aware (peterick)

12

B-Need to talk. Meet me at Starbucks for lunch. Mochas on me.

Terror? Disgust? I don't know. It's kind of a tossup when you wake up covered in blood.

I'll spare you the gruesome details. Let's just say Patrick and I ended up doing a lot more than just cuddling last night. God. Just imagining us doing that every night. I wouldn't need to sleep ever again.

I'll need to clean the sheets later. Totally worth the extra work, though.

Showering for the first time in a week is actual heaven, and that's all I have to say about that.

By the time I'm dry and dressed, it's eleven forty-five; Brendon's lunch break starts at twelve. It's a damn good job Patrick's blood is laced with some mind-bogglingly powerful caffeine substitute, otherwise I'd be missing out on actual free coffee.

I'm not craving it, though, which is rather unusual, and I can't wrap my head around it. We hadn't managed to fall asleep until seven AM or something ridiculous like that; I've only been sleeping for a few hours, and yet I'm feeling as fresh as a daisy and raring to go. The same can't be said for Patrick. He's still fast asleep. Theoretically, he shouldn't even need sleep, but his body clock is constantly aware of the time of day. Even with the room in constant pitch blackness, he doesn't seem as though he's going to stir anytime soon.

Just as I'm about to head out, a thought occurs to me, a nagging voice at the back of my mind, warning me that I probably shouldn't leave the house without checking to make sure Patrick isn't going to go anywhere while I'm gone. As promised, I'd been delivered a very heavy box full of shackles and chains, but I've taken the risk and have decided not to use them, afraid they'd only terrify the anxious vampire.

Even if it is dark by the time I get home, it's impossible he'd be able to hurt anybody. For one, the house will be completely devoid of life, and I don't think we're expecting any visitors, and secondly, it's unlikely he'd have the urge to leave the darkest room in the house while sunlight is streaming through the windows. And, just to be extra safe, I'm not going anywhere without locking the front door.

Why on Earth would I need to chain him to the fucking bed?

Not now, kinky thoughts. Not fucking now.

But what if he wakes up because he can sense that I'm no longer by his side? It would send him into a frenzy. He'd run outside in a panic thinking I'd abandoned him, only to be obliterated by the sun. I'd only be gone a few hours, but those few hours of loneliness would drag like days, and within that minute space of time, he'd go back to feeling how he'd felt in the apartment. Scared, vulnerable, hungry.

Unable to feel anything at all.

Wanting to die, just so he could feel something.

I can't bear the thought of him hurting himself.

You're being irrational, I tell myself. Patrick isn't depressed. If anything were to revert him back to how you found him, tying him down ought to do it. He'd lose your trust completely and he'd kill you on the spot without a second thought.

This is for his own safety, I argue as I secure his wrists to the headboard. He's barely managed to restrain himself from killing me. He understands his morals, but just because I let him fuck me with his teeth doesn't mean he's tame. He needs to learn how to control his hunger in situations where he'd feel vulnerable and alone.

Namely if I were to leave him alone in the house during the day. If he did miraculously wake up I wouldn't want him turning the place inside out looking for something to eat, with a temper so hot he could care less if he sliced himself open with it. He almost killed me yesterday – twice, if you count the sex – and though I may have forgiven him the first time, I have to remember, he drugged me into not caring the second time.