Drink

The pulse of Catharine's heartbeat lulled in her ear and her eyes fluttered into more darkness. She laid awkwardly on her side with her arm under her head. The pain was instantaneous as she awakened. Her side throbbed, and her head stung on her arm that was painfully asleep.

If she needed to run she'd be unable to.

When her eyes had adjusted to the room she noticed it wasn't as dark as she initially thought. A drape of orange light that blanketed a dresser against the wall she was facing. It was high with five draws and on the top laid random objects like packs of cigarettes, receipts and a picture that wasn't in a frame. It contained a bronze woman and two children; one in each arm.

Blankets and sheets smelt like body odor. Even the bureau she stared at was layered in a barrier of dust. The room just smelt dirty with the lingering odor of smoke. Her stomach hardened and dropped into her gut as she began to wonder where she was.

The room hung quietly as she was thrown back into her own mind, repeating her events of last night, from breakfast that morning to her attack. With each memory, she groaned to herself with the agony of regret.

Left with her thoughts she boiled for some time. Regret turned to pride.

If only she could celebrate her escape instead of wait for the quick punishment karma had set for her.

Tears burst from her eyes and sobs she couldn't choke down punched the side of her ribs. Every cry and wail was painful and yet she couldn't stop the stream down to the crusty pillow.

She managed to move her arm out from under her head and onto her back. There was a painful rip from her skull as the blood had dried chunks of her hair to her shoulder and arm.

The sliver of light from the partially covered window had soon turned dark and she laid long enough to think of all scenarios that could happen to her. Each more terrifying than the last.

Whatever she thought of, she wouldn't have ever imagined the Hell that awaited her.

Her breath stopped and a string of panic shot up from her gut. She could hear the crack of the door and when the lights turned on she squished her lids.

"I'm sure worse happened to you last night." A man's voice. Condescending and cold. There was footsteps, no breath, not even an aura of presence that someone was in the room.

Her eyes flickered open adjusting to the light. She turned her head to the side slowly and was almost taken back to the man directly next to her. She was even more sickened when she had taken in his appearance as he took a seat on the bed.

He was ill and dirty looking. A man with greasy dark hair and the same colored eyes to match. His skin was grey and vein lines from his neck and face were black.

And something terribly off in his matted hair, which was horns that bulged from the sides of his temples. She swallowed down her confusion.

Stay calm. He's hideous. Surely he knows it. Don't stare.

He put a tray down at the end of the bed. There were burn holes in sheets and thrown about wrinkled blankets, none of them covering her. It seemed she had just been tossed aside on the bed to be dealt with later, and as that thought set into her gut, it turned sour.

On top her panicked nerves, her stomach sat aching from hunger. She had no idea how long she'd been laying on the bed, but she knew it was causing her body more pain. Her bones aches, her muscles were sore and acid slivered up her throat burning her esophagus.

"Please," she begged and almost stopped herself from choking out more. She felt a pain in her side, but that wasn't what deterred her. Never had she once remembered begging for anything. She learned she had to do things for herself.

"Don't talk," he said, though it felt more like an order from his tone.

He grabbed pillows and fluffed them up to the headboard and he then reached for her. She allowed him to help her up to lean against them and watched as he sat back down.

He turned his back shuffling at the end of the bed, she looked around the room. Cobwebs hung from every corner of the room and the walls were stained in various shades of brown and yellow. The bureau across from her against the wall, unlike the tall five drawer bureau, was long and held various items that didn't belong. Brushes and combs of different styles, different brands of cigarette packs, and dusty porcelain dolls in yellow covers at the corner of a large mirror.

Her reflection was blocked by the body of her capture and as he started to turn around again she shifted her eyes down. "Here," he said and shoved a large glass of dark liquid at her. She examined it and was hesitant before taking the glass. She wasn't just disgusted by the appearance of the drink, the dirt under his long fingernails, and the scum lines on the glass. "It won't kill you- if I wanted to I would have already done it. Drink."

With her arm that didn't throb in pain, she lifted the glass to her lips and let the tar slide into her mouth. It was tasteless, but the texture was thick and spit it back out. "I wouldn't choose to do that," he coaxed. "It'll help you heal and I'm going to need you walking around sooner than later."

Her face was scrunched in disgust as she swallowed what was left in her mouth. It went down like mucus and, whether it was in her head or not, it felt like it stuck to her throat. She choked the drink down and goosebumps ran down her arms and back.

She had gotten to almost the end of the glass when she put it down next to her. "Please," she said. "I can't drink anymore."

His gaze followed to the cup and his eyebrows sunk with his lips twisted to the side. "I think you should finish it. I've never actually healed anyone before."

With glass in hand she rose it every once in a while to sip the tar and when she finished she sat there staring at her glass. She didn't dare stare at the man and his freakish appearance.

Cold fingers tangled around hers and pulled the cup from her. She couldn't feel any sound or presence from him yet there he stood about to make his way to the door. He was real, though he felt like a ghost.

