I wrote this story somewhere along three years ago. I happened to be looking through all my old documents and saw this in there, so finishing this will be my new project. I hope you'll stay to accompany Ana, Christian, and myself along the way :) It'll be a bumpy ride.


"You're losing it, you know."

"Fuck…you," I drawl under my breath. He shakes his head at me and for the tiniest fraction of a second I see his eyes drop from mine to the exposed column of my neck, his lips pursing as my throat bobs, his fists clenching as I tug my lip between my teeth.

"Let me take you home," he offers, though it sounds much more like a command. He shrugs his jacket off of his shoulders to drape over me. I make no move to stand, so he trudges to my front and offers his hand. I don't take it.

He sighs, exasperated, and yanks me up from the spot beneath my arm, towing me out of the dark alley I somehow managed to crawl into. His grip on my arm is rough, and he seems to be in a rush as he pulls me onto the sidewalk, where we blend into the bustling nightlife of the city. His steps are quick, concentrated on getting to his car. Mine are clumsy and ill-paced in my mismatched heels; I want to be resistant but am too intoxicated to even slow him down lest I trip over myself. The ground beneath me morphs from a solid to something akin to rubber, causing my legs to wobble every time my soles hit the pavement.

And it was so hard to see. Everything was distorted, the fine lines of reality ripped smoothly by the seam so there were two parts: what was really there and what I saw. It was hard to distinguish between the two. Maybe the more recent parts of my memory were just as easily misconstrued. Some events were more distinguishable than others.

The shadows are prancing across the illuminated storefronts, the hideous, ugly faces and figures rising up from where steel meets cement and looming over me as I am carted along. The face that was most familiar to me, most malicious, gives me a sinister smile, communicating with me. It was promising me that there was nowhere for me to hide from it, no matter where I went or what I turned to. I drop my head to the ground as its gaze leaves mine and swipe angrily at the moisture that rolls down my cheeks.

We finally reach his car. He tugs me to a stop and opens the door swiftly, shoving me inside none too gently. The second my ass hits the cool seat he slams the door, scaring me half out my skin. Why is he being such a dick to me?

I keep my head down as he goes around the car, climbing into his own seat, and for a minute we just sit in a loaded silence. After a while he exhales heavily, then reaches into his pocket to fetch his keys, and the second it reaches the ignition my hand flashes out to steady his.

His face is hard as he turns to me, his mouth set in a hard line. I feel his fingers flex beneath my own.

"Where are you taking me?" I breathe, winded from the way his eyes stare me down.

"Where else?"

"I don't want to go there."

"I could give two fucks where you want to go right now."

"Can I go home with you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why not?" I demand, drunk, offended.

"Because I don't want to babysit you for an entire night. This is more than enough for me."

"So why the fuck did you come to get me?" I tighten my grip on his hand, my voice raising. "Why can't you leave me alone then?"

"You listen to me," he snarls, and suddenly he's leaned over me in my seat. I press my head tightly into the headrest to maintain half an inch of space between our faces as his fingers dig into my hip. My head reels at the sudden movement. It was something akin to a small animal being bounced around in an enclosed ball. The unmistakable burn of bile crawls up the back of my throat. "I'm going to take you home now. You have to go back eventually so why are you avoiding it? Two weeks I let you roam around. You smell like alcohol, sweat, and garbage; your hair looks like a fucking nest, and frankly you look like a prostitute. So stop being difficult, put your seat belt on, and let's go back to your place so you can go back to being human. What the fuck are you running from?"

He pulls away from me, and I keep my eyes focused on the windshield where he has just been, unmoving. I do stink. The smell is rolling off of me in snaking waves and encompassing the car, seeping into the fabric of the seats. It's been so long, and I'd drunk so much that I scarcely remember what the house looks like anymore.

But I don't care.

I didn't want to go back.

"I don't know," I whisper. "Come home with me." I grab hold of Christian's thermal sleeve and hold on tight, adamant. "If you come home with me I won't be difficult. But I won't stay there alone. I just won't. Please?"

"Anastasia," he sighs. "I have to get home myself. Elena's waiting on a call from me…"

"Fuck her. I'm not sure what makes you think I actually care. Tell her you'll see her tomorrow. I need you, Christian. She can wait." I hadn't chosen the right words.

"Watch it. You're a grown woman. You're capable of living alone."

I thought so, too, but that house could reduce a boulder to a pebble.

"I just don't want to be alone tonight," I respond, more softly now, somewhat defeated. "You don't have to stay with me, but there's no guarantee I'll stay there either," I shrug. "It's your choice; stay with me or waste your time searching for me again tomorrow night."

He eyes me warily with his mouth half open, and with a groan he shakes his head. "This is fucking ridiculous," he mutters to himself, then jerks my hold of him off forcefully. I sit back in my seat, triumphant, and Christian turns the key in the ignition, taking off down the street. I give him one last drowsy smile, then turn to my window, and my smugness is wiped clean off as that familiar shadow's face turns down in disapproval, in anger, before he melds back into the concrete.