This came about when I had seen a picture (the cover) owned by bleachitwhite over on Tumblr. It made me want to write Lawstein. But just like the Hollence one I did a while back I lost my fluff. I guess pairing Danny with either Laura or Carmilla does that to me. Anyway, further inspiration for this came after watching the music video for Bath Salts by Highly Suspect. The lyrics also gave me a little more to work with.
You watch your friends talk animatedly among each other while you sit slightly removed from them, quiet. Your thoughts are on something else entirely and your eyes are staring straight ahead but seeing nothing of importance. You had accepted their offer to go out, but so far, you just want to go home. You need to make sure she's alright, that she hasn't done something stupid again. She had told you that she would be fine, and no matter how many times you made sure, her answer was always the same. She told you not to worry and sent you on your way, but you can't help feeling like her words were lies. You know how she feels every day. You can hear her muffled cries that seem to tear through you at night when she thought you couldn't hear. She's in constant agony, but she refuses to share it with you, to alleviate some of the pain. She said it was her fault for antagonizing what she never should have messed with. But it wasn't her fault. No one could have expected the hell it would bring, least of all her. You wonder how you get through it at all. Only you know that she didn't really die all those nights ago. Only you know that she's very much alive. Well, alive in some way. You remember the night she returned so clearly…
She stumbles through your door after three hard knocks. You let her in, confused and wary but concerned. You always admired her for her strength in all things even though she can be such a jerk. Yet there's an undeniable charm to her that you can't ignore. It's always hard for you two to get along, only forcing yourselves to behave when around your group of friends. Other than that, it's heated remarks and wandering gazes, interested yet angry that you were. And right when it seemed like you were getting somewhere, she vanished without a trace for a week, only to show up at your door. You stare at her while she stands there, a shadow playing across her face. Her clothes, normally torn for fashion, are actually damaged with blood streaking them. The source of the mess came from her neck where an ugly wound stood out on her delicate skin.
Her pale complexion seems more so because of the blood loss, contrasting with her jet black hair. You take a step toward her, uncertain about what you should do. But then she flinches and something in her eyes makes you hesitate. Blood is smeared on her lips and covers her chin in such a way that suggests it didn't come from her. She opens her mouth, presumably to speak, but all you can focus on are her teeth. Fangs curve down from the upper row, pearly white but stained red. She steps toward you and all you can do is brandish the spatula you still hold in your hand. She had shown up when you were going to start dinner, but now you don't even think you can eat. Her normally brown eyes are black, and they flick to the wooden kitchen utensil momentarily before looking at you.
"Please," she finally gasps out, body caving in on itself. You don't know what she means by that but you can't stop to question it. You would have called yourself stupid for rushing forward to catch her before she falls, but you can't stop yourself from going to her. She clings to you like she's being pulled away, her eyes wild. You cup her face in your hands, almost cringing at her cold skin. To think, you wanted to be this close to her for so long, and now that you are, the situation prevents you from enjoying it.
"We thought you were dead. What happened to you?" you demand. Her eyes dart around her surroundings before focusing on you, down to your neck for a second, but meeting your eyes in the end. The hunger in her expression makes your brows crease in slight fear but you aren't going to back out now. She needs you. As an answer she just shakes her head and looks away. You sigh but don't press her for more. You help her stand and walk to the bathroom. You manage to strip off her blood soaked clothes and then leave her in her undergarments to get in the shower. You listen as the water turns on while you look for some spare clothes for her.
She and the rest of your friends have spent the night multiple times. She's so messy she ends up leaving a few of her clothes lying around so you just store them away for her to either retrieve later or use should she need them. Now was one of those times. So you gather them and then leave them in the bathroom for her. When she's out and dressed you sit her down to examine her neck, flesh torn and bleeding slightly. You patch her up while she sits there with a blank face. She's never been one to talk a lot, but you wish she would. You need to know what happened. You sigh softly.
"Look, I know it might be hard, but-" you begin to say, but she cuts you off.
"More than hard, Xena," she mumbles in her quiet yet firm and scratchy voice. You almost missed hearing it. You run a hand through your hair then lean forward on your legs.
"Tell me when you can?" you propose hopefully. She looks to be thinking before she nods and stands up. Silently, she relocates to the living room where she falls onto the couch and promptly knocks out. She doesn't get up until the next night.