"Wait," she whispered before he got to the door. "Where am I?" she choked. A ball was caught in her throat and no matter what she tried, it wasn't able to be swallowed. She had never felt so alone within the presence of someone before, especially someone talking to her. It was as if he were just a talking whisper within the air with nobody to be tied to it.

Putting the tray next to him on the dresser, he stiffened his posture. "Do you remember your circumstances from last night?" he asked.

His wording had thrown her off for just a moment as she repeated what he said in her mind. She had remembered things she had done the night before and her stomach hardened into a ball. Dropped itself into the pit of her gut. She nodded and replied, "barely."

His pale lips stretched as he wondered what to say next. "You had asked me to save you," was all he replied sparing the grizzly details of not only what happened to her, but what he himself had partaken in that night. She didn't need to know that what had happened was a catalyst caused by him nor did she need to know that if he had left her there he "And since I saved you, as you asked," he reminded to repeat again, "I've taken you here."

A deep sigh released from her lips and she looked at him with her red eyes stinging, "I can't be here." He didn't say anything knowing she needed a moment to compose herself to finish. "I'm wanted."

His brows raised. "By who?"

"The police, I assume," she answered.

"That's it?" he asked and looked at her cross. "Just the police?" With her nod, his expression changed. A smirk. "Why?" She stayed silent and shook her head. "You're more interesting than I thought. For now, I will talk to you later of your arrangement. I'll be back periodically to check on you." He sighed before he shut the light back off. "No one will find you here."

As promised he had come back a few hours later. She held her face to the ceiling and watched as yellow stains seeped back in as the light turned on.

She peered over and in his hands, he held clothes that looked like something her grandmother would wear and threw them down on the bed. She wondered if they were dirty and he noticed her eye them. "I've never thought to purge of the things people leave here," he explained, but the statement left a lot of questions. What people and why were their things left?

Helping her out of the bed, not caring as to how much pain she was in, he dragged her along the floor. When they had finally walked into the bathroom sitting her on the toilet she finally had the breath to ask, "So, who do you live with?"

She watched as his back laid motionless; unmoving. It gave her the creeps to think of his deformity like an unbreathing corpse.

He turned the faucet to the bath and corked the tub. She watched as it steamed. She grimaced hoping he wasn't going make her bathe in boiling water, but her fear was dismissed when he lowered it down. "Right now, no one currently resides here. Having a human resident in my home is a good cover, but I like my privacy."

Human resident set up flashing lights, but instead, she questioned, "So you find a roommate?"

His body hiccuped with a scoffed amused laugh. "I manipulate a human and they neither notice or interact with me. They believe they live here. They go to work, eat, sleep and do anything and everything they would do in their own home because it is. I can't have random people moving in here and the neighbors would get suspicious of the man with horns that really owns this house. So most the time I go out and find someone homeless and bring them here."

She didn't know how to respond to something so delusional other than what blurted from her mouth. "Well...that's nice of you."

"I suppose," he responded. "But most of them just end up dead here anyway. I'd say it was a good source of blood if wan't for the overdoses that killed them."

Acid came up from her stomach again this time leaving a musty taste that she imagined coming from the drink. She dropped her body to the floor and lifted the toilet seat vomiting black liquid into the bowl. He neither comforted her or came to her aid, but merely said, "It's going to take you longer to heal."

After spitting what was left in her mouth and catching her breath she cried, "So, is that our deal? Stay here?"

The water stopped and she could hear his hand splash in the water. "No," he said. "If you can't be seen then that defeats the purpose of having a puppet. Now, come feel the water, I'm not very good at telling the temperature."

She was hesitant as she looked over her shoulder at him. She shifted over, her side stabbed with pain and put her hand into the water. It was slightly too hot, but she could deal with it. She nodded her head. "It's fine," and after a moment said, "thank you."

He dismissed her appreciation as if it didn't exist, making her feel more uncomfortable after it had taken her courage to say it. "Do you have it from here?" he asked. She picked up that he was giving her a choice on whether she needed to be helped out of her clothes and shook her head no. He nodded. "If you need any more help, I'll be back in a bit. Are you hungry?"

"Yes," she said and then pursed her lips in embarrassment. She didn't want to lead on any kind of emotion around him there needed to be no reason to know how she ticked. "Please," she mumbled.

She got undressed one piece of clothing at a time. She took different positions peeling off her clothes with as little pain as possible; ripping them from dried on patches of blood.

The water consumed her body as she sank over the tub. The hot water melted her pain and steamed away. She wanted to relax but felt such unease in the unfamiliar space around her.

Over the sink was a mirror, though slightly fogged, was streaked and speckled in white. The toilet and sink were littered in hair and grim. Her skin crawled when she thought of what laid in the tub.

Though when she looked down to look at the water her mind went dizzy. She felt her body starting to relax, but within her, she panicked. The tub was filled with the black liquid and when she pulled her hands up from the water, her palms facing up; the tar gliding out of her hands, her mind was thrown back to a memory. A memory too recent to be forgotten. Through her mind's eyes, blood was dripped from her hands.

//**+++**\\

Desmond wasn't too sure what to make or even how to make too much of anything that was in the kitchen. He peered through cabinets and the fridge with confusion as to what and where anything was. For him there was no need to ever go into the kitchen, it was purely a human space to which he hid from.

