I was biting on a towel, because Jonah didn't have anything to numb me up. Tears of pain streamed my cheeks, and I tried my hardest not to squeal or move. It's like he purposely shoves those tweezers in my arm, digging for the thorns. He pulls out a thorn that was deep in my arm, and I scream. I'm losing more blood. Not a lot, just drops of blood. It even dripped on the ground.

"I'm not going to stitch it up, you're already in a lot of pain," Jonah says, not making eye contact with me.

I rip the towel from my mouth, and I noticed that my jaw had locked. It finally softened up enough so I could talk. With my good arm, and wiped my tears away and saw my legs shaking. The pain was too much.

"This is going to hurt more," he says, and I look at him. "I'm just gonna - -" he pulls out a bottle of rubbing alcohol.

"You're shitting me," I say quickly. "You must be shitting me."

Jonah didn't expect me to cuss, and he chuckled a bit. "I'm not 'shitting' you. I'm being serious. I have to disinfect that. Now, stop being a baby and come here." He grabbed gauze, splashed a bit of rubbing alcohol on it and dabbed my arm. I stuffed the towel back in my mouth and shut my eyes tight, balling my hand up on the mattress. My breaths came in sputters and once he was done disinfecting my wound, I ripped the towel from my mouth once again.

"You did that on purpose," I said quietly.

"Honestly, I didn't. I wish I could've gave you some morphine or something. But I didn't have any."

I looked at him, I mean really looked at him. Does he get any sun at all? I thought to myself. His skin is flawless, not a sun mark or acne in sight. He looked like a male model, he should be a male model. He's built like one. But I can tell he's toned. His hands and arms look rough and strong, as if they would be able to rip me apart in one simple move.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"W-what?"

"How old are you?"

"Old enough."

"You look like you're my age. And you had that thread and needle ready to stitch me up before you said you wouldn't. How do you know this stuff?"

Jonah looks at me with the most intense blue eyes I've ever seen. "My dad used to be a doctor. He taught me everything he knows."

"Oh, where's you dad?" I ask, and then I regret saying anything. He gives me a sad, glassy look. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry, Jonah." His name escapes my mouth and I question the tone of it.

"It's fine. He . . . uh . . . died when I was younger. My mom ran away on us. When he died I had to come live with my uncle."

"I'm so, so sorry. I wish I hadn't said anything."

"Hey, it's fine. Everyone asks that. I look nothing like my uncle, that's why."

His dark, straight hair moves perfectly as he puts the rubbing alcohol, needle, thread, and gauze back in his cabinets. "This," he says, gesturing towards the whole room. ". . . is my bedroom. I'm sure you already know that. And if you would like to spend the night at Hotel Transylvania, my uncle would be happy to lend you a room for the night."

"Really?" I get excited, I can finally sleep on a good bed! Not on one that's covered with creepy-crawlies. But then I remember . . . "Shit. I can't stay here."

"Oh, why not?"

"My dad. I woke up, tried to find him, and he wasn't anywhere. So I tried to find him by walking around, then bats started chasing me and I ended up here."

Jonah looked at me, and smirked. "Chased..by bats?"

"Don't laugh at me! Those things freaked me out!"

Someone knocked on Jonah's bedroom door and kept knocking, but in a pattern. Jonah told me to stay put and he opened up the door wide enough so he can stick his head out. They were whispering, and after a moment, he closed the door.

"Well," he said, grabbing clean bandages and wrapping it around my wound, making me flinch. "You're going to have to spend the night here. There's heavy rain coming in. I'm sure your father is perfectly fine. Probably back where you and him slept."

"If he's back there, I have to go get him," I say urgently. "I can't leave my dad out there."

"How about if I look? I'm sure you don't want your wound to get all wet."

I shook my head, giving up. "Fine. Go look for him. Please do your best to find him."

"I will," he said, nodding. "And as I search for your father, you will be sleeping in your hotel room. Do we have a deal?"

"Hmm, I sleep and you search?"

He waited for me to answer and I shrugged.

"Fine," I said. "Show me my suite."

I had taken off my pants and shirt, just sleeping in my undies and bra, and enjoying the cool touch of the silk-like blankets touching my bare body. It made me fall into a deep slumber, and that's the first time in a while that's I've dreamt about vampires.

Next Morning

When I woke up, my clothes weren't where I put them - beside the chair in front of me. Instead, they were across from the bed I had slept in, freshly washed and dried. I slowly sit up, letting the blanket fall off my torso and settle on my lap. I look in the mirror that's nailed on the wall in front of me, right beside where my clothes are, and get a look at my hair. It's frizzy, of course, and it looked like I've been through a few rounds with some guy. If you know what I mean. I walk almost zombie-like to the bathroom, and there I see a brand new toothbrush with an untouched toothpaste tube. I brush my teeth, wandering around the small hotel room, and looking at all the little things in there. The walls were ancient-looking, and the furniture just as old. But barely touched. Only the beds looked like they're from the 21st century.

I come back to the bathroom and look at my bandaged wound. I bled so much, that you can see the blood trapped in the bandages. I don't dare to unravel the bandages and to look at the gnarly laceration. I spit out the toothpaste and brush my tongue, gagging on it, but then rinsing it all out of my mouth. That's when I see the shower and turn the water on to hot. It felt so good against my skin. I took a nice, hot shower. I slip on my jeans afterwards, and notice that my shirt is different. It's a plain white t-shirt, crisp and clean. I search for a pair of scissors, and cut of the arms off. I like cut-off shirts. My boots are still filthy, so I leave them by the door.

I head out of my suite, looking around for someone, anyone. Especially Jonah. I need to find him. Instead, I find Drake. He looks at what I've done to the white t-shirt and eyes it oddly. "What have you done to it?" he asks, touching the shirt's cut-off sleeves.

"I cut the sleeves off," I say ever-so-quickly. "But, anyways. Where's Jonah?"

"Why do you ask for Jonah? I know he is good with the ladies, but wowza! This was unexpected!"

"No, no. It's nothing like that! He said he would go out to try to find my dad. I could've gone, but it was pouring outside and he didn't want me to get my wound wet. I guess with all the moisture and bacteria around..."

"Ah, yes! He did say something about a - -" he tapped his chin, thinking hard. He shoved his hand into the pocket of his clean, black pants and pulled out a neatly folded note. He handed it to me. "This is for you. From Jonah." I take it, unfold it, and when I look up, he's already a good distance away from me, walking up to the counter where a woman with blonde hair is at. I read the note, it says:

I'm sorry. I had no luck last night. I should've told you, but when I tried contacting you, a maid went into your suite, collected your clothes and told me that you were deeply asleep. You're probably out looking for me, and that's why you're reading this. I've gone to my job. I will be back by sundown.

~Jonah

I tuck the note in the back pocket of my jeans and head outside, then Drake stops me by the arm.

"Where are you going?" he asks.

"To go find my dad."

"Will you be back?"

"Well, Drake. With your permission."

He looks into my eyes, squints, then nods. "You have my permission. May I get your name?"

"Elora," I say to him. "My name's Elora."