What follows are days of silence with her quietly wandering around your house. You don't know what to do seeing as she had basically come back from the dead. All you can do is give her a place to brood, because that's all she seems capable of doing. That is, until one day when you come home to her curled up on the floor, body in a fit of spasms. You drop everything to rush to her, kneeling to gather her in your arms. It happens so quickly you have no time to even properly realize what happens, but one minute she's utterly vulnerable and the next she's tearing into your arm with her teeth. You cry out and force her off you to clutch at the injury. She growls low, teeth bared, but when your blue eyes meet her hungry black glare she begins to relax. Her body droops and she closes her eyes, bowing her head in shame.
"I've been feeling so strange, like I've been re-arranged and changed. Nothing feels right. It's all wrong. The thoughts are tinted red with blood. I think I'm better off dead," she whispers, morose voice cracking. You shake your head and scoot closer to her slowly. She shies away from you but you hastily reach out and place your bloody hand on her jaw, making her look at you. You can't stand to see someone you thought to be an impenetrable wall crumble before you, but she is. She can't handle what she's become but she won't let you closer either.
"Let me help you," you implore, brows furrowing when she looks like she would rather flee. Your hand tightens on her, a silent warning that you won't let her walk away. She scowls, stubborn, but then gives in with a sigh.
"Ok," she murmurs. It's all she has to say for you to let her go. You're confident she'll stay and explain what had truly happened, even though you worked it out yourself. It was something you never thought possible but it's obvious none the less. So you both clean up in silence, wiping your blood off both of you. Once your arm is bandaged you sit her down next to you on the couch.
"So why me?" you ask, the number one question on your mind. She doesn't seem to be particularly fond of you, but maybe, just maybe, she feels closer to you than she lets on. She scoffs, lips lifting just enough for the dim lighting to glint off her fangs.
"Don't flatter yourself. Hollis and the ginger twins were too far away and I was stranded where I was. You just happened to be the closest," she replies, bitingly. You smirk and roll your eyes.
"And why haven't you left yet? Or, if you don't want to be here so much I can give you a ride? I'm sure Laura would be happy to accommodate you. Hey, maybe LaFontaine could try their hand at seeing what's wrong with you?" you joke, trying to get more from her than apathy. She narrows her eyes at you but you only smile triumphantly in return. Her death glares never did have much of an effect on you.
"Where were you anyway? You know, when it happened," you continue, serious once more. She seems to be lost in thought, gaze tortured. She rubs at her shoulder where her injury was nothing more than a scar now. She healed unnaturally fast.
"You know that bar we used to hang out at until Laf decked that guy for making Perry uncomfortable?" she mentions. You nod and then realize just how far she had gone to end up at your door.
"That's like on the other side of town. Close my ass, Karnstein," you grumble. She only gives a hint of that insufferable smirk of hers. Honestly, Laura is closer to her from there than you are. You try to catch her eyes but she averts them, hands clasped tightly.
"They wouldn't have…I-" she tries to say, but you give her an out by nudging her playfully.
"No worries. So why were you over there?" you ask, curious but reserved so that you don't come off as pushing for information.
"I was trying to spend time with Will. He's been a little…distant," she responds, expression troubled. You can see the worry in her eyes even though she does nothing to show it.
"He took it hard, you know. He felt horrible for letting you walk home alone. He didn't say it, but I think he blames himself for your disappearance," you tell her, voice somber. She shakes her head and closes her eyes.
"He shouldn't. I insisted. I wanted time to myself to think. It doesn't matter. I'm dead to him now. I can't let anyone see me like this," she states, resolute. You raise a brow, wanting to ask her again why she chose you, but you don't. Instead, you resolve to let her tell you on her own. You aren't much for waiting and have virtually no patience, but more was going on here than either of you can handle at the moment and it won't help to get into one of your epic fights that leave both of you raging angry and everyone else scurrying to give you space.
"We told him it wasn't his fault but he didn't listen," you say, glancing at her just in time to see her shudder. She tries to repress it but it doesn't work.
"Hey, you ok?" you ask, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder.
"Stop," she orders in a voice twisted with pain and so cold you freeze before your hand can make contact. She's breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut like she's battling some internal conflict.
"It's getting late and I'm tired," you begin, standing to head to your room. It looks like she's done talking. But as soon as you stand, she gets to her feet too.
"I shouldn't be here," she mutters, striding for the door. You step in front of her to block her before she can leave, your height putting you at an advantage.
"Where will you go? Don't be stupid. You're fine here," you insist, staring down at her determinedly. She seems smaller than usual, her bravado and snark leaving her barren for once as her proud posture wanes. She says nothing so you grip her shoulders and force her to sit back down.
