Part of being a writer is you have to write every day. From now on I will stop imagining scenes in my head and expecting them to materialise, grammatically correct and formatted on the page.

And so it is.

Riff never slept in the night. Nocturnal in the true sense of the word. He didn't get much sleep in the day either - his usual sleeping hours were from three till seven - but he accustomed to that a long time ago.

Being alert with a watchful eye when the house lay dormant gave him an advantage over the rest of the inhabitants. This time in the thick silence, Riff came alive. He would watch, and he would listen. Two of his favourite things to do.

Riff saw the anticipated argument unfold from the familiar comforts of his own room. His audiovisual communicator stood in plain sight on a sad little wooden cube supposed to be serving as a night stand. He needn't hide it in his room - nobody (with the exception of his sister) ever came down here. However he was careful never to leave it on in company because nobody else knew Riff could see every room in the house on real time. As far as the house knew, one could only view one room at a time and some rooms - like the laboratory and his masters bedroom - needed special permission to access. As the master of the house, Frank was the only exception to this rule. He could see everyone, everywhere, at any time. He could spy on you whenever he felt like for as long as he liked and no one could do a thing about it. Thanks to an upgraded version of the audiovisual communicator installed in his room. To general knowledge, the only one of its kind in the house. Riff Raff was content to let them believe that was the case.

Unimaginable consequences were he to get caught. But so rarely did people come down here and the information was simply invaluable...a risk he was willing to take.

Therefore he had spent his afternoon and evening sat in his room, and observing. He watched in silence, cataloguing and analysing and remembering and cataloging again.

He couldn't quite believe it when his master unhooked the key from his garter belt and tossed it to her without question. His master would never give that up so easily. He just let her walk out of there relatively unharmed. A small part of a greater plan.

He watched his sister rush into his master's room in the nick of time and begin comforting him. Rubbing his back with one hand and holding his hand with the other. He wasn't interested in hearing what she had to say - his master didn't deserve even a smile from his sister - and he didn't need sound to know the girl was sobbing into her pillow on the other screen. Magenta coaxed him to his feet and led him out of the room and into her own. Bile burned in Riff's throat. He turned off that screen for the time being. Eventually the other little girl lay still with a relatively peaceful expression on her swollen face. She had fallen asleep.

Mild sunset melted into pitch black around him though he didn't take his eyes off the screen. His master and his sister were together for a total of three hours and forty five minutes. The man entered his bedroom in an open bathrobe, exposing the front of his entirely unclothed body. Riff was so angry he tasted blood in his mouth. He watched him disrobe, come in and then out of the bathroom showered and neatly dressed. He spare a few moments in front of his vanity table reapplying the makeup sweat and steam had melted from his face. Then he left and set himself up in the laboratory. His master always turned to long laborious tasks when in need of a distraction.

Another two hours passed before the girl began to twitch and stir. She blearily opened her eyes and settled into a sitting position. She was a beautiful girl really. A full head of gentle silver curls framed her pale heart shaped face and her enormous blue eyes held a natural sparkle to them even when she'd finished bawling her heart out at the hands of that horrible man. Such a shame. Such a waste of a life.

She got up and pulled her sheets up to her pillows. Her plain tank top followed a pair of uncommonly thin and fine boned arms, exposing a flawless white torso. Unfortunately even to Riff it was obvious why his master was so obsessed with the girl. Even with her barely-there form of childlike breasts.

She opened the wardrobe and pulled out a new outfit. Riff immediately recognised the same articles she wore on the day she arrived here. She donned them and slipped on her old pair of canvas shoes without untying the laces. She ducked under her bed and retrieved her notebook and fountain pen. She scribbled haphazardly along the paper and tore the sheet clean out. Riff followed her, heart slamming against his rib cage, as she crept along the corridor to his master's room and slipped the paper under the gap in the door. She then hurried down the stairs and took Columbia's silly pink travel flash from a kitchen cupboard. She filled it to the brim with fresh water.

Riff didn't wait to see the rest. He had to get up those stairs in the next three seconds. Before she gathered everything she decided to take with her and walk out that door with half of their belongings about her person. If his master sauntered out of the laboratory in a better mood to find they had allowed the girl to sneak out undetected...it didn't bear thinking about.

