There was a noise behind him. It wasn't one that he was familiar with. As much as he didn't want to take his eyes off of her in front of him, there was only so much to be done about that. He wouldn't lose her given the distance, or at least shouldn't. Whatever it was, it seemed to be getting closer. Heavy feet, stomping into the ground, moving quicker and quicker. The heavy breathing, heard as it closed the distance, causing him to move as fast as he could. His own speed though, it wasn't enough, regardless of the blur of life and trees that went by him. The figure ahead, was no longer seen, blurred into the night too. Worry and guilt set in as if it had never left. Looking back behind him, he saw nothing there.
Stopping to catch his own breath, he looked around trying to figure out what had just happened. About to call out to her, his throat burned, dry as ever. Lungs burning, his hands were on his knees. Everything was quiet, she was gone, everything was normal. The silence was eerie, even with the wind rustling the leaves. Standing fully upright, his hand rubbed the back of his neck, until a heavy noise was heard feet away. Turning behind him again to see what it was, nothing was there either. This happened, again and again, until there it was. Red eyes in the night, moving towards him. A growling, making him believe it to be a wild beast from the area.
The closer it moved, with each step, he found it to have a figure of a man. A man who would not let his own eyes leave him. A threat closing in until i finally lunged. It was in that moment, he realized that he couldn't move. That the beast looking to attack him, that the man throwing himself at him, was himself.
Meeting nothing but darkness again, he woke up next to warmth, softness, with the light of day slowly creeping over the land. Still in the forest, his eyes blinked, tried and slowly stretching his own muscles. A body next to him, smiling. There was nothing hidden there, nothing to want or care for, but something just satisfied and content with life within its grasp. The way that the corners of her lips upturned, the lines that moved against them, something about it showed right there, deep into her bright eyes.
He didn't want to ruin this, he didn't want anything to happen but for time to stop. This led to more, to a hope that welled up in his own chest. Where he didn't require much in this life, for as much as he had tried to be whatever was deemed normal and try to understand people and empathize with them? This was that moment where he was free of guilt, hurt, or some other based need. It had to be real, somehow, in some way. To pinch himself wasn't enough. He wanted to taste what was real here, on her lips. Brushing his own lips against hers, he tested the waters, to make sure this wasn't some delusional moment where he would find himself doing so with a mirror. There was no issue to be had. Lips moved against her own, even between their own smiling.
The moment moved upon its own. Hands rounding out her curves, memorizing parts that he had once known and reveled in. Moving over her, lips trailed down her jaw and to her neck. This was where he felt a temptation greater than any other. As if he were fighting a natural instinct to bite into that flesh. There was no fear, no worry, her body moving against his own. Caught up in the physical feeling as the two were lying, not on the ground, but in a bed, as one. Sheets now mattered around, leaves and trees disappeared without anyone recalling them or caring. Simply satisfying wants and desires, as his hips moved against hers. Rocking steadily, forcefully, until the point that he forgot what he wasn't supposed to do.
Biting into her flesh, she called out, but it wasn't in pain. Her own driving need, as fingers and nails gripped his side. He didn't break through, it was his own teeth leaving a mark. Maybe he was free of this monster once and for all? He didn't care, he wanted more. More of her, more of this feeling that he hadn't felt in some time. With all that had been going on, even the most basic needs weren't met.
Hands moved to hold her own wrists above her head, until they found their own means of moving to her throat. Lost in the moment, enjoying every inch of it, he hadn't realized what he was doing, yet he did. It wasn't him. For a moment, it seemed wanted, enjoyed. Then her hands moved over his, eyes begging and pleading for something but he heard no words. A smirk on his lips as he found some sort of strength to do more than that. She fought, still bucking into her, but a greater desire came about. He let her up, let her believe things would be okay. They weren't, they never would be. Instead, he followed the sick vision that clicked inside of his mind. Hands back around her throat, bashing her head into the alabaster wall behind her until it was marred with her own blood. A hole created in it, but not deep enough to go to the other side.
