Author's note: When watching Blood + my boyfriend and I both thought Saya really took Haji for granted, and was a total bitch. Hence.
"Time," I paused, unsure of what I wanted to say, "Is merciless." She said nothing. Of course she said nothing. She was asleep, again. In a cocoon, but no further away, no less attentive, than she had ever been.
I hated her, and that must have been what spurred my love for her. Or maybe the opposite. Loving someone who was so selfish was hell, and now, it apparently intended to be an unending hell at that.
I sighed. There was no point in staying here any longer, it wasn't as though she'd perform any tricks, or even know that I was waiting for her. Or care.
The air outside was cold, and I could feel the rain begging to fall. I wandered more or less aimlessly, just waiting. Saya would never know (she had to though, how on Earth did she think I survived?) and it wasn't like I was really… a murderer. Not a man murdering to steal a watch, or an expensive cello, not a man murdering for fun. I had to eat, and my meals always chose me.
It was convenient for her I suppose, not to think of how I survived, when she knew all she had to do was roll up the sleeve of my shirt and tease me with her eyes. Nothing more, just her eyes. All seduction, then back to "ME!ME!ME!" with her teeth digging in and her hands holding me down. That was my life when she was awake, and I couldn't wait for it, and I loved it, and deep down, we both knew I was only barely above begging for it.
She wanted me to kill her, she said. And I wanted to do it.
Like some Penny Dreadful, I leaned against a dirty wall in an alley and waited. It didn't take long for someone to stagger upon me. An older man, I could smell that he was sick, and I could smell that as I lived on blood, he lived on whiskey. Water was, apparently, not something he knew how to use.
If there were better options, I would naturally be so inclined.
Our eyes met, then he looked me up and down. I knew what he thought he saw, a wealthy lad, lost in the big dark city. Not a blood-crazed undying slave.
The dagger glistened in the darkness, but before he could even come close to me I had him. I ripped his arms up behind his back, and knocked the knife away, then I sliced his throat, right up under his ear. He squirmed and kicked and tried to thrash as I pressed my lips to his neck, so I snapped his arms, and held him more tightly by his chest.
I stole from him, his blood, his strength, his life.
My leavings are always more mangled than intended, and when I look down at the crooked little broken things, I shudder, and cannot believe that I did that.
Going mad hurts.
I'm still staring at the corpse (or what passes for one) when the clouds cannot hold it anymore, they have to wash away the evidence and filth of my crime, and absolve me. The rain pricks against me, hard and persistent, taking my atonement from my skin.
I take the dead man's affects, his little bit of money, to make it look like a robbing gone terribly awry, and I walk away, leaving the horrendous act behind me.
Saya made you this way
I ignore the thought as easily as I avoid looking at my reflection in the windows I pass.