My Precious Nightmare

7: The One Who Lived

Lea woke up from something deeper than sleep and dreamless. For a long while she didn't open her eyes, too weak to. No thoughts pressed her to either.

Then she swallowed, bringing attention to her swollen, painful neck. Something had been wrapped about it. It throbbed against the bindings with each heartbeat.

Otherwise warm and comfortable, she eventually, slowly, opened her eyes.

And met an anxious, crimson gaze.

The red-eyed prankster jerked back when he realized she was awake, but appeared too concerned for her to be properly embarrassed.

"How are you feeling? Are the bandages too tight?"

She looked at him drowsily until he got impatient and started to fidget with the blanket tucked under her chin.

"Do you feel like eating? I have some medicine for bloodloss--if you feel like you can swallow pills, that is. I'm afraid I broke your phone. On accident, of course. I wasn't really expecting..."

He trailed off as she struggled to sit up. Most of the difficulty come from the fact she had been nestled in a giant, velveteen bean bag. He helped pull her up into a sitting position, the fuzzy blanket pooling to her lap, then nervously watched as she took in the tiny studio apartment. The windows had been covered with thick, black drapes, and posters depicting beautiful desert landscapes decorated the walls. There was an entertainment center with a TV, a small counter with a lone stool where the kitchen was, and very little else. There was no bed. Perhaps the beanbag doubled as couch and bed.

She didn't know what to feel. It didn't look like the apartment of a perverted kidnapper. She'd imagined there'd be more shag 70's carpet and yellow stains on the wall, but it was clean, perhaps even meticulously so.

The man made a weak attempt at a smile in the face of her silence, but probably thought better of it and gave up after a few cheek twitches.

"You still haven't told me how you feel," he said.

She shivered. She had forgotten how nice his voice was. But then, it would be, wouldn't it?

"You're a vampire." Her voice came out like stiff, crunched plastic film. "I didn't dream that?"

He nodded. She gave him credit for that. It couldn't be easy to admit, especially after remembering that look of horror on his face when he had pulled back from her neck. She had never seen someone so...

If he wasn't a real vampire, the mental illness that would make him go through such lengths against his will had to be insane.

Real or crazy, it didn't change anything. She had to get her feet under her and out the door.

Yet she hadn't even been able to sit up without his help.

She swallowed. And winced.

He grimaced sympathetically. "That's what I thought." He reached out towards her throat, but thought better of it at her minute retreat and pulled it back. "You're lucky I didn't crush your windpipe. Does it hurt to breathe?"

She looked down at her, frankly, freezing hands and shook her head. "Just...just swallowing. I feel...heavy ...and cold." If she could look past the drapes, she could see how much time had passed. Maybe get a clue to where she was. Maybe she'd see her bag, get to her phone, broken or not.

"I was afraid of that." And he was in the kitchen before she had blinked. She flinched, wondering if she had speed-passed out without realizing it, if that was a thing. "I might have...it seems your blood is more potent than normal. Still, I worried that the margin of difference wouldn't be enough, and you're cold without shaking, so you could still be in shock."

She blinked and he was back again, offering a warm mug full of something spiced like autumn and sweet as chocolate. Instead of flinching, she just stared. "Here, this should help, try to endure the pain of swallowing. I know this doesn't change anything, but I never meant to harm you. Because of my nature I sometimes...lose myself. Without meaning to, I assure you. I'm just happy you're alive."

She took up the mug. She wondered if she should be afraid. She couldn't say she'd actually seen him take a step. Could she be losing blips of consciousness or had he really moved supernaturally quick?

Then, just as she felt the cold tension rising up from her gut, she took a sip of the beverage he'd given her. She expected the pain, but the heat went a long way in soothing it. When she felt her chilled body desperately react to the heat she took a longer drag, relishing in smooth, chocolate, cinnamon-clove something that quickly not just soothed, but numbed the inside of her throat.

Calm washed over her, soft and irresistible. This stuff...this stuff was nice...maybe she shouldn't have just drunk it, but if he had meant to kill her...it was getting a bit hard to think. Yeah, she shouldn't have drunk this.

With each swallow he watched her, carefully, his eyes no longer glowing in the ally, but red, red, red. This close she could make out the lack of contacts. Those were real eyes. No tricks.

"Do you, um, always bring the people you...you bite back to your apartment?" she managed to get out.

His mouth flattened, his gaze darkened, and he looked down. She couldn't help but notice how thick his lashes were, especially against the pallor of his clear, perfect skin. Some of his lashes were bright white like the occasional white streaks through his black hair. It looked more like multiple skunk marks than someone graying early.

"No," he said, drawing her attention back to his face. "This would be a first. They usually die."