"Sleep. Or whatever it is you do," you tell her, remembering the times you heard her wandering in the middle of the night. She only nods and you leave her with a pillow and blanket to head to your room. You know you can't make her stay anyway. All you can do is hope that she does. You'll never admit that you care for her and she'll never ask. You doubt that she even cares about you. She always seems to enjoy teasing Laura. Broody Carmilla Karnstein, easy on the eyes as well as the ears but not on hearts. You fall asleep hating the fact that she holds yours and doesn't even know it.
It's a week later when you're yanked from a restless sleep by a snarl that could have come from an animal. You slide out of bed and pad through the hall to the living room where you see her hunched over on the couch, muscle spasms shaking her to the bone. She groans pitifully but tenses when you step into the room. Her head rises but she doesn't look at you. She doesn't tell you to go away so you march on. When you're standing in front of her she keeps her eyes on her hands which are shaking.
"It's getting harder to sleep. The tremors hurt and hit too deep. Every night that passes leaves me colder and I can't feel anything anymore. I'm numb," she mumbles, her voice monotone. You have a feeling you know what's happening but you aren't sure if you can tell her. She's in denial as it is.
"You need to eat," you finally tell her when silence drags on between you. She grimaces and then stands up abruptly.
"No," she spits, eyes still on the floor.
"Carmilla," you force out, ready to force your concerned yet sharp words until she understands just how serious the situation is.
"Don't push me," she warns, her deep dark eyes on you now. You ignore her and yank up your sleeve, baring your own pale skin to her which is mostly wrapped up from last time. If she won't go out and get the job done then you will personally do it for her.
"I can't!" she snaps, gripping you by the wrist tightly despite her words. You can detect it in her eyes as they zero in on the vein that snakes its way through your forearm. The patience she exercised to stay calm before is all but gone. She's on a sharp decline and can't stop. Suddenly, she throws your arm aside and runs for the door. Your longer legs get you there faster, just in time to block the door and push her back. She stumbles, but with a low growl she surges forward to shove your taller frame back against the door with a loud slam. It winds you and you gasp, temporarily stunned. Her smaller frame holds you there effortlessly even when you begin to fight back. She holds your arms down, pinned to the wall by your wrists as she presses closer.
"Don't get in my way," she snarls, her eyes glinting dangerously. But you never backed down from a fight, not even when you felt outmatched. You would rather fight and lose than give up and never have tried. You know she knows this, which is why she holds herself back from using force. You can see that she wants to, but what match are you compared to her? You're no longer the stronger one between you.
"Too late," you respond, unyielding. You can see her defined jaw clench, lip lifting to bare her fangs. Her hands move to grip tightly at the front of your shirt before she yanks you closer. You anticipate sharp teeth tearing into you, but instead, her lips meet yours roughly. She kisses you with anger and frustration. All you can do is return it. You wanted this for so long, but now that it's happening, you can't fully enjoy it. Not when it's an alternative to ripping your throat out. Her tongue finds yours for a moment before slipping out. You move to follow but she pushes you away, brows arrowed down and panting hard. You decide you can't wait for her to calm down. You want to crack her open and reach her where it hurts, to draw her out before she secludes herself behind her well-placed mask again. So you pull her against you with a hand gripping at her hip, the other sliding behind her neck to bring her mouth to yours again. She bites you, cutting open your bottom lip.
You suck in a pained breath but continue to kiss her. She tries to bite you again but you evade and carry on, deepening it until she responds properly. It doesn't take long for her to go from pushing you away to pulling you closer. The kiss breaks for a moment, your mouths centimeters away and your noses brushing as you lock eyes. Traces of blood spot her lips and your own lip throbs but you ignore it. Never mind that you feel like you're staring down death, because she can very well kill you, but you can't walk away. So you kiss her again, and this time, she lets you without a fight, groaning into your mouth when your hand falls lower to grind her hips to yours. Your hands trace under the hem of her shirt but then she grips at your arms to stop you. She turns away, avoiding your gaze, and returns to the couch. You walk over to try and salvage the situation, but she rolls over so that her back is to you.
"It's six in the morning. All I want to do is sleep…please," she pleads brokenly, hugging herself as she tucks her head closer to the back of the couch. That one word is enough to break you because she never sounded so defeated before. You run your tongue over your lip, tasting the tang of blood, then nod and do as she wants. You leave her alone to try and sleep but you both know that you never manage it.
