Well… This is what happens when you leave Lacroix and I alone in a hotel room. Someone gets drunk and there's a fight. Couldn't see that one coming, considering our past history.

Though, I had to admit, this fight wasn't like the rest. Maybe it's just the part of me that's still pining over him talking, but I was kind of touched that he made that big of a deal over my hand being hurt.

Maybe it was just because he was drunk (possible) or just that he's always dramatic like that (probable) but a part of me wanted to forget reason and say maybe, just maybe he cared.

Maybe Lacroix wouldn't even remember what had happened tonight, I thought. Sure, it would be weird explaining why exactly I was wearing his shirt. I could almost hear him saying it too, "And why exactly are you wearing that shirt?"

But at least in that scenario, I could leave out large gaping holes in the story. Like, oh I wandered in and you were asleep. Totally. Fib my way through it. Sounds good, right?

The girl in the mirror shook her head.

I really didn't recognize myself. Maybe it was just that I hadn't looked in a mirror in so long, but my face was different. It wasn't just my hair either.

My eyes had dark circles under them. It would take some serious concealer if I ever decided to attempt to hide it. My cheekbones stuck out in an unhealthy way, making me look like I was on heroin.

I honestly couldn't see what Lacroix had said when he complimented me. If anything, the super dark black of my hair, that hung down my back tangled and unstyled, made me look even paler. It didn't help anything. But maybe drug addict was Lacroix's taste.

Speaking of Lacroix, I'd left him passed out where he lay on the floor. I'd been so eager to get the hell out of his room.

And I hadn't been thinking too clearly when I'd grabbed that shirt because I'd come to find that there were a few complications with it.

First was just an annoyance I had- that it didn't smell like whatever amazing cologne he wore. That was kind of something I'd been looking forward to, but since he probably didn't have to stay in camarilla safehouses very often, he'd probably never even worn it.

The second thing that occurred to me as I stood in front of a full length mirror, staring at myself, was how short the damn thing was. Why hadn't I had the foresight to choose something long? I silently berated my reflection for a few minutes.

Probably the worst thing about the shirt was its color. Now, I've never really been one for excessive vanity but it was a white, pinstriped afair that buttoned up. And therein lie problem: white, slightly transparent. The ugly pinstripes helped but not much. I decided I'd have to spend the next day crossing my arms.

I supposed I could go back in there and steal another one, but when Lacroix woke up I didn't want to be within an 80 foot radius of him. Even if that meant walking around half naked.

I'd left him face down on the mattress, pretty much where he'd landed when he fainted. I would have tucked him in, but you know, being completely freaked out, I must have forgotten.

My first thoughts upon awakening that next night had been a jumbled mess: I was too panicked to really be coherent. I rolled over and grabbed the alarm clock like it was my only lifeline. The time said midnight. There was no way, even hung over, that he'd sleep this late.

I'd forgotten to set an alarm, being the dumbass I was. Maybe I could say I got plastered too. Yeah. I tried to calm myself down. I didn't want to go out there damning myself before I even knew the situation. Maybe he wasn't even awake. There was still that tiny chance. I clung to it.

I rolled out of the comfy bed, feeling pretty good, all things considered and having inaccurately convinced myself that me sleeping in didn't matter. I cracked my neck, stretched, and decided it was high time I went bitch at Lacroix about having no clothes.

I turned the doorknob slowly, silently cracking the door open. It didn't make a whisper. But even still, as though he could feel it, Lacroix turned from where he was sitting on the couch, looking mildly up from the TV screen.

At first glance, it all seemed so very normal, so very innocent, and I made the mistake of letting my guard down.

He looked back at the TV, before addressing me, in a bored tone, "Juliet."

Like an obedient puppy, I immediately walked forward. I stopped myself before going into his field of vision to pull at the bottom of the shirt. There. As decent as it was going to get.

Then I hesitated. Should I sit next to him on the couch? It felt weird. Usually he was behind a big desk looking down at me. It felt too equal to sit next to him. I frowned at my own train of thought. Now that probably wasn't healthy.

He looked up at me again, apparently reading my mind, or maybe just my face. "Sit down," he said. Now that I was closer, I could see that the nonchalance he so easily feigned in his body language stopped at his face. Particularly his eyes, which were ablaze with what I could easily see was barely restrained anger.

Oh wonderful.

"Now." He added, his voice clipped.

I sat down immediately, but as far away from him as I could while still being considered on the couch. I didn't really know how to sit without exposing some part of myself so I took a few seconds crossing and uncrossing my legs, to find a reasonably uncomfortable, but unrevealing position.

There was a brief silence, which the news anchor filled. Something about Ash Rivers again.

"I see you're up."

"Yes." I said, my voice faint.

He suddenly picked up the remote and held it out to me. I stared at it like it was a bomb about to explode in my face.

"This channel's fine with me," I said.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I swallowed nervously. Take the remote. Okay.

I reached out, fingers wrapping around the cool plastic. Lacroix's eyes followed my movements with the precision of a hawk.

Then I realized what he was doing. He was discreetly checking out my hand again. He knew I'd use my right hand for the simple task of taking the remote. And just as I thought, now he was disinterested, apparently confirming whatever it was he'd thought.