Riff hated his master and would give anything to keep everyone away from this evil place. Riff hated himself even more. He was a coward at heart.

As it happened, Riff needn't have worried.

Sprite didn't make it two feet across the foyer before she threw the flask at the door in a frustrated rage. She didn't understand, she didn't feel like herself. She seemed...away from her body.

As Selma would have divulged about Sprite (had she not fallen out of Sprite's life two weeks ago) Sprite had a habit of abandoning lateral thinking when she got too sad. When she felt things too strongly, it was as if she were powerless to influence her body, and could only watch herself do silly things. Like waking up at three in the morning and deciding to run away. Like dressing herself in the same flimsy, unfit clothes she arrived in. Like bringing a notebook and a flask with her and thinking that would suffice.

She would come out of these episodes naturally. A timescale, however, had never been devised. She could wander about in a trancelike state for twenty minutes, she could lose her sense of self for three hours. No two disassociations were the same. These episodes could also be brought to a premature, abrupt end. Selma would continue to tell you how this had happened many a time in her company, and a gentle shake, a firm calling of her name or a sharp shock (such as a loud bang) could snap Sprite back into reality.

Like, as luck would have it, the piercing metallic shriek of a rusty elevator shaft.

Sprite jumped very violently. She dropped the notebook, the flask fell out of her hand and clattered away from her. Water leaked onto the floor and seeped into the creamy pages. Her head spun. It was too noisy in here. She didn't understand what had happened.

When Frank stepped out of the elevator and saw her standing there, he wasn't sure what to do at first. Her back was turned. Getting a drink? No sense to be wearing day clothes to go downstairs and get a glass of water - even more so when there was a perfectly good bathroom two steps away from her bed...

Frank didn't know whether to be angry or give her the benefit of the doubt and ask her to explain herself. The girl's behaviour that evening had been appalling. Fancy saying she hated him! After everything he'd done for her. But that didn't stop Frank and his kind heart from reacting with concern to her loitering around in the dark on her own.

Sprite hated this bit. After the hazy numbness came the slow, persistent amplification of suppressed negative emotions. It engulfed her slowly, like someone pouring sand onto her back. In as little as three minutes what had started as a small accident became the end of the world, so she picked up the ruined notebook (another example of an emotionally charged hyperbole - the water had just barely damaged the thinnest edge of the paper) and tore page upon page right out of the spine in a sort of frenzy. It was ruined, she couldn't use it now. She'd ruined it. She grabbed fistfuls and wrenched multiple pages out all at the same time, she screwed up balls and threw them, she began to sob in frustration at this fruitless endeavour.

She had no need for the notebook anyway, damaged or not. She would never write about Frank in it ever again.

The book hit the wall with a satisfying thud when she hurled it one last time. One might think she had exhausted the rage from her system, but she turned on her heel before the book hit the ground and grabbed the first bottle her fingers closed upon. She ripped the lid off rather savagely with her teeth and took a deep, long swig. She hated creamy liqueurs. They made her feel sick. She exhaled heavily, and took another gulp anyway.

Frank watched all this from the elevator doorway. Standing quietly, and observing. Had Riff braved it and snuck back down on account of the long silence, he would have turned and scarpered on double time. Frank wore that very particular look on his extraordinary face: the one of pity, despair, hopelessness, and general contempt. Riff was lucky to be in back in his room at that time for he'd seen that look before - right down to the curled hands on both hips and the quiet little shake of his head. Right before everything spiralled out of control.

Frank felt disgusted and betrayed, yes. But he still cared for her, and he knew she was a sweet girl at heart. She had just been caught blatantly lying to him.

Riff watched all of this unfold in dismay. He was powerless but to watch as his master strode from the elevator and placed a hand on the small of her back. He appeared genuinely concerned. He brushed her hair away from her face and gently turned her to face him. The bottle still trembled in her hand but that didn't sway him, he spoke to her calmly and behaved almost as if the bottle wasn't there. That man was a sickeningly evil master at opening people up and ramming his hooks in until they were stuck, and bleeding.

