Genres: Horror, a.k.a. abuse, like, domestic violence, and romance.

Medium: Vampire Knight Anime.

Rating: T, for violence, mentions of sex, mentions of rape. VIOLENCE. LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF LANGUAGE.

THERE IS NOT: REVEALED LEMONS. I don't even write detailed make out scenes, all right? No lemons.

AN: You may call me Cassie. I call you lovelies. This is . . . sort of drabbles. The main ship is Yero/Zuki. I don't know the ship, so vote on it, please, in the reviews. First thing you should know: I fucking hate Kaname. Second thing you should know: I DID NOT READ THE MANGA, NO MATTER HOW MUCH I WANTED TOO. I watched the anime, every episode, except episode twenty-two. THE ENDING WAS SHIT. I shipped Kuki (haha) for the first couple episodes, but then started calling him a fuckass through the screen. I HATE HIM SO MUCH. Zero? Zero I adore. What else do I adore? The fact that YUKI IS NOT A BELLA SWAN.

THANK YOU WORLD.

Anyway. Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Knight, or any characters atributed to Vampire Knight. Done? Done.

Enjoy. Comment. My authors notes aren't usually this long, I promise. Also, I've moved everyone to Nothern Oregon.

Chapter 1

My shadow is cast at the end of the stairs by the window at the top of the stairs. As I step soundlessly onto the first landing, slim legs step with me, cast in shadow. They disappear, blending with the darkness, as I ascend the stairs, which do not creak under my weight. I've learned where not to step, in the two weeks that I've lived here.

There is heavy gasping coming from the master bedroom. I bite my lip, a lump in my throat, and look through the door.

Same furniture.

Two chairs, one straight-backed and wooden, with cushions around the back, seat, and arms, behind the door, the other across the room, green and leather and overstuffed to Hell, which I had spent many nights crying myself to sleep in. My husband, Kaname's, was the uncomfortable one. A desk, creamy white wood, sanded but unstained, with it's black rolling computer chair. The pine chest at the end of the bed, its surface both rough and smooth, holding blankets and extra clothing, and unnecessary things like my cell phone and laptop. The dressers, one tall and chocolate-colored, the other short and black. The bathroom door, closed, with a towel on the back of the door.

And the bed, where Ruka Souen's tall frame sat, half-naked, straddling a shirtless Kaname, kissing down his neck. When I had done that, a year after our wedding, he had slapped me, and told me, strongly, "You will not drink the blood of a pureblood."

I hadn't reminded him that my fangs hadn't peeked out in the slightest, hadn't even brushed his skin. And here was Ruka, with her light brown hair and perfect body, biting at his neck, which he'd threatened to kill me should I do so.

Kaname was looking at the door. Like he could see me. I hoped he couldn't.

I turned from the bedroom, letting pureblood emotionlessness encase me, and lock the door leading to Kaname and Ruka in the bathroom. I scoop up a tee shirt and a sweater and a pair of jeans, tucking them into my messanger bag, grabbing any undergarments of mine I could find. There was only one of anything, and I didn't know the way to the laundry room—Kaname kept me in the bedroom all day, every day, I'd just snuck through the window to see my adoptive father while he was the shower (Kaname, not my father)-,so I simply grabbed my hair brush and tooth brush, and made my way back outside.

. . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . . . .. ... . . . .. . .. . . . . .. ..

I've cried before. I don't do it often, but I've cried before. Only usually a few tears. That's what I do now. I cry. Only a few tears.

When I am done, I scrub at my face with my hand, look around the hotel room, that I'd persuaded the guy at the front desk to give me, and stripped down to my undergarments and climbed into the covers, having no pajamas. The blanket was heavy and the mattress was soft, and I fell asleep pretty quickly.

I don't dream. Thank god.

. . . . . . . . .. . . .. . .. . . . .. . .. . .

When I wake in the morning, I am disoriented and the world is fuzzy. My arm is pin-and-needling. My neck hurts like a bitch.

I get up, rubbing my elbow. The clock says, 5:32 in red.

I have a breakfast of water, from the bathroom sink, and brush my hair and teeth, not bothering with a shower, before getting dressed and grabbing my bag and leaving. Down the stairs, out the door. Not out the window, people would notice.

. . .. . . .. . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . .. . . . . .. . . . . ..

Knock. Knock, knock. Knock, knock, knock.

"Dammit, Zero, open your damn door!" I grumble to myself, hitting said door with the side of my fist. When there are no footsteps, I kick it open, settling it back on its frame once I'm inside.

The entryway, fitted with a coat rack and a bench and a rug to catch mud, opens into a living room. It is cluttered, scattered clothing draped over a couch and end tables, a rug thrown between the couches and a fireplace. A hallway leads to the left, and an entryway on the right leads to a dining room and kitchen and bathroom.

I follow snoring down the hallway and through one of three doors. Bedroom. I slip off my jeans, and get under the covers next to the boy who glints in the moonlight. He didn't wake at the door, so I figured he wouldn't at this. I was half right.

I roll up the sleeves of my sweater to my elbows, turning to look at the wall. I pull the edge of it up, touching the edge of the Artemis Rod strapped to my side.

My eyes close, and I am about two minutes from sleep when he rolls over, throwing his arms around me, one under my head, reaching down to entertwine with the hand lying limply in front of my flat stomach, the other around me, hand slipping under me to grip my waist. The active movements let me know he wasn't asleep.

At least he's fully clothed, there's a sleeve my my face.

His head rests on top of mine, silver hair falling into my eyes. "Yuki," he says huskily. "Since when did you sleep in my bed?"

"Since I said so." I whisper to him. "Please, not now. I'll explain in the morning."

"Fine," he replies. "I'm tired."

It is silent, but hee doesn't resume snoring. A minute later, my voice breaks the silence. "Zero?"

"Yeah?" He asks.

I kiss his cheek lightly. "I've missed you."