He lingered desperately by the nape of my neck, as if his cool touch and sudden inhaling of my scent might just intoxicate me enough to loose all sense and thought. As if his dazzling me might surrender a form of consent or permission. Fortunately, the two years spent inseparably together made me stronger, less susceptible to his charms and whims. I could deny things now, perfect in my weakness, from his touch and from my own rapid beating heart.

"No," I whispered helplessly. Not now. Not after two years of patience and endurance. We can't throw to the win the impossibility of our accomplishment. Not now. "Wait a while longer."
He growled in that seductively dulcet voice. His tone was harsh in its own way, resembling a gorgeous voice singing a rough song. "But I'm thirsty now."

His lips touched my skin, parting slightly as if it would help pass the time or even warn me that he had no intention of waiting. I knew he could control himself, if he wanted to. He could withhold his sharp fangs from puncturing my jugular. But he wasn't in the mood for patience. Denying my feelings on the subject, for I full well knew I'd sacrifice everything, my life, in an instant to ensure his smile. I pleaded quietly, "Tomorrow. I promise you. I'll go to my doctors appointment, we'll head up to Washington, and you'll get what you want. Please. Just wait till tomorrow."

He groaned, rapid, inaudible words, and flung himself angrily on the bed. I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, relieved that his temper hadn't proceeded any further. I knew I barely comprehended how difficult this must be for him, the frustration of it all. I wonder how he'd react if I changed my mind, giving the okay to feed, to take my life.

"Lay down," he ordered, grabbing a hold on my wrist and yanking my carelessly from my sitting position at the edge of our bed. Turning my head, I saw the scowl still present on his face and the scarlet colour his eyes had turned. He was ravenous, and I realized just how much patience and control he must possess. After a few minutes of glaring at me, he attempted a slight smile, lightening his obviously disappointed features. His eyes were still the same shade of red, but his voice had taken that familiar musical tone. "Tomorrow then. . ."

He kissed me softly, pulling me into his icy embrace. I sighed and promptly fell asleep in his arms.

-When I woke up, I felt groggier than usual. I felt the chill of his cold lips pressed gently against my forehead. I moaned, as is customary to my mornings, attempting to sit up with a swarming head. My body felt heavier than normal, but I ignored it. In the usual blindingly sudden speed, Appolyon was sitting up in bed as well, holding me lovingly in his embrace. His eyes were a darker hue than they had been, but his temper had dissipated sometime in the night.

Him and his mood swings. I swear, you'd think it was his time of the month.

Dizzy, I pulled out of his arms and stood up. I wobbled, but I held out a finger to stop him from helping me. If I was going to shatter his beliefs in my fragileness, I'd have to learn to fend for myself. My voice was weak, but I knew he could easily hear me breathe, "I'm going to take a shower."

He smiled, and if my head had not already been disorderly and scrambled, I'm sure it would have had a stronger affect on me. As it was, I managed to see through it. His voice was purposefully seductive, yet at the same time replying innocently, "I'll join you."

I shook my head, making my way weakly to the bathroom. "No, you know the rules."

His voice sounded like a sulky child, and I'm sure he was pouting beautifully. "You and your rules."

I closed the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. If he really wanted to get in, no lock would stop him. He wouldn't have to find a way in, he'd make one. I stripped off my oversized T-shirt and baggy sweat pants. Removing all other articles and without glancing in the mirror, I walked into the shower. The immediate cold water shocked my body a little, but only enough to make my heart pound a fraction of a second faster. Appolyon's body was unusually cold, so I had long grown accustom to such temperatures. As it slowly warmed up, I realized I was still as dizzy as when I first opened my eyes. No.

I was worse.

My veins felt pressured, blood slowly passing through. It felt thick, heavy, and my body wasn't acting right. I fumbled for the knob, turning off the shower. Snatching the towel with loose, weak fingers, I rapped it around my body and stepped carelessly out of the shower.

As if in slow motion, I could feel myself fall.

And in a split second, Appolyon had caught me and was easily holding me up. Concern was more dominant than the colour of his eyes, that much was still certain to my scattered wits.

"Bathroom's off limits," I reprimanded, trying to simultaneously gain a hold on my head as well as my body. I felt heavier by the minute, so I was failing the latter miserably. My mind had only formed that single thought, so the former as well had not been accomplished. I was still far too proud to ever admit that, however.

"You and you're stupid rules," he repeated, refusing to relinquish a hold on my arm, trying very patiently to steady me. He saw me sway under his grasp and was sensitive to the fact that I'd fall over if he were to listen to me. As if he ever listened to me.

"Out," I tried to be convincingly strong, but my weak voice betrayed me and the word cracked in my throat. I managed to glare at him, relieved that at least that part of my body obeyed me. Everything else seemed to waver like a leaf in the breeze. But even though I knew just his breath could knock me over without his support, I didn't want him in here. The bathroom was my sanctuary and he was not welcomed, for better or for worse.

"You need to sit down," he commanded sweetly. And in a blurring movement, he was setting me down on the toilet lid. I gathered up all my remaining strength to fight him, but he held me down firmly, his two able hands pressing a little too roughly on my shoulders. I'd have bruises there, but I knew he'd never see them. Just like all the others. . .

I didn't give up, my body just fell immobile and limp on its own accord. I could only fight back with cruel looks and biting remarks, even if those words came out hoarse and broken.

"What's the doctor's number." It wasn't a question; it was a demand.

I spat back defiantly, growling which was something I'd picked up from two years with him, "My appointment's not for another three hours."

"He knows your condition?" He took my silence as a confirmation. "Then he'll come. What's the number?"

I turned my head away, glaring at the chipping paint on the wall.

He growled at my hard headedness, more effectively than me. Then again, he had more practice at it and somehow used it more often than not. It was rare for me to be this angry, while full on tantrums were expected from him. Today we'd switched places: he was calm and I was in the foul temper. His voice was beautiful, but I'd so grown accustom to his enchanting accents that I knew that he'd be in his black mood at any given provocation. He pleaded, his tone alone 'suading me that he didn't want to fight me. "Jules, please. . ."

It was his unbearable patience and kindness towards me that pushed me off the edge. Somehow I had strength enough in my voice now, yelling with unnatural volume, "Jules NOTHING! You don't care, you don't GIVE A THOUGHT TO MY CONDITION. THREE HOURS! YOU JUST DON'T WANT TO WAIT THREE FRICKEN HOURS TO GET WHAT YOU WANT. 'I'M HUNGRY NOW!' YOU JUST WANT TO GO NOW SO YOU CAN FEED SOONER!"

More than the twisting in my stomach, more than his stone rigidness at my words, I could see past his shining ruby eyes, that I hurt him. I cut him deeply. Wisdom will always choose my pathetic bruises, over the heartache that my words can cause to reflect in those lovely eyes. It hurt just to watch him. It hurt, but I couldn't help but hold that pitiful gaze and search that tormented face for any sign of forgiveness.

"No. . . that's. . . wrong. I'm the one frustrated. I'm the one at fault." Such careless words. I don't believe them, so why do I say them? Why do such hurtful words flow so easily? "It's my fault. I'm the only one I should blame." My head fell into my hands and I didn't even try to stifle my sob. "I'm heartless. Sorry. I'm so very sorry." But I can't ask him to forgive me, because I know with a single plea he'd smile and comply in an instant. And who would be left to punish me then?

He smiled, and that agony shining in his glassy red eyes melted into warm compassion. He smiled beautifully, simply stating, "You're sick." As if that was all the penance in the world. . .