She sat on the divan, elbows set upon her knees, head bowed and rested on her palms. Her auburn hair cascaded downward, masking her face. From downstairs, they called and bade farewell. The door opened, feet shuffled. A subtle sound of laughter and the door was closed again. The house was all a hush, save for her muffled whimpers. Tears rolled down her cheeks, turned black from the fake outline of her eyes, graying her face and hands.

She lifted her head and let her hands fall into her lap. She sat in almost unbroken darkness, the light from the bathroom across the hall breaking it, faintly illuminating the doorway. She sighed, looking at the clock. She watched it for a moment, but no, its hands were halted at 8:27. Her covered window gave no indication of the time. She stood, unsure of what to do or where to go. She wiped the tears and makeup from her face, her many bracelets dangling from her wrists. The cuts were visible beneath the purple fishnets. She gently ran her finger over them, then firmly pressed each one until her eyes watered again.

She wanted to walk. She wanted to go down the hallway, down the staircase, through the door, and enter the welcoming arms of the urban night. She reached her door, but then collapsed. Her head swam, her thoughts drowning herself. She couldn't breathe. Noises, colours, sneering faces rushed about her. She panicked, trembling violently, wheezing. With no control of herself, she frantically, hopelessly flailed her arms, reaching for anything to defend herself from these snickering people. They laughed and whispered, pointing at her. Her arm hit an umbrella leaning against the wall. With a sputtered screech, she grabbed it and flung it at these audacious beasts, these monsters.

The green lamp next to her bed crashed to the floor as the umbrella hurtled into it. Glass scattered everywhere. Panting, eyes wide, she watched the faces dissolve into the posters on her walls. The noises… simply the familiar noises of the city. She smiled, relaxing. She twisted around, now chuckling to herself. Laughing, laughing… She climbed to her feet, using the wall as an anchor, her laughter now nothing short of maniacal. She clamboured to the divan, collapsed into it, ignoring the shards on the floor shredding her bare feet. She panted now, her hysteria subsiding, her chest heaving, her lungs burning. And still, she smiled. She smiled as she stared into the darkness. She smiled as she heard the car horns, the screeching brakes, the screams. She smiled as she opened the drawer in her nightstand, where the lamp once stood, and reached for the scissors. Unable to find them, she settled for the prescription bottle, unassigned to her. She smiled as she looked at the label, turned the bottle around a few times, and opened it.

She poured twice the advised dose into her hand. A single orange pill fell to the floor, joining the broken lamp. Her mouth still formed an open smile as she popped one, two, three into her mouth. She swallowed them. She pulled an elixir from the drawer, and used it to accompany the remaining two in her hand. Lights flashed outside her window. Sirens sounded. She smiled again, more contentedly this time. She stroked her wrists, closing her eyes.

She had grown accustomed to the soft light across the hall, and when it went out it took a minute for her to realise what was wrong. She didn't want to open her eyes, and just accepted the utter darkness.

The air draft shifted, and something tapped the wall. Her eyes jerked opened, darted side to side, but she was afraid to move, and could see nothing. She held her breath, listening, but the only sound she could hear was that of her pounding heart, her blood rushing. Moments passed, and nothing stirred. Slowly, realising that she hadn't yet, she began to breathe again. Her raspy inhalation upset her. She grew anxious.

She gasped. Cold sweat crept from her forehead. She dared not move, but could vaguely see out of the corner of her eye a human form. It stepped closer, trudged on the broken glass, slowly, slowly… so slowly. It came to the edge of the bed, and stopped. She could only see the silhouette of a tall, lumbering figure. The sirens and cries from the street filled her ears. Scenes from the local news flashed in her mind. Afraid, the trembling came back, the heavy breathing. The being turned, fumbled around. She clenched her eyes shut. A match was struck. A cold finger opened each eye, the right, then the left.

She saw first his hand, his slender, laboured hand, his hand that brushed against her chin, then gently turned her head to face him. His other hand held a peach candle. She still could not see his face. He set the candle on the nightstand, then knelt to the floor. He stayed kneeling, his visage now partially illuminated; his complexion exotically white; his dark hair falling over his eyes; his pink, full lips, forming no expression.

He took her hand, and placed in it the orange pill from the floor. He curled her hand tightly around it and held his hand over hers for a moment. Letting go, reached for the elixir next to the divan. He threw his head back and drank generously from the bottle. She watched the muscles in his neck move as he did. He finished, and set the bottle down again. He looked at her now, and she could see his beckoning brown eyes. She gulped for air as he reached for her arm, touching her ebon shirt. He ran his fingers down her arm, down the fishnets, over her hand. He rose and sat next to her on the cushion. He stroked her face, her hair. She couldn't move, and lay helpless, staring at him. He put a finger to her mouth, ran it down her chin, her neck, her chest. Down her belly, to her hips. He stopped there, her eyes wide, fear dancing on her face. He leaned closer to her, his hand slipping to her thigh, only the black cloth of her Torrids to serve as a barrier between his flesh and hers.

His face was inches from hers. She could feel his calm breath, hear its slow, steady rhythm, hers so disastrously loud and uneven. She tried to close her eyes, but couldn't. She willed them to close; she wished not to watch him, to again look into those luring eyes. Her body went rigid. She knew he felt her unease, just as she felt his somber character. They stayed transfixed upon one another for a length of time. He leaned closer, their cheeks touching, his lips to her neck. Gently he kissed her, then briefly sucked on her skin. He was now almost lying next to her. He pulled her collar low, kissed her shoulder. He rested the side of his face on her chest as she lay tensely frozen.

He whispered to her then, told her not to worry, not to cry. He told her he would be there for her always. He told her she had to stop as he touched her scarred wrists. At length, she released her fist, and the pill fell again to the floor, rolling to the doorway. She reached her hand to his face, but stopped. For a moment they looked again at each other, then all too quickly his hand shot from her leg to her mouth to stifle the cry as he lunged for her throat.

She felt his teeth clench her flesh, his fangs sink into it, his saliva bathe it. She tried to gasp as he again sucked on her neck, but found her breath caught in her throat. She felt her blood flow into his mouth. Her skin turned cold. She felt each minute, each second crawl by. All her energy left her. Yet again was breathing difficult. She lay there, praying for air, her flesh chilled, her eyes wide, unconsciousness threatening; his mouth clamped onto her throat, his teeth piercing her icy skin, his lips and her own blood the only warmth; her blood rushing from her veins, drawing her life as a portrait to be hung in an asylum. She clung to the sheets, writhing around.

Letting go, he pressed his lips again to her neck, passed his tongue over the wounds. Her breath was too shallow for herself to hear. He tucked her hair behind her ears ever so gently, and whispered softly, "Never more."