You never really put much thought into your new lifestyle until one day when you come home late to see her out on the balcony, gazing up at the stars. She's always liked them but never expresses it openly. You only know this because of a conversation you walked in on between her and Laura. You always wondered why she hadn't told you, but you pushed back the jealousy and left it alone. That was back when you tried to convince yourself that you didn't like the grumpy raven haired girl. But now you have no excuses. Because who in their right mind would give a creature such as her a place to live when she was capable of killing you when you least expect it? You're as good as prey at this point.
Of course, you like to imagine that she returns your feelings and that's why she hasn't given in. But that can't be it. Can it? But maybe it is, because after the night you stargazed with her, marveling at the fact that she allowed you to hold her to your side, you come home to her slumped over in the bathroom. The mirror is shattered and she holds a shard in her hand, dragging it across her wrist and watching emotionless as blood wells out to drip down her arm and onto the tiled floor. You rush in to pull her up, taking the shard from her. She doesn't fight you or push you away. She just stands there staring at the floor. Wordlessly, you get her in the shower to rinse her off then place her in your room so that you can clean up the mess. You're almost surprised to find her exactly where you left her when you return.
"I can't stop thinking about it; what happened when that thing stole my life from me, how I bled out on the concrete in an alley until I woke to a hunger so intense I didn't hesitate to gorge on the first five people I stumbled across," she starts out in a bland tone, only for it to waver the longer she spoke.
"Stop it," you scold, disliking the undertone of hate in her voice. She hates herself for something she doesn't even have any control over.
"Nothing flashed before my eyes when I laid there dying. There was no pretty angels or bright lights. All I saw was the devil's soul, and it looked like my own," she continues, her gaze staring blankly ahead while her eyes trace the healing cuts along her arm.
"Is that why you tried to kill yourself? Because you think you're a monster?" you ask her, wanting to know. She nods slowly then raises her eyes to stare at you, brown burrowing into your blue.
"Wouldn't you if you became a monster?" she responds, head canting to one side. You let out an agitated sound then stomp over to stand in front of her, arms crossed. You try to imagine being in her position, scared of what you're capable of. A killer, essentially.
"No," you decide.
"Bullshit," she accuses, glaring up at you. You sigh and take a seat next to her so that you're eye level with her.
"I wouldn't. I might hate myself, but I wouldn't kill myself," you state, standing firmly in your belief.
"You can say that because you don't know what it's like to only feel hunger and anger. Other than that there's nothing. Everything hurts and it never stops. Even now all I can concentrate on is your pulse beating out a rhythm I want to stifle," she drawls slowly, her eyes darkening as they meet yours. You're so close yet so far removed from her. Your bandaged arm, almost fully healed, itches with the memory of her bite and your tongue swipes at your lip where a thin scar remains. She already marked you twice over and you find that you don't mind if she keeps marking you, leaving behind her pain etched into your skin. If it helps her then you're willing to do just about anything.
"I'm not afraid of you," you finally breathe out, shoulders squared and expression determined. She stares at you a moment longer before raising a hand to grip tightly at your jaw. You let her kiss you, molding your mouth to hers heatedly. She bites at your lip again, drawing blood. Another mark to hide from the others, but you wouldn't have it any other way. She growls against your lips before leaving them to travel across your jaw. Her nose brushes your neck, inhaling, before you feel the scrape of teeth. Your left hand grips at her thigh while your right holds behind her head, encouraging her on.
She tilts your head gently, her other hand twisting in the back of your shirt as she presses closer to you. You close your eyes and cringe when her fangs break skin. She groans and her grip tightens on you as her mouth works to draw out your blood. It's painful and stings at your nerves until they're numb, but you still hold her close until she pulls away on her own. You don't realize just how much she's taken from you until you sway, dangerously close to falling over. She steadies you, brown eyes lively with energy and lips painted with your blood. She licks them before pressing a soft kiss to your own lips. You can't even respond because you're starting to lose consciousness. All you can do is let her direct you to your pillow where you black out.
You shift uncomfortably in your seat as you relive the memories in your head. You had woken up after that particular experience with an apology in the form of a bandage and breakfast. She didn't say anything to you the rest of the day and you didn't push her to. But now, with a little over a year of her practically haunting your house more than living in it, you can't find it in yourself to make her leave. Even now when you know she can't change. But you can't either. You love her. You hate it but you do. And maybe she doesn't love you, but it's enough that she sticks around. Although, you're sure she would have already left a long time ago if she didn't have any feelings for you. She wasn't one to do things without a reason, after all. Which brought you to the uneasy feeling you have while you sit there at some party with Laura, Perry, LaFontaine, and Kirsch surrounding you. Laura shoots you a concerned look but you're too preoccupied to at least gesture to her that you were okay. Instead, you stand up with the intention of leaving. The worried expression on your face hasn't left since showing up and you can't just sit around pretending that nothing is wrong. Something tells you to go home.