Riff's heart sank as he watched his master praise the girl for handing the bottle over to him. He placed it down without taking his eyes off her and took both of her hands in his. He spoke to the girl a while longer - Riff was too angry to pay much attention - and put his arms around the girl in a tender embrace.

Frank led the girl upstairs by her hands. Riff watched her follow him blindly, on trembling legs. Such a shame. Such a waste of a life. She would never make it out of this alive.

'There...shh...alright, darling, alright.'

Frank held his troubled little girl upon his lap, holding her firmly and rocking her like a baby. Her face pressed into his neck, she gave great, heaving, ugly sobs. Frank tucked her head under his chin protectively. 'My poor little mouse,' he sighed, 'I'm here now. You'll be fine. You'll be just fine.'

'I'm so sorry Frankie.'

'Hush, my darling...none of that now.' He gently prised her away and tilted her chin up to look at him. The poor girl had mascara running in wet globs down her swollen face. Cheeks flushed, lips trembling.

Frank was content to let people think he kept a box of tissues by his bed for practicality purposes. He plucked one from its box and gently dried her tears. He handed her another to relieve her nose. She was so blocked up she could scarcely breathe. She frowned slightly, playing with the tissue between her fingers. She turned her face as far away as possible and blew her nose into the tissue. Frank didn't take that one back.

'Thanks,' she mumbled.

Frank brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and cupped the back of her neck. 'How long did you think you could keep up this little game of yours, hmm?' She stared sullenly at her lap. 'I see you don't want to talk. Therefore I'll talk and you listen. I'm here to help you, let me make that very clear. Anything you need, you come to me. Never forget that. Secondly, I don't care what your body tells you is a necessity when you get like this but you do not go sneaking around through my things in my house in the dead of night. As I said before, you come to me.' And lastly,' her head had not moved at all. She might as well have not even been listening, 'Don't ever let me catch you throwing a silly tantrum like that again. You ruined Magenta's gift to you, she spent her own money on that. That was selfish of you, my girl. Very selfish.' He sighed and willed himself to let go of the anger and indignation building inside of him. He was almost there but needed one last home stretch. He tilted her chin up and held her face in both hands. 'Are you going to let me in now?' He held her still and maintained intense eye contact, pouring every last ounce of magnetic power he possessed into those big blue eyes. 'Help me help you?'

Frank let a few beats pass. Then, at last: 'I don't really hate you, Frankie.'

'Oh, darling.' He smiled, trailing a hand down to curl at the base of her neck. 'I know that.'

Sprite froze, hardly daring to believe it, when Frank began to lean in close enough to feel his hot breath curling against her parted lips. Frank nudged his nose against hers. Deafened by the blood pounding in her ears, Sprite closed her lips over Frank's sticky red mouth.

She kissed him once, twice, three times, feeling more confident as her inhibitions melted away. She ran her hands along Frank's chest and up to his shoulders, wrapping her arms around his neck. She moved in even closer, settling firmly on his lap to further deepen the kiss.

Frank was more than pleased with the way things turned out. He had slightly underestimated his nervous little mouse. He never expected her to be so...forward. Nevertheless, he had no qualms being proved wrong on this occasion, but wasn't about to let her think she was the one in control. With strong hands his traced her figure and squeezed her hips, kneading her firmly until she squirmed in delight. Thus grinding (knowingly or not the thought was just as arousing) into his growing erection. He traced his tongue along her bottom lip and she opened her mouth eagerly to accept him. His hands slipped under the curve of her backside and squeezed, making her moan into his open mouth for good measure.

They began to breath deeper when their tongues found each other. With a skill that could only reflect years of experience, Frank took his time sensually exploring the girl's hot, moist mouth. The sensation of Frank's tongue, hot as a living flame, touching hers, rubbing it, chasing it, driving her mad. The sensation was almost unbearable.

She pulled away first for a deep and rather desperate lungful of air. Chest heaving, head spinning. Frank smiled and pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to her lips before burying his face in Sprite's throat.

If kissing on the mouth had begun to unwind her, she was a useless mess now. The sensation of his scorching mouth on the sensitive skin of her neck was something else. Her eyes closed involuntarily and she let her mind go blank, luxuriating under Frank's sensual kisses. He licked, nibbled and sucked at the slender curve of Sprite's neck, her thick pulse throbbing under Frank's burning mouth.

