"This is quite comfy, for a bed that hasn't been made in a couple of years", I said surprised, laying back against the pillows
reeking of bleach.
"Hrrmph" was the reply that came from the inside of a polished coffin. Mr Crepsley still couldn't get his head around my
aversion towards coffins. He seems to overlook the fact I was buried alive in one. The bed I currently occupied was a much
better alternative. This abandoned hotel had a ballroom, the perfect premises for Cirque du Freak to perform in. With it's
guest rooms, balconies and a giant kitchen, I defiantly preferred this hotel to a empty field.
The setting sun cast a orange glow into the room. Night was approaching quickly and I curled up under the covers,
savouring the remaining minutes. I heard the wood of the coffin creak and footsteps padded across the carpeted floor. The
duvet was ripped from on top of me.
"Up!", Mr Crepsley snapped, then proceeded into the bathroom to start the shower.
Dragging myself out of bed, I trudged sleepily after him, my pyjama bottoms fraying at the heels. Leaning against the sink, I
brushed my teeth. I had to be careful not the bit down on the brush. Mr Crepsley refused to get me another one this month.
I spat into the basin and heard the shower turn off. Rubbing my hand across the steamed up mirror I stared at my reflection.
My hair had grown quite long and I almost seemed... paler. It had been quite some time since Mr Crepsley and I had feed.
Just as I pushed stray hairs off my forehead, a pair of muscled arms wrapped themselves around me.
"You are so goorgeeouuss Darren", Mr Crepsley joked, fluffing my hair and pecked me on the cheek.
Noticing my solemn expression, he stopped smiling and said seriously,
"Is something wrong?"
"No not really", I assured him with a small smile, "I guess I just never imagined my life like this. My parents had planned for
me to go to college, get a job with a good income and maybe they even looked forward to grandchildren. But here I stand, a
half vampire and- YOU ARE SOAKING WET!".
Twisting out of his grip, I plucked at my now damp t-shirt. Shaking his orange hair, I ducked through the door way to avoid
the onslaught of water pellets.
Now dressed in an old t-shirt and sweatpants, Mr Crepsley placed his hand around my wrist and escorted me over to the
bed. Leaning over, he opened the bedside cabinet and took out a pair of scissors. Sitting cross-legged, he pulled me into his
lap. Settling into his embrace, I felt his fingers tug through my hair. Snip. I rubbed my foot against his toes. Snip. Strands of
my hair began to gather on the bedsheets. Snip. I bit back a moan as the blade skimmed the nape of my neck. He blew softly
on my throat and brushed away any stray hairs.
"You look presentable for the performance tonight", he muttered hoarsely. Neither of us moved for a while, just watched the
light fade from the room.
Too soon Mr Crepsley spoke,
"We must head downstairs, if we do not want to be tardy", and moved off the bed with reluctance. I clambered after him.