"I gotta go," you shout over the music so that they can hear while hitching a thumb over your shoulder. Laura asks you why you're leaving so soon but you can only supply a shrug before striding to the door. You drive home in record time, launching yourself through the door and standing in place for a moment to look over the living room. She isn't there. You panic slightly and run for the bathroom again, skidding through the door to see her submerged underwater, fully clothed and resting at the bottom of the tub. You spit out a curse as you rush to drain the water, dragging her limp body out to cradle in your arms. You're soaked in cold water and shivering in minutes but you hold her close where you sit on the tiled floor. She's unmoving and lifeless in your arms and you don't know what to do. Tears blur your vision, and just when you're going to lose it, she coughs up the water that flooded her lungs.
"Shit," she swore, voice rough and raspy. Her eyes blink open, tired and sad.
"Dammit, Karnstein! You have to stop doing this!" you yell, holding her closer and burying your face in her shoulder. She slowly comes to life with small movements before wrapping an arm around you and sitting up.
"Nothing works," she whimpers desperately, sounding lost and scared. She won't meet your eyes.
"How many times have you tried?" you question, furious. You should have known that she doesn't spend all her time cooped up in the house at night.
"Not enough if I'm still here," she responds darkly. Your heart feels like it's withering in your chest when you hear that.
"Why can't you just accept it? I don't care what you are and you shouldn't either. You're still you, Carmilla. I wouldn't still be here fighting to try and reach you if you weren't," you plead with her. She looks at you strangely, like she can't figure out what your words mean.
"Why can't you just let me die?" she finally mutters, pain in every fiber of her being to tinge her voice. She truly doesn't want to live this existence, but selfishly, you can't let her go.
"Because I love you," you finally confess, hands tightening on her and tears sliding down your face. She tenses for a moment before unexpectedly pulling you into a tight embrace. It feels like progress so you hold her and hope that she won't try to kill herself again.
You return to a quiet cooperation yet it's intermittent with a kiss or a lingering touch. You hope that's a sign that she's done trying to prove you wrong. She goes back to starving herself though, and you know that she knows that you know what she's trying to do. So you allow her a few more days to do as she wishes, but you plan to make her eat tomorrow. Little did you know that she would abruptly change her mind, so drastically that she loses hold of that eerily calm control she wields; because after what seemed like a long day spent out with your friends, you return home to find her in your room. Her body is going through those muscle spasms once more, but one look at you and she jumps to her feet. The glint in her predatory gaze strikes you with a cold chill and you're frozen in place, helpless as she lunges. She throws you back against the wall and her fangs find your neck without hesitation. You bite back a scream as she violently feeds on you, her nails digging into your back as she traps you against her and greedily gorges on your blood. You try to push her off but she holds you tight enough to bruise, growling a warning.
"C-Carm-ill-a…s-stop," you choke out, vision going spotty. When your words meet deaf ears you decide to use force. With a blow to her stomach she's pushed back. You then throw yourself at her, clumsily using your body weight in an attempt to hold her down. You're shaking from blood loss and pain, making it hard to keep her down, but you still fight back, managing to sit on her while your hands pin her arms down by her wrists.
"Am I a monster now?" she questions bitingly. You glare and refuse to agree with her. She knows what she is and so do you. But you still deny it. You can't accept it. Not if you'll lose her in the end. So you lie, desperately trying to keep her from more pain.
"You aren't a monster," you tell her, hardening your tone. She scoffs, smiling in a truly hopeless yet knowing way. It breaks your heart.
"You're fooling no one. You can't save me. You aren't the hero of this story," she sneers at you, sardonic, as a cold, cruel, smirk twists her lips. You fight back the traitorous tears burning at your eyes and force them back with fiery defiance. You refuse to let her break you down.
"You're only doing this to make me hate you. Well, I won't. I'll keep fighting or die trying," you state with certainty. She should know you won't go down without a fight. She seems to consider this because her struggles almost cease, but then a snarl forms on her lips and she shoves you off her with enough force to wind you. Before you can even get up she's on you, smaller but stronger form easily holding you down.