Every inch of Frank's skin came away burning on her hands as she grasped for him. She massaged his strong shoulders and dug her nails into his skin with every sharp intake of breath. Frank's deep guttural moaning into the shell of her ear came with its own sort of thrill. It seemed his whole body felt as hot as his tongue and his lips. The urge to take those too-hot hands and press them against her bare skin was maddening. She fancied his strong and clever fingers would leave red marks in their wake as they mapped out her rib cage and upwards to skim over her nipples, rubbing. This idea was far too tempting (and she was already so hot) that she began to lift the hem of her top.

Frank clamped her wrist against her middle immediately. Almost as if he knew she was going to try that before she did. He raised his face from her neck, a faint line of drool clinging to his bottom lip, nuzzled into her ear and bit her ear lobe.

'Not now, my darling.'

Frank's husky voice and the hot breath washing over her went straight between her legs. She shifted uncomfortably but reluctantly accepted the decision. It would have been her, after all, that suffered the guilt if she took things too far.

He kissed her earlobe and trailed hot, burning kisses along her collarbone and up to the base of her jaw. He nipped her lower lip and closed his mouth around hers one last time.

He released her wrist and Sprite found it still hot to the touch. She hovered her hand over the skin and found the heat to be rising, as if from a flame.

Sprite sat there trembling. Her heart pounded, sex throbbed. Her lips were bruised and swollen. She brought her hand up to skim over the bruises and welts on her neck as if by autopilot. She peered up a Frank through her enormous blue eyes, who also appeared flustered, like her, but more amused and satisfied. Watching her intently as if he were proud of his work.

'Frank, I—.'

He hushed her with long fingers splayed over her lips. She didn't even realise she'd taken one of those glimmering fingers into her mouth to suck, glassy-eyed.

'You must be exhausted,' Frank murmured, bringing the other hand up to massage her hair. 'Poor little thing.' He skimmed her flushed check with his knuckles. She caught his wrist and leaned into the palm of his hand. He stroked his thumb methodically under her eye. Frank tilted his head to one side with narrowed eyes. Studying her with a sort of detached interest, like one might survey a butterfly in a glass case.. 'Lessie, my darling - are you an alcoholic?'

She closed her eyes and nodded once.

'Tell me.'

'Yes. Yes, I am.'

'Clever girl. Brave girl.' He curled a finger under her chin for one feather light kiss. 'Lie down now and go to sleep. You need rest.'

'I can stay...I can stay here?'

'Of course, sweet girl. Snuggle up with me and I'll hold you.'

She didn't need asking twice. She bundled up under the ocean of silken sheets and sighed contentedly when Frank embraced her, as promised, from behind. She wondered how much wriggling around she could get away with under the pretence of getting comfortable.

'Straight to sleep now. Any nonsense and you're back in your own bed.'

She bit her tongue to stifle a laugh. Frank just read her mind.

Sprite didn't want to wake up. She was vaguely aware that someone was trying to rouse her, but she was deep enough in sleep to ignore it and pull herself back down. It felt nice, awake enough to feel but asleep enough to sedate. Someone was stroking her back. Long fingers, gentle and firm, tickling and grazing the bare skin of her back with sharp nails. It was comforting being petted like this. She didn't want to come to herself in reality and lose this hazed sense of dreamy limbo.

The bed creaked and complained as pressure moved in closer to her. The heat of another body rolled onto her own and a hot mouth pressed against her ear.

'Rise and shine...come on now, little one, I know you're awake.' Sprite was conscious enough to fully realise it was Frank, and for that reason, made no attempt to move at all. Keep cuddling and stroking and whispering to me, I will just stay here for as long as I want. That will be all. Thank you. Frank brushed her hair over to one side and kissed her between the shoulder blades, along the back of her neck and once just at the corner of her eye. She squinted on reflex and swatted him away, annoyed that he did that on purpose to make her react. He giggled and gently pushed her shoulder to turn her on to back with sections of hair splayed over her face.

