both men are watching me. "...fucking masochist." I mumble to myself before turning around and sitting back down.

The Lasombra raises an eyebrow slightly. I square my shoulders, lifting my chin in a pantomime of bravely that I don't feel. Mongrel growls and locks eyes with Tybalt, and they both grow silent. I note their concentration, and casually pick at the carpet. At least now I don't have to actually hear them talking about me like I'm not here. I catch Mongrel wiping at his eyes before he escapes to the kitchen with a quiet whimper. He returns with another jar of liquor, slumping against the wall with a burdened look upon his face. I twist the cord of my headphones around my finger, playing oblivious even as Tybalt walks over to Mongrel, offering his own bottle. He sighs, as they continue a conversation I can't hear. Fiddling with my iPod, it briefly switches on. A snippet of song pours into the silence.
"How can I just let you walk away, just let you leave without a trace
 When I stand here taking every breath with you, ooh
 You're the only one who really knew me at all"
I click it off in a hurry, glancing up to see the pair's attention on me. Tybalt moves towards the door with a sense of forced casualty. "I think I'm going to go stretch my legs a bit, maybe burn some of this out of my system." I try to meet his eyes, shaking my head slightly. He ignores me, stumbling slightly. "Madre de noche.  Ok, maybe more than some." He finally meets my gaze. "I'll be on the porch,"

Resting my elbow on my knee, I place my chin in my hand, feeling nervous. Mongrel waits until Tybalt is gone before asking in a quiet voice, "Why'd you do it, Maddie?" I jerk my shoulders up into a shrug. "Didn't do it. Just...tried." For the first time that night, my name sounds comfortable on his lips. Some of the tension leaves my face. "Want me to leave?... I won't tell anyone he was here." Christ. How the fuck does he expect me to answer that? "You want honest, painfully honest or a lie?" I don't look up. "...whichever you're willing to give." I sigh. "No." I say quietly. Even quieter "...never." His voice is sorrowful when he replies. "I can't save you, Maddie." I finally look at him, keeping my gaze below his nose, not meeting his eyes. "Never thought you would." I never asked you to, either. Mongrel continues, the pain in his words cuts me like a knife. "I'm making it worse by staying and trying to." I almost want to stomp my foot in outrage. He really doesn't get it. Stupid Gangrel. I meet his eyes, speaking firmly. "Then why don't you stop trying to save me and just...accept that I'm going to have to save myself." I add on, as a grudging afterthought:"And double realize that I can't do that...without you." Guess I should start accepting that I can be saved, in the first place. He looks at me in awe and giving me a small smile, "I know that now, Madelyn."  Just as quickly, the smile is gone, "I know. I know. Which is why.... I need to. Please." I tilt my head to the side, not understanding. Mongrel straightens up and collects himself, "Which is why I need to save myself for once." I furrow my brow, keeping quiet. "As I said before, I will be around if you need me, I won't betray you or Tybalt willingly. That's all I can offer you right now. If you say that you don't need saving, I will take you at your word." I pull my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them. I take what is likely a visible effort to attempt a smile before nodding at Mongrel. "Oh. OK. Sorry I...or, we dragged you into this." He winces as he watches me, it's obvious he doesn't want to leave just yet."You didn't." I give a non-committal shrug. "Well, don't risk getting yourself in trouble for protecting us. It's probably inevitable that..." That I'll meet an untimely demise sooner, or later. "Just don't get killed cuz of me."

A momentary flash of light comes through the open door, followed by Spanish cursing, and the smell of burnt hair wafting into the room from outside. Mongrel chuckles briefly,  "Too late for that." before rushing outside. I hear him inquire, "You alright? Tybalt?" and the sound of him stomping out a cigarette. I stay seated, yelling towards the door. "Don't you mess up that blue!" My words are more jovial than my mood, and I angrily swipe tears from my eyes while the two speak, outside. Cocking my ear to the open doorway, I eavesdrop as I sniffle to myself. Tybalt's voice drifts in, sounding forlorn. "No.  No I'm not, Mongrel.  I've got a Malkavian in my head making me do things I don't remember, a dead friend, a lover I'm scared to death for, another friend I'm worried about, and to top it off I can't seem to smoke correctly. I've had better nights." Mongrel's voice trails in, just as downtrodden. "If it's alright with you both, I'd like to just spend time with you before I go. I don't know when I might see you again, especially if a certain Nosferatu manages to break into my head again... though I have put up some mental blocks." Tybalt sighs. "In the end, all we have is this: people. People we care about. The titles and the status and the pretty words, they don't keep the beast at bay....." he pauses, "I'm rambling." I hear a grin in Mongrel's voice as he replies, "Finish your smoking and get in here, you ass." The same smile is heard in the Lasombra's voice. "Tell you what. You can stay if you smack me when I start rambling." 

