Just another Frerard vampire story...

Regret, freedom and more regret

.Regret is a terrible emotion. I would say the worst by far. I have come to this conclusion as you don't only feel the emotion regret itself , but also all the other horrific feelings that are attached. Grief, sadness, anger, self-hatred, guilt and the constant thought of 'what if'.

What if I had not walked out on Emily? or been able to fight off Gerard? But the sad reality is that I couldn't of stopped this. Gerard has been watching over me like a hawk, it was inevitable even if I didn't know it. Yet I still feel regret. I'm regretting starting to trust that monster.

Opening my stupid mouth, and whoops Emily's dead. Everything I care for. Dead. Well I suspect that. He's been gone for over two hours so I'm sure he's nearly done clearing out her poor corpse of any blood that once flowed through her dainty veins. Though the heart that loved me.

I miss her, she sliced through my heart but I saw regret filling her eyes. Regret was actually the last thing I saw in her before foolishly storming out. Never to see the brown beautiful gems again. Maybe we could of worked things out. Maybe we could of lived happily ever after.

But now she lays, eyes open and cold, blood stained, a victim of pure evil. Her caracas rotting away, everything I love being demolished by him. The kind cruel beast that messes with my mind. The hate I feel is also the thing I love.

His mystery intoxicates me, I lose sight reality and fall into the land of lust and need. The irony is that the things I lust for will be my destruction, my downfall. And he knows that.

I'm suffocated by the confusion and the evil chaos trapped in these walls. Love but with hate. Lust but with pure disgust. Protection that turns into claustrophobia in a blink of an eye. Fear that turns into sexual want with a look at those pink lips. And the worst thing is, those lips are ripping my one true love to shreds yet I still want him.

I pace through the empty halls, hating the awful silence. One more push and I will for sure snap, lose my mild. I need to know what's happening. I have no power over this, I cannot do anything and that's killing me. I run a sweaty hand through my short black hair, chewing on my lip ring.

I have an anger I can't deal with so I settle with punching a hard brick wall; sending terrible shooting pains through my bony hand. I let out a gasp while swearing, cursing at my fucking self and the whole god damn, mother fucking situation.

I pick up a glass vase sitting on the closest oak shelf. In pure anger i throw it full speed at the wall, watching it shatter. The pieces flying back off the crimson bricks. Contentment fills my body.

Next I throw the marble clock to the floor. Stamping until the glass breaks, the black hands bend. Until the marble sold structure starts to crack. I stomp and stop to eventually it shatters. As it does so I fly back to the other wall. Anger dispersing. Sadness returning. I slide down to the floor and weep into my knees, arms wrapped around my head.

My cries echo in the empty cold house. The freezing marble floor feels bitter to my touch. The coldness seeping through my jeans and socks. The smashed pieces lay at my feet, making shadows onto the dark tiles.

I slow my cries until the hall is silent again. And it stays that way until the door clicks open, a eerie creak booms throughout the house and into my ears. My head shoots up, fear paralyses me. Eyes open wide, my heart beating fast. The door shuts. Familiar footsteps get closer and closer yet I cannot see him. I stare at the end of the corridor and soon enough the dark figure appears.

I look up at him with cold eyes, no emotion showing. I'm hiding behind my tough guy mask I hate to wear. He stands tall above me and comes to a halt. Staring at the Brocken clock and vase now smashed beyond repair. His face is angry but calm. His hands in his pockets. Blood escaping out the corner of his unnaturally blood red.