Letting her lifeless body drop to the ground, he stood there, licking his lips. Droplets of splatter there for him to delight in. Violence and mutilation were something to be enjoyed here. The rise from the adrenaline and something else, something deeper, it was too much. But it wasn't until he looked up and saw his own reflection. His own body, features unchanged, except for one. Blood red eyes. It was enough to wake him up.
He didn't realized that he had called out. Not just verbally, but mentally, because there she was. As loyal as ever, even though she had no choice. Something closer to a mindless drone, doing as he asked. His wants, his needs, and all he wanted was to be able to help her. To find a way that this may have had a cure. She was an innocent bystander in this mess, though, from what his notes said, she was far from. A person he could have fed off, scum that was from the darkest depths of hell. That it would be fine to end her. That he had only picked people that weren't good. But who was he to judge? Even if he had watched them and chosen them carefully? It was a life. All life meant something, even if he didn't want to be around it.
She deserved his help now, to try and right a wrong, as much as any other. She didn't seem to understand what he wanted, but had tried, having placed one of his hands on her throat as he was asleep. Yanking it away, he stared at her, uncertain of what to do or how to even begin to explain. Would she understand or realize what he was trying to tell her? Sometimes, he liked to talk to her. It meant that he had a friend. A real person that he could explain things to, even if she didn't respond. A sounding board, for whatever ailed him.
No one else could be trusted with all of that. No one else would understand. But there she was, like him, even though she wasn't. She had the strength, the lust and drive to drink blood. To want to destroy, much like he did, but with only his will to hold her back. His own fears had fallen into that dream, no, nightmare. His own fears played upon himself, in his own slumber. Could he be strong enough for himself? Not as much as he could for someone else. For others, and even as he had used her for little else than a lab rat or a bodyguard from the moment she showed up at his door? He still felt as though he could fight it for her. To keep others safe from them. Not like he was going to take advantage of her for more than being a lab rat or a bodyguard, and with a single solitary motion, she as sent away.
There were other things to be handled here and that was not going to be one of them. He was tired of feeling week or being made to feel that way. Tired of this guilt, even though it drove him. His own fears already been made real, there was only so much left here. Physical traits had been unleashed. It just wasn't here, not yet. He had to prepare, to be ready for what could come. Research, to study and learn what he could from online, their blood work, and whatever could be understood in his own memories. Life had taken on new meaning and Thanksgiving was due. There was little to be thankful for here.
But he could make himself promises, vows to keep true. That no more people would be dying because of him. That regardless of helping and doing what he could to try and fix everything, his own mistakes and attempts to live beyond being manipulated or used, he could work beyond it. There was more to this entire life than that. Friends were a want, not a necessity. And friends didn't mean for much unless they were good ones. The kind that cared about more than what they could gain out of you. That cared when you disappeared and wanted to actually be there for you. That could accept you for who and what you were without picking at each and every fault or setting out to hurt you. Those that would honestly believe you and you could trust fully with more than your life. Your fears, hopes, dreams, and faults. To be yourself in front of without worry.
It all sounded like pipe dreams. These were never things that he had or could offer. As much as he tried, there was no standing chance. He saw what he was bothered with over. How he was manipulated and used, and at the same time, he always hoped that there would be more. That people would look beyond things, but that was not the way of humanity. It wasn't good and nice by nature. It was cruel and menacing, but without that, there wouldn't be chances for more. For all these great things that he wanted more than anything to see first hand.
Rolling back over in his bed alone, the covers pulled at his waist. Staring at the wall, the images of blood and the yearning for it, for the violence that melted into it, he felt it. Swallowing hard, it was always the most difficult to shake. A feeling that never left him, but was constantly struggled against. Maybe it was his penance for actions like this before. Maybe it was for what was to come. He didn't know. He just knew that he wished to be stronger than this. But who was better equipped to handle this than him? At least he knew he was stronger than most.