They both wander in, Mongrel is smirking."Don't tempt me. Just might." I nonchalantly wipe my hand on my shirt, the dark smear of red is barely visible, to my relief. Tybalt glances at me, "Oh, maybe you shouldn't.  If anyone messes up her art project,"  he points to his head, "she might get mad at us." I give a half smile. "I know you can't see it, but trust me, it looks great." We're all quiet for a moment, and I pick at the already threadbare carpet some more. Mongrel breaks the silence."Alright well... since we have tonight, and I have you both for a bit..." He smiles at both Tybalt and I, sadly as though we might suddenly disappear. Tybalt gets a thoughtful look on his face, and then asks, "Can either of you draw?" Reminiscing, I answer, "I can't, unless you count those pictures on the wall when we were locked in your basement..." The Lasombra snorts, wine dripping from his nose. I jerk my thumb over to Mongrel, as he answers,"I can." Very quietly, Tybalt asks, "Would...you, please?" Mongrel nods enthusiastically. "What would you like? My better sketch book is at...but I have another in my old room. Something of the two of you?" Tybalt shakes his head, "...no.  I just..." he sighs, "I want something to give to Test, before..." He looks away. I look at my friend sadly, before nailing him in the arm with a punch. "Ow." He rubs at his arm, looking surprised. I just shrug. Mongrel walks from the room, I hear him shuffling around in the closet before he reenters with a sketchbook. He flips to an open page, settling down in front of Tybalt. "Ohhh... right. Well, hold still then. Tilt your chin a bit up? Yes." His pencil scratches against the paper, and the sound is soothing. I watch Tybalt at first, but I can't help when my gaze turns to, and lingers on Mongrel as he sketches, taking an occasional sip of moonshine.

The evening goes on in such a ridiculously domestic manner. Like three old friends...hell -like three Kine- even, we chat casually, only lightly grazing subjects that touch on the real problem at hand. Things like Tybalt being a wanted fugitive, and my aiding a criminal. Things like the fact that Pyotr will likely have all three of killed, come next sunset. Mongrel sketches, and Tybalt drinks, and for the time being, we're safe.

Now do you think you're too damn good for the killing kind?

A slightly off tune rendition of a Sting song echoes on my side of the woods. Jesus Christ, was I actually just singing to myself? I shake my head, but can't deny the uplift in my mood since my encounter with Tommy. Despite my fear and his temper...I haven't felt this content since I died. Making my way through the clearing, the cabin comes into view. Mongrel is home. Alone, for a change. Now's the best time...maybe even one of the last times I'll get to speak with him on neutral ground. I've accepted what I need to do. Mostly.

Or maybe you just know what the good father will do to you, if you don't.
On instinct, a growl slips from my lips. There she is, waiting for me on the wooden steps, blocking the front door. You bitch. A smile creeps onto the Shadow's face. Miss me, Maddie? 
"Yeah, funny enough. Where were you hiding all night?" 
My voice is rich with bravado. "Necromancers make you nervous?" 
She laughs, but I feel her anger at my audacity. Your bi-polar fuck buddy? She laughs derisively. You moron. It's not like he could doing anything to me without destroying you, too. I don't have time for this shit. I attempt to make my way up the stairs, ignoring the phantasm of myself. Her cold, unyielding hand against my chest halts my progress and I take a retreating step. And what are you up to now, little Maddie? 
"None of your fucking business!" I snap, knowing damned right my plans are laid out in the forefront of my thoughts. God damn, it.

A chit chat with your mutt? Set him to his mission and implore that he forgives the torment and torture you're planning on putting him through? Blame it all on me? Innocent little Maddie would -never- hurt her Mongwel. Ha. Oh you are fucking priceless, Maddie. 
My temper flares and I spit my next words through gritted teeth. "Stop fucking calling me that." 
The Shadow's eyebrow arches. Oh, I'm sorry...is that nickname still off limits? Old Tommy sure seemed to be getting away with it, I only figured... She smiles, the expression cruel on lips that are a mirror image to my own. Right. He's allowed to, now. Because he -cares- about you. 
I hate her laughter, it echoes through the woods and my mind. "Fuck. You." 
Good comeback, bitch. She settles onto the top step, making herself comfortable. So what's your next move? You and the Giovanni asshole have your resurrection all neatly planned out. We torture your little ex boyfriend until he finds someone to help. Then what? You manage to shake me off and come back to life? 

I hate her for bringing this wondering to mind. What does happen if I come back? What will I be? And why is Tommy so fanatical about helping me? He says he wants things back the way they were, but what does he stand to gain from all this? Ulterior motives seem to be Tommy's M.O.

I don't have to look up to know my Shadow is triumphant. I feel myself shrinking, weakening. It's a fight to keep from curling into myself. No, god damn it. I won't let you beat me down. It's not a matter of letting, Maddie. The voice now speaks clearly in the back of my mind. I own you, you're just too dumb to realize it. 
"What do you want from me?" I'll add it to my fucking list.

I want you to give in to me. All this stupid, POINTLESS worrying. This back and forth do what everyone else says for your own good bullshit. Just. Let. Go. Release the reins, Maddie. Hand them over to the one that knows you best. You're damned and you know it, so give up the fight. I know how exhausted you are. More than any of them know. More than Mongrel. More than Tommy. Her voice almost sounds kind. More than you even realize. You'll never really be free, after all. Your dear, departed Sire saw to that. The madness and the pain are beaten far too deep into you. And quite frankly, this whole "resurrection" business is a farce. Word gets out that you're fraternizing with Necromancers...your after life is going to become more hell than you can imagine. We don't like that kind of talk. Makes it seem like you're too damned good to be dead. And that's just...

With a tremendous effort comparable to a mental wrecking ball, I shut it...the voice...her up with a shout. "That's enough." I could waste the rest of my eternity listening to that shit. Which is probably the idea. I'm stronger than that. I will make myself stronger than that. There's no barricade this time as I make my way into the cabin. Mongrel is hunched over his desk as usual, the chalky scent of oil pastels permeates the air. I circle him a few times before perching on an adjacent table. I have to do what I have to do. I can't prevent his pain if it means I can't be free. But I can't do this because of someone else's plans. I'm going to do this for me. I faced a cheap, meager death and I'm still fucking here. "I'm still fucking here." With those words, spoken behind the Shroud, I manifest on Mongrel's side. Hands folded in my lap, I wait patiently for his yellow eyes to look up.