aware (peterick)

10

minor smut warning; vampire smut

~~~

"Patrick," I hear myself mumble. It's far away, muffled.

It wasn't a long fall. My hands even managed to yank the blind down as I plummeted. But the impact was enough to knock me half-conscious, and for the sharp, ragged edge of the stepladder to tear right through all seven layers of my skin.

I'm bleeding. A lot. That's a lot of blood... everywhere, just... pouring out of me.

I can't see, my senses numb. Yet I'm aware of those cold, dead eyes, and that fanged mouth sucking greedily from the open wound in my arm. "Patrick, stop..."

"Stay still," he growls, but it's not the voice I know.

His knees dig into my hips like vices, and I can't bear to cry out as my head is jerked to the side to expose my pulsing neck. Teeth sink in, but I don't scream. No point; can't scream. Dead people can't scream.

Patrick gasps. It's a pleasurable sound. "Let go," he moans. "Let go, let go... stop..."

"Patrick?" I whimper.

"I'm trying," he cries desperately as the pressure squeezing my throat loosens. I should take this opportunity to breathe. But I can't, I'm not breathing, and then my throat closes up again and then Patrick is moaning between fast, thirsty gulps. "Can't... hmm..."

I'm slipping. Death is black. Nothing.

Black's always been my favourite colour.

"Shit," Patrick curses, ripping himself away from my body. His eyes are blue again as he brings his hands up to his face, but his fingers tremble sporadically as they come back soaked in blood. My blood. "Fuck, I'm sorry..."

My voice is hoarse, my vocal chords practically crushed beyond repair. "Patrick... need... help..."

Patrick stumbles back and clutches his head in his hands. "No, no, I can't go back, they'll torture me, they'll kill me, I can't, no!"

I want to tell him to stop. He needs to calm down. He needs to get help. He needs to call an ambulance. No, he needs to call the VCA. They'll take him away from me. But I could care less because he's a monster and he attacked me and I'm dying.

I try to swallow, but choke on my own blood. "Patrick-"

"NO!" he screams, and bolts out of the room.

Leaving me to bleed out. Leaving me to die. Alone. I'm dying alone.

Monster.

He's a monster.

My phone. Where's my phone?

I turn my head to the side. Slowly. I can feel the blood dripping from the gaping hole in my neck, slowly but unceasing.

Fuck, it hurts. Unbearably. I want to die.

"Pete?" That's Brendon. He's still on the phone. "Are you still there?"

I can't reach my phone. I need to roll over onto my stomach, and to do that I need to clench my muscles, but it feels like I'm being shot repeatedly in the chest. I grit my teeth and push hard with my good arm, crying out in agony before my body collapses onto its front. Sweat clings to my forehead and my lungs are shrivelling up, but with what little strength I can muster, I grab my phone and cling to it as if it's my last resort.

"Bren..." I groan.

"Pete, what happened?" He exclaims in a panicked voice. "I heard a crash, are you ok?"