I ground my teeth. Why couldn't he just ask me? Why did he have to manipulate me into doing everything he wanted?

I dropped the remote on the couch between us without changing the channel.

"If you want to see my hand, just ask."

Lacroix looked at me, his jaw suddenly slack. He licked his lips, and glanced down my arm.

"Yes… I would."

I held out my hand to him, and he took it, lightly trapping my fingers in his. There was nothing interesting about it. It was a scab, plain and simple. But he was intensely interested in it, as if it held all the secrets of the universe. If it did, I wished he'd share some of them.

"Hmm.." he drawled finally, while I busied myself with staring at the TV, not really watching.

He ran a finger over my palm, and I couldn't help but shivering. His touch generally did that. But he must have assumed it was in pain because he immediately dropped my hand.

"I talked to Mercurio," he said.

A flutter of panic ran through my stomach.

"Oh," was all I managed.

"And do you know what he said?" Lacroix asked me, ignoring my oh. He casually adjusted the cuff of his jacket.

"No…" I willed my voice to not shake. There were a whole arsenal of things Mercurio could've told him that he'd promised not to. Fucking ghouls.

"Oh, do indulge me," he commanded, "Guess."

My eyes darted around the room in panic, looking for something to say. "Uh… he's feeling sick?"

I offered met my gaze, and a slow predatory smile spread over his mouth, "He's not yet." He wrung his hands in a vaguely familiar choking motion. I think his hands had been around my neck once in that exact position.

I was pretty pissed at Mercurio for telling Lacriox whatever he had, if he in fact had, but not enough to wish him harm.

"Look," I said, "You don't have to-"

Lacroix effectively interrupted me even with his voice decibels lower than mine. "You lie quite a bit to me," he mused, "Don't you?"

I didn't answer his question because my voicebox had dropped to somewhere in the pit of my stomach. In all truth, I was thinking about lying to him that very instant. But what else did he expect? He was as temperamental as a teenage girl, had the power to kill at his fingertips, and did it without mercy.

I made a small attempt to say this, "I…"

"Tell me Juliet," he said, cutting me off again, "What do you really think of me?"

Oh jeez, where had this come from? I kept quiet, hoping maybe it was rhetorical.

He narrowed his eyes at me. Apparently he really expected me to answer.

I searched my mind for something that had nothing to do with my infatuation, but of course trying only made it that much harder. Everything I didn't want to say popped into my head all at once…Stuff involving the words 'beauty' and 'captivating' in the same sentence.

Ugh. I tried to clear my head.

"Um.. I ..I think you're great. UH- I mean, a great… leader, yeah. I think you're a great leader." Smooooth.

Sebastian gave me a dubious look.

"Even now, you lie to me?" he leaned forward, eyes blazing, "After feeding me your own blood." It wasn't a question of if.

I flinched.

Before I could stutter out an excuse, he continued.

"Fine."

He sat back on the couch, his lips pressed together in a thin line, "You think I'm a 'great leader,' What do you dislike about me?"

This question was easier. There was no embarrassing poetry or off limits answers. I just had to be careful of the wording. It was easy to offend him. Like, for instance, I could say 'You're a bossy, self-absorbed asshole.'

But that would probably piss him off.

"I think… you need to…rephrase things.. Sometimes?" I cringed visibly with every word, each one getting softer and softer.

Sebastian stared at me, "How so?"

"Sometimes the things you say come off…in a…in a…way that you probably don't intend."

"How so?"

I paused, trying to find an example, "Well…"

I took a deep breath and summed up my courage, "You don't really ask people to do things, you demand them to." My voice had grown very quiet.

"You doubt my diplomacy?"

"No! No, you're very diplomatic," I waved my hands around in the air, like I could erase the words I'd just said.

"See, now you're lying to me again," he said, annoyed.

"ARGH!" my sound of frustration must have come out louder than I intended it to. More a scream of frustration, because he was silent.

"See? This is what I mean. If I don't lie to you, I offend you! Here, you want to know the truth? You're bossy. With everyone. There, I said it!"

It was word vomit, and he'd brought it on himself. I waited for the explosion of rage that was surely coming…

But it never came.

Sebastian just looked back at the TV, and continued watching, as if the entire conversation had never happened. He turned the volume up.

"Wait a minute." I got up from the couch and stood in front of the TV. He gave me an annoyed look.

"That's it?" I said, "You're not yelling. Why are you not yelling?"

His gaze was steady, and his eyebrows lifted in question, "Would you prefer me to?"

"No... I just don't get it."

He shrugged, "Your honesty is refreshing. I'd rather like to keep it this way. If I yelled would you be likely to do it again?"

I slowly shook my head, dumb with surprise.

Me standing there seemed to remind him of something, and he got up from the couch. He disappeared in his room, and came back out with a box.

"Put this on," he said, holding it out to me. Then he blinked, "Er…I mean, Here's the clothing that I…suggest...you wear?" he rephrased, looking like it took a lot of effort.

I held back my laughter with a single sputter. "I don't mind that you're bossy," I said, "Really."

He swept my face with his gaze, and deciding that I was being truthful, looked relieved.

"Good. Put the clothes on," he said.