'Stop it, Frank,' she groaned, turning on her side and settling into the crook of her elbow.

'Oh, don't be grumpy.'

'I'm tired.'

'How can you be tired, lazybones, you went out like a light last night! You barely moved at all during your sleep. You must have slept well, you have the pattern of the pillow pressed into your face.'

Sprite's eyes flicked open. Last night.

'Ah, there she is!' Frank gently pulled her into a sitting position by a loose grip on both wrists. He pouted sympathetically and cupped her chin in his hand. 'How are you, my darling? Are you feeling okay?'

Sprites mind yammered at double time but her mouth wouldn't move. Frank didn't seem to be acting any differently - in fact, based on him being playful and flirty with her upon waking up in the same bed, he had only become more attached to her since finding out about her afflictions. Assuming that's what really happened last night.

Her memory was full of holes, and she often struggled with confiding reality with imagination. Something that happened thirty minutes ago could feel like a dream upon recall but Sprite could make something up out of nowhere and give it an undeniable place in her life one hour, five months, ten years ago and refer to it like a bonafide happening. Only to forget that she'd made it up the day after, or forget about it all together. This, a new hole: a fabricated memory, a suppressed traumatic experience riding to the surface, or a simple black space? She didn't know. No one knew.

Did she really try to run away last night only for Frank to find her and kiss her sadness away, or was she found out in a more unsavoury way so created the romantic exchange to protect her feelings? Was this even happening, or was she back at home, or curled up on the forest floor somewhere, tucked away in her imagination because she couldn't deal with it all right now?

'It's alright, sweet girl, I'm not going to hurt you. It's only me, hmm?' Frank shuffled closer, sitting on his heels and tilted her head forwards by a gently grip to the back of her neck. He leaned his forehead against hers and squeezed, once, reassuring. 'Now I think somebody slept so well last night that they'd forgotten where they were when they woke up. Now that's just fine, but you don't have to worry. You're safe here with me. You looked awfully frightened for a moment or two.'

'I'm sorry, I just...' Sprite pressed her lips together and ran a hand down one arm, trying to use the feeling to keep herself on the ground. It wouldn't do very well to float away from her body right now. 'I can't remember...'

Frank tutted. 'Poor baby...' he spoke quietly enough for Sprite to assume she wasn't meant to hear that, but not quietly enough for that to happen. She didn't mind it though. She'd rather be patronised by someone who was trying rather than ridiculed or just plain ignored by someone who wasn't. 'Let me tell you. I won't lie. Do you trust me?' She nodded. She didn't even have to think about that.

She listened to Frank telling her in his hushed dulcet tones that Frank had been working in his laboratory when he'd been disturbed by "a great clatter" which he set down his things to investigate. He recounted how he felt sad and disappointed upon seeing her express her feelings in such a counterproductive way, but encouraged her not to take that as an insult or criticism, simply as a fact. He wasn't trying to humiliate her, he only wanted to tell her the truth. He then further explained how "you, my darling girl, were brilliant in giving me that bottle. You should be so proud of yourself.", but Frank skipped the rest. She remembered him kissing her but he obviously didn't want to say it. Perhaps it was to be more chivalrous and not embarrass her. Although how she could be more embarrassed than being reminded of how she degraded herself in front of him, called herself an alcoholic to his face - that was the ultimate question.

'And now we're here, and it's breakfast time.' Frank pressed one of her hands on top of the other and squeezed with a warm smile. 'What would you like?'

Sprite stared at his extraordinary face for a beat. Then she knelt up and slung her arms around his neck. She held him tight, really tight, against her. His muscles were firm, his skin was soft, he smelt nice. Thick black hair tickling her nose, equally strong arms hugging her back. Everything about Frank was just perfect. Everything she ever wanted from anyone had lined up neatly and fallen into her life. Sprite knew she had never been so good as to deserve Frank.

'Don't kick me out,' Sprite whispered. 'I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Please don't make me go.'

'Oh, darling. Silly girl, as if I would have ever done that.'

She pulled back and stared at him. 'But I was horrid to you and I hit you and I said that I—.'

'I know. I know you did. But you apologised for that already. Do you think I don't say choice phrases when I get upset?'