It'd been months since anyone living resided in the home, but there had to be something. Though reading cans and opening containers he didn't realize how much was rotten.

What he managed to collect was easily instructed on the back of their containers and was made within minutes in the microwave. He took a bit of pride in his first attempt at making the food after so many decades.

He put together the various consumptions onto a plate and poured a glass of water before bringing it up the stairs. When he placed the plate on the bed he noticed she hadn't gotten back out yet.

He knocked on the door that was left ajar the way he had left it before calling in, "Hello?"

Before she woke up, he had followed the instructions on a spell from his books. He began to wonder if her expelling from her stomach wrecked the potion somehow or even if the main ingredient wasn't so graded as he thought.

There was no reply.

He peaked in his head in to see her head and arm draped over the tub. She didn't move or respond to another call. His face pinched out to its beastly form and smelled on the rot. His face shifted back. It was hard to know if she would still exude the smell in death.

He pushed his fingers to her neck and felt the pulse. Once he confirmed she was still alive `he rummaged around the large cabinet. A beach towel laid in the corner and threw the towel over his shoulder before lifting her out of the tub with ease.

Black ooze slid off her and wrapped the towel around her as he examined quivering muk. He swirled his finger into the tub and dangled up a strand of the substance. It squirmed between his fingers like a slug.

He knew what it was. An ingredient that didn't fair well with water. She had heaved out the rest of the drink, but it wasn't so lively when he had first mixed it in. Was it her or something he had messed up? Definitely an interesting girl.

He planned on keeping her hidden in the house, perhaps clean the filth he was awakening to. It disappointed him that he had allowed humans to trash it for so long. Rooms like this one, he hadn't entered in years.

Back in the day, it was a nice large house. Where he and a family lived. Now, it was just a bum shack to shield his horrors and destruction.

The memories he had of the house brought him to realize an empty feeling in his core. To know he had once been more than what he was now. To control, manipulate and play only to now be a coward lingering in his darkness.

He rolled the girl down on the bed and before smacking her face a few times he covered her with a small throw blanket from the bed.

Her eyes fluttered and went wide again, the same way they had when she had first seen him. It was a look he'd never get tired of. Though her eyes then shifted and calmed. He had to wonder if she was scared. She hadn't once asked what he was or what he was going to do to her.

She pulled the blanket up as she rose in her spot. "Feeling better?" he asked.

Her mouth dropped and her eyebrows scrunched as she peered at him. "How?"

"The drink I had given you was a potion."

She uncomfortably wiggled in her spot, shifting the blankets closer to her. He lingered over her, though he wasn't going to touch her, he knew this was the closest he'd be able to make her feel this vulnerable and took advantage of it. He even swayed forward a bit casually seeing if she was keeping an eye for any sudden movement and of course it was there as she blinked and even herself moved slightly back. He wanted her to say something, but with a long silence, his game was no longer interesting.

As he was taking his leave for the door saying nothing else she called him back asking, "so, like, magic?"

He stopped and knew he was going to pinpoint exactly what she was and why her soul stunk like death. Turning back around he saw her lift from the bed with the blanket wrapped around her body, she grabbed the clothes and darted to the bathroom; though this time closing the door behind her.

He got up close to the door and called in, "Yes, it was magic."

There was only silence on the other side and he was beginning to get nervous until she opened the door wearing the boxed polka dot dress he had dug up out of a draw. She threw the blanket back onto the bed and looked at him and then her eye wandered away as she asked, "so what are you?"

It'd been so long since he had to explain to someone what he was, and when he thought back, it seemed like such a long story. Though, there was the answer he had given to others before, "I'm a vampire."

She blinked with a raised brow and he waited for the next obvious question which she blurted, "vampires have horns?"

"I made a deal with a demon for more power," he explained.

Though that didn't satisfy her when she pointed, "vampires aren't already powerful?" He watched as she shrank back away. He realized then her calm demeanor was a fear of saying anything wrong.

She wasn't aware that she stank and if he were to spill her blood here and now her smell would permanently linger in the home he'd grown an attachment to.

"I have more power than I've ever had."

She stood silent. Was she scared or confused? If only he could get past that rotten smell to know.`` It had been a long time since he had anyone to have a conversation with and wondered just for a second if he was being too brass. "You don't believe me that I won't hurt you," he said twisting his body forward till her face met his.

She didn't answer him and instead sat back on the bed and replied with, "I need to sit, my leg is hurting me."

"Did you not heal fully?" he asked wondering if perhaps the drink didn't work

"It's an injury I had long before I got here," she said, almost with a crack in her voice.

"Will that keep you from cleaning?" he asked.

There was relief across her face. "No, I can clean." She smiled. "Thank you." He frowned at her appreciation and again didn't acknowledge it. No one had ever said thank you to him, at least not in the years he could remember.

"Well good," he murmured. "So, my name is Desmond and since you are staying here, I need to know yours so that I may call you if you're needed."

"Catharine," she answered and squirmed before clearing her throat. "Just Cat."