I do not own anything that looks like I do not own it. Including games, drinks, food, random books...So on so forth.

A dollar and some change was all that was left of him. He had left early that morning, around five to be precise, when he was sure that no one would notice. He had stood at the foot of their bed, watching her as she slept, her steady breathing, long hair swept about in her uneasy sleep, the long night shirt that had crept up to reveal those perfect legs. His hand gripped the small knife tightly as he turned around swiftly, eyes darting to the small window where a fragile light shone through the broken blinds. With a wavering resolve he grabbed the small cloth backpack and walked steadily out of their room.

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She read the postcard front and back several times before she tossed away. A small hand took the glasses from her face and pushed them to the table. That was the fourth time he had written. Once a month, like clockwork.

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A new girl by his side every night. That was exactly how he wanted it, how he had always wanted it. A cigar hung from his lips, the pungent smoke rolling into his nose, and encasing his face in a haze.

"Not to seem like the mobster type" he said with a warm, affectionately fake voice, " but I do seem quite partial to these cigars and red wine." He chuckled lightly. " Now what do I need girls? To own a spaghetti parlor and call it a day?" He smiled towards them. Their smiles mingled with the haze of the hotel room.

His days seemed to be growing darker and the nights darker still. Alcohol was all he could seem to handle now. He hadn't known what had come over him. Those, those girls had sat there and mocked him. They were laughing at him, at him! How could they just sit there, smug and content? All of them fake, plastic, nothing more than mere whores. He threw his hand violently to the side, wavering his balance. He stumbled on down the dark sidewalk. They had to learn what they deserved, had to pay for their contempt. He laughed loudly to himself, throwing himself dramatically to the wall, where he lent for a few moments. Watching as the people walked past him, their eyes watching him warily.

"Go ahead, you filthy people! Laugh at me! But soon. SOON! You too, will know who owns who, who can laugh at who!"

He saw her then. In his drunken state, stale breath and dirty clothes. Matted hair clinging to a filthy scalp. Where he lent against that greasy wall. She came to him. Her red hair seemed to glow like fire in the moonlight. Her eyes glowing with a burning passion that he couldn't place. He watched, detached, as she came up to him dragged him to his feet, and to her hotel. She flung him to her bed and leaned over him. Her breath smelled sickly sweet, as she whispered softly to him.

"Madness is the gift given to me. Now, pray for morning; pray for daylight." Then, the world seemed to slip from him. Just the burning of this woman engulfed him.

He woke up in pain, lots of it. He tried to move but found it impossible all that seemed able to work was his head, which hurt just as bad if not more than everything else. He strained his neck around as much as possible to look around. A dirty room, clothes strewn everywhere. Odds and ends placed here and there, obviously whoever lived here had done so for a while. He took a deep breath and tried to keep the tears of panic from washing in. His back was burning, and every time he so much as twitched a finger, his hand would burst into a flaming fire of pain. A wooden chair and a roll of duct tape was all that was keeping him in a sitting position.

" Robert, you're awake. I would've thought that you would still be asleep. It has been two days." Her voice was soft, but had a hint of malice.

"I brought a little something to tide you over for now. Though it was better a few hours ago when it was fresh." She held out a small glass that held a dark red liquid, it looked like wine, almost.

Thank God! Something to help this pain. A little drink always helps.

But when she walked the liquid seemed to not slosh as much as it should. It clung to the glass as if it was thick. Like it wasn't a drink after all. And as she put the glass to his lips he could smell the tangy copper taste.

This isn't wine! Oh my God, this is…this is BLOOD!

He gagged as the woman pressed the glass to his lips and tipped it for him to drink. The blood dribbled down his chin, staining his clothes. He turned his head sharply, almost knocking the glass from her hands.

"Now, now Robert. I know this is something new. Not all new Vampires like to drink this, but it has to be done, or else you'll die. And I can't have a hatchling like yourself die so young."

She grabbed his chin with one hand and forced the glass onto his mouth, squeezing his cheeks to open his mouth, if only a little. It did its trick. The foul liquid slowly leaked into his mouth. Robert spluttered and gagged with the horrendous knowing that this was blood. After a moment of fighting she stopped forcing the glass on him, her claw like grip let go of his chin and she strode out of view.

What the fuck! That was all his mind could hear through the jumble of what had happened in the last few moments. He spit as much of the blood out of his mouth that he could. But he couldn't get rid of that taste. The metallic tang, the thick substance that had leaked into and tainted his mouth. He choked back vomit as the thought of drinking blood washed over him again.

"Now Robert, that wasn't very nice. I go through a lot of trouble getting this for you. And you reject it without even trying it. I'll give you some time to think about this. But either you drink it like you're supposed to, or I'll have to set you out in the sunlight so you can burn to death. Your choice." She stood in the hallway, in front of the door, hands on her hips like a mother talking to an unruly child.

"Now have some time to think while I go out for a bit. Don't worry, I'll be back with more for you soon enough." With that she turned on her heel and shut the door. A loud click was all that could be heard as she left him.

This woman is fucking insane! Insane! Why the hell is she giving me blood? BLOOD! He took several gasping breaths, his chest heaving as he thought about her last statement. "I'll be back with more…" He strained against his restraints for a few more minutes, his attempts as futile as the first. This woman is getting more blood. Were does she get it from? Why is she getting it? I thought vampires were fucking

"IMAGINARY!" He yelled the last bit, though it was choked and hoarse from lack of speech these past few days.

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She walked down the choked streets with a sly grin, her face betraying the jubilant thoughts towards her new "pet". A passing couple watched her warily as she did ballerina twirls down the sidewalk, their eyes following her as she walked into one of the many clubs that lined this street. "Sandman", it was her favourite club, if only because it was always crowded no matter that it was a Tuesday night. She walked around the edge of the club scanning for someone easy to get rid of. There he was, a scrawny man, someone who looked like he was never very far from his computer. Mousy brown hair was caked to his balding head with more grease than she had seen in a year. He had on black slacks and a white button up, "Typical man." She muttered to herself as she graceful glided towards the bar. She put on one of her best smiles and slid up next to him.

"How are you tonight?" He looked at her, his eyes going wide. A nervous hand fiddled with his pocket.

"I-I'm fine, how, how are you?" She noticed the perfect white teeth the hesitantly smiled at her, the watery blue eyes that had so much hope in them. She smiled at the thought that putting him out of his misery would be a help to mankind.

"I'm doing quite well tonight. Hey, it's getting a bit stuffy in here. Want to go outside where we can breath?" She smiled, revealing her own pearly whites. The man nodded slowly, a more confident smile reaching his lips.