"Don't you get it? This is what I am. Nothing can change that. Not even love," she mocks, the last word falling from her bloody lips like it left a bad taste in her mouth. If she ever loved you it wouldn't mean much now. But you can't just roll over and make it easy for her. That's how you always were and will always be, just as she will never be the Carmilla you knew. Looking up at her you can see the frustration and all-consuming hunger, but also despair and sadness. You try to reason with her one last time but she growls, silencing you for only a moment.
"I just need to know," you whisper, throat dry with anticipation. You can't finish the sentence because it hurts too much already. But you have to know if she feels the same about you that you do about her. She must have seen something in your expression, because for a moment she's familiar to you again.
"Yes. But it's not enough," she gasps, like the words hurt her to say. So she does care about you. You wish it had the power to make things right. But it doesn't. Your hands grip at her shoulders where they were placed to keep her back, but they loosen a little. If this is how things will end, then you're ready for whatever comes next.
"I'm not afraid," you remind her, eyes on her dark gaze. Her nails dig into the skin of your shoulders and she bows her head, closing her eyes. She's tense, like she's fighting off whatever it is that has a hold of her, but then she looks at you again and her face is blank. Her cold hand reaches up to your face, stroking your cheek. It's so gentle you believe that she won her internal battle. She leans in to kiss you just as gently, yet something about it felt too much like farewell. Tears well in your eyes suddenly but you don't care. Her eyes find yours, not looking for forgiveness, only cold and unfeeling. You stare back with unwavering defiance. At least she has the decency to make it quick.
The door hangs open when Laura reaches your apartment, because of course she had to follow you home. You're sure half the reason is worry, because she keeps checking up on you anytime you see her or she calls once in a while. But you're also sure the other half is her natural curiosity getting the best of her. You remain hidden in the shadows when she enters. She pauses, no doubt every instinct she has telling her to walk away and call the authorities, but she was never good at doing what she should. So you listen as she carefully pushes the door open wider. It creaks as it does, showcasing the small living room you know is decorated with blood. It stains the floor and smears the furniture. Your own bloody handprint is streaked on the wall leading to the hallway. Laura takes a stumbling step back, hesitating, so you make yourself known. She looks to see you entering from the hall, your eyes on the floor and your usually prideful posture bent. Blood painted you too. It's all down your neck and left shoulder. You know your fair skin looks pallid now.
"Danny?" Laura chokes out. At the sound of your name you look up.
"What happened here? Are you ok?" she continues to question. You only shake your head, striding forward with such speed that Laura hastily back steps to keep distance between you. The concern and fear in her eyes makes you stop, brows creased and hands clenching into fists.
"She didn't die," you finally confess, needing someone besides yourself to know the truth. You don't know if it's to warn her or so that you aren't the only one carrying around the knowledge that has been torturing you for some time now.
"What?" Laura asks, confusion in her eyes.
"I'm going after her," you state, determined to set things right even if there wasn't a way. You'll find a way. You stride forward but Laura blocks you, worried.
"Where are you going?" she inquires. You have no time to explain. She could already be miles from here.
"To find Carmilla," you tell her. She staggers over words that don't make it out of her mouth. You watch the different emotions pass over her face before sighing.
"Stay close to Perry and Laf. Don't go out alone," you advise, pushing her aside to leave.
"Wait!" she calls after you, but you ignore her. She rushes to grab at your wrist though, stopping you at the door. As quickly as she grabs you she lets you go, shivering. You turn to look at her and her eyes widen. She can finally see you for what you are now. It's all you can allow.
"I don't understand," she whispers, backing away from you, desperation clear among the conflicting emotions. You find that a very familiar smirk takes hold of your lips, revealing what you had hoped to spare her from. But it's just like her to push until she gets answers. It's just what she does. What she's good at. A nosy reporter who doesn't have a clue what she's getting into.
"Go home, Laura," you order firmly, internally begging her to listen for once. You don't stick around to see if she does. You can't waste any more time. It's getting too hard to walk away and you don't want to know if it's because you'll miss Laura or because you can't seem to ignore the way her presence is like a beacon, enticing you to give in. But you won't. You may have lost once, but you won't again. So you turn away and walk out the door, leaving behind the life you had to take on a new one. You'll find Carmilla, and when you do, you won't let her out of your sight again. There isn't anything she can say or do at this point to change your mind. Besides, you need to pay her back for turning you into a monster just like her.