A/N: Aka my first attempt on Carmilla fandom! So my insomnia brought me here and a cup of coffee past midnight. Yeah I know . . . . Just in case you missed it on the summary, TRIGGER WARNING for descriptive mentions of self-harm. I deeply advise to not continue if you're easily triggered.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any stuff you recognize here... basically the casts, Carmilla's wardrobe, and sufficient amount of quotes from the novella.

Ragged breaths flew out of my lungs, quietly as I studied my surroundings. Only after a few moments I realized I was sleeping, now jolted awake in the middle of the night on my own bed. Taking a few calming breaths, I took note of the lump in my throat and the dread overwhelming my semi-conscious mind. I bit my lip sighing out through my nose.

Nightmare.

Dream . . . ?

No, not a nightmare, just a dream. A bittersweet dream to specify.

It was a little chilly for the end of July. I sat up, relishing the cold air biting through my skin as my olive green blanket slid down my torso from the movement. Floral curtains swung lightly from the wind coming in from the ajar window sill sitting just against the side of my bed.

I ran my hand through honey strands of my hair, despising the pathetic feeling burning within my chest. Ignoring the stinging in my eyes the best I can.

No you are not doing this. Not tonight.

But I can't stop it. I waited a minute or so to make it disappear but only landslide of emotions washed over me.

Confusion.

Doubt.

Longing.

Worthlessness.

Endless whys and what ifs.

But most of all anger.

Anger just about for everything I'm feeling and everything that's happened . . . Or that didn't happen. That no matter how I bent the situation it will always end up to the conclusion that I didn't do enough. That it was my fault.

God I don't need this shit when in just a few hours my Dad will be up to drag me out of bed for an early market stroll. It was too tempting to just sit here and cry myself till I poured out everything and blame myself enough. Too tempting.

No no this is not happening.

I hastily wiped away the tears that have made its way down my face and pulled myself up from the bed to the bathroom. Opening the cabinet in front of the sink I took out a certain orange bottle subtly hidden from the corner, knowing well that pills are the last thing its currently containing.

Chucking out the lid, I shook out the razor blade safely hidden inside. Disgusted that from the mere sight of it I can feel the slightest relief it holds in my sick mind. For a moment I studied it closely, doing the routine of checking first if there's any hint of rust surrounding the metal before biting my lip decided that its lacking any.

Thrill and excitement thrummed my veins. Along with hesitation and sense of doubt. Its been months since the last time . . . and before that it was a clean slate for more than a year. The thought only fueled the emotions that subsided a moment ago. Anger and madness, so hungry to eat me up, driving myself to only continue.

Holding up my right arm, I tilted the blade pointing down horizontally on my wrist as I held my breath with anticipation.

One.

And then two. Three.

Four. My lungs contract and expand hard within my chest.

Five.

Then it was seven, nine, ten. Twelve, fifteen, till the faintest line of the twentieth.

I was breathing raggedly once again and I felt like I was a spark lit to life. Everything seemed kind of hazy, drugged up in euphoria looking down on the mess I made. Blood trickled out of my cuts, and its sickening . . . how comforting its making me feel.

I stared at it until the wound is clogged up with dried blood. I sighed opening the faucet to put my crimson arm under it, washing and cleaning up the smears of red clinging onto my skin. Pinkish lines littered all over it once it was cleared, making sure that the kind of wounds I made will heal nicely. I pressed my thumb over the deep ones, well let's just hope for the best I guess.

I put things back the way they were before as if I didn't set foot inside the bathroom. The only evidence was my right arm dangling limply on my side. I sat on the edge of my bed leaning on both of my palms, taking in the sensation it left my wounded arm.

Numb.

And empty.

Still, much preferable than earlier. Its not like I couldn't play pretend if the aftermath of what I did lasted longer. Slowly like the rotation of the Earth, shame seeps in every fiber of my being. Just when I wished it wouldn't come.

Fuck this . . .

This is not fair. God fucking dammit. I fucking hate these kind of nights.

Poof!

I whipped my head around from the faint but noticeable sound that came from beside of my closet door. It was black, a dark smoke floating in that particular area. As it slowly dissipates blending through the air, reveals a pale girl, leaning her back on the wall of my bedroom with both hands tucked on the pockets of her . . . leather pants?

Huh, how daring . . .

She stared back at me, her pale face highlighting her rich dark and quitely lustrous eyes. She reminds me of a Greek goddess, if it wasn't for the band T-shirt she's wearing to make me second-guess my thought.

I don't know what came over me but all of a sudden I found myself on my feet, making my way over to her with an unfaltering gaze at each other as she approached me in patient but graceful steps.

She snaked one hand over my hip holding me firmly before her right hand cupped my jaw as we finally meet somewhere in the middle of my room, gently pressing her forehead onto mine pulling me flushed against her body. I let out a small gasp my eyes shutted while I felt her breathing me in, her chest firmly pressed against mine as she inhaled. I can't help but lean my head onto her cold touch as she oh so lovingly stroked my cheek with her thumb.

"Dearest, your little heart is
wounded," she breathed out in such a quiet sob laced with so much pain and regret. Her hand sliding up from my hips onto my chest, her palm resting against the erratic beating of my heart.

"Think me not cruel because I obey the irresistible law of my strength," she started peppering my face with light kisses, "and weakness."

My knees tremble at the gesture despite the gnawing complete sense of confusion in my mind. I was intoxicated with her smell, reminding me of old books and the musky smell of earth. I don't feel numb or empty or any of the emotions that were upsetting me earlier. All I could feel is how much I have missed and long for her, it felt like coming home and the unknown loneliness was finally aching like a cavity within me now that she's here holding me.

I don't have any idea why or understand anything this girl is doing to me. A complete stranger and I should probably freak out the moment she just poofed into life in my bedroom. This was all so confusing but the comfort her presence emits . . . Oh its nothing compared to the security I feel on seeing myself bleed.

"If your dear heart is wounded," she pulled her hand from my chest before holding my severed arm caressing the lines in the same manner she did on my face as she brought my hand up to rest on her chest, "my wild heart bleeds with yours."

I opened my eyes, realizing the tears spilling down as she wipes it away with both of her thumb. I found myself lost on her eyes, seeing something familiar yet it goes unrecognizable. Wait, her heartbeat. Or the lack of it. I continued to stare at her but now with wonder, knowing that confusion must've been written all over my face.

She only gave me a smile. One that says I have nothing to worry about as she stared back at me with admiration and adoring manner. I hid my blush at the crook of her neck, wrapping my arms around her waist as if holding her is the most natural thing I've ever done.

"How romantic you are, Carmilla." I found myself saying in such a strangely familiar statement. Mentally racking my head of how would I know such information like the name of this mysterious lady. But the urge to figure out what the hell is happening is dying out like a melting candle.

The calm and the feeling like I could breathe again with her holding me is the only thing registering on my mind. I could only careless where my sudden behaviors came from when this girl is here with me.

Carmilla . . . Is here in my arms.

And her arms cradling me and her odd scent that felt like home is the last thing I remember before I slipped into unconsciousness when sometime we were lying down together tucked in my bed. Forgetting the chaos that my mind is earlier that night as Carmilla held me close to her.