'I can't imagine you getting upset. You don't know how to get upset.'

Frank maintained a gentle smile but felt that like a fist in his stomach. Poor, clueless little girl. If only she knew just how upset Frank could be.

Frank sighed gently, giving her shoulders a firm squeeze. He gave her a very conflicted look: deciding whether or not he should say something.

'I was rather upset just now...' Sprite's face dropped. What had she done? Frank leaned over to take something out of the bedside drawer - a folded piece of paper between his long fingers.

Sprite's heart sank.

'I went to draw a bath this morning whilst you were asleep, and I found this on the floor outside.' Frank tilted her chin up with one curled finger under her chin. So used was she to hanging her head that she didn't even realise she was doing it. 'You were going to leave?'

Sprite grimaced in an attempt to hold herself together. She pressed her hand over her heart, slugging against her chest. Instead of crying, or denying it profusely, she simply shrugged her shoulders.

'I don't know,' she said in a voice so soft she barely even heard herself say it. 'I was too...too sad and I didn't understand and I thought...I didn't know what to do and I didn't know where you were or even if you liked me anymore so I just...it's my handwriting, it's the paper from my notebook. I must have written it.' She sighed and put her head in her hands. 'Frankie, I know I keep saying this but I can't remember. I truly can't remember. The details are there, some of it, like the paper and the bottle of liqueur, but the rest is all a blur. I just have a vague sense of not being able to feel anything. I've learnt now, upon reflection, to recognise that feeling when it's subsided.' Sprite shuffled closer and leaned her head on his chest. 'I hope you know that even if I had gone, I wouldn't have left because I wanted to.'

Frank inhaled deeply at the top of her head. 'Have you always had problems with memory?'

'I have problems with reality in general. Dreams feel real, real life feels like a dream. Sometimes it feels like I'm watching everything happen to somebody else and the feelings I have aren't mine. Something that was confidently a real memory yesterday could seem like a dream to me the next day and I have real trouble telling them apart. Sometimes I can't remember anything, and then all of a sudden a certain memory will resurface - but whether that's a real memory or something I made up, remains a mystery to me.'

Frank grazed his long nails over her back. 'Sit up, darling.' She did, and he held her at arms length, brushing her hair back from her forehead. 'Do you believe I'm real?'

'I do now, but tomorrow...I can't promise anything.'

'You've never forgotten me before. In fact, I've never seen you like this until yesterday.'

Tears sprang to Sprite's eyes. She hadn't been expecting to cry at all yet all of a sudden her bottom lip was quivering with the effort to keep it all in. She ducked her head with a bashful smile and one single tear escaped.

'Frank...Frankie...' Sprite shook her head, biting her lip to further stifle the smile. 'It's because I've been so happy. I haven't had an dissociative episode in two weeks, that's like...like...I don't know where I was going with this, I can't even talk...!'

'Oh, darling. You poor little thing, I don't know whether to laugh or cry you've got me all in a tizz.' Sprite spluttered a laugh but turned her face away. She was a bit embarrassed after randomly crying like that. 'Well now, my little mouse, that is fantastic news. I'm made up for you. And,' he turned her face back to him with two hands, 'if you ever feel confused or muddled you come and find me and I'll help to remind you what's real.'

She lowered her eyes coyly. She could feel her face getting all hot. This was so embarrassing. She whispered, 'I remember you kissed me last night.' She peered up at him with her enormous blue eyes. 'Was that real?'

Frank smirked. His eyes truly sparkled with mischief and playfulness. Sprite wished she could capture that expression and store it somewhere - she would stare at it all day. A gentle hand trailed from her hair to the nape of her neck, lightly tickling on the way down.

'Dear me. I've quite forgotten.' Frank rubbed his thumb along her bottom lip and leaned towards her with a positively wicked grin. She leaned back against the pillows, eager to accept him with her arms draped around his neck. He giggled delightedly into her mouth.

'Perhaps I should do it again.'

Thank you to my readers and reviewers who remain loyal despite my tendency to fall off the grid. I am now going to rocky horror every night. Six times in one week. If that doesn't give me inspiration I don't know what will!

Alma Oakley