Chapter Seven

Restraint

For two weeks, Lena played by Carlisle's rules. She ate all her meals, and unfortunately not a single one of them was human. She practiced hunting with Emmett and Jasper, practiced "temperance". When she was not burying her face in the fluffy neck of a foul-smelling woodland creature, she stayed inside and away from civilians. Peered around corners to spy on Jasper, or Carlisle, or his friend, Alistair. She left Edward and his family alone.

Then, she slipped.

It was inevitable. The Cullens pretended to be something they weren't. They denied their true nature. Dressed up all fancy, volunteered at hospitals and homeless shelters, smiled politely. She wondered if the town were truly fooled, if they doubted them even a little bit.

The truth was that the Cullens were just like her.

Monsters were meant to eat people. Carlisle liked to pretend otherwise.

This was meant to happen.

She leaned over the girl's bed, and smiled. She was asleep. Sweet-looking, when her eyes were closed and she wasn't squawking. She heard her sometimes from the house. Her laugh was like a little bell. It called her towards her every time, demanded her attention, ringing like the bell of a pet's collar. Look, I'm roaming around just over here. Don't you want to come see me?

Her eyelashes rested against her flawless porcelain cheeks. Her skin was smooth, far too perfect for the teenager she pretended to be. Lena brought her fingertips to her own satiny skin, and was reminded that she was like her now. A perfect specimen.

No. She was better.

Renesmee was weak. Human. At least a little bit. If she weren't, her chest wouldn't rise and fall with her breaths. She wouldn't sleep at all, let alone with a nightlight.

Afraid. She wondered if it was because of her. Lena hoped she had night terrors of her tearing out her throat. Her spine tingled in pleasure at the thought.

How should she wake her?

Should she wake her at all?

Her parents were out of the house. She was asleep. She didn't even know she was here. She could kill her in an instant while she was so defenseless.

But she wanted to hear her scream.

Lightly, she blew cool air on her eyelids.

She flinched, and whined, and wriggled half an inch away.

Lena giggled. Truly, she was pitiful. Like a little worm.

Her eyes snapped open. Again, she squeaked, but this noise was different. Fear.

Lena drew a deep breath, and hummed in delight. The tangy scent clung to her, colouring her oddly-scented blood. Her mouth pooled with saliva - venom, Carlisle always corrected her. Her eyes darted subconsciously to her throat. Her tongue darted out, and she licked her lips.

"Lena?" she croaked.

She smiled wider, and perched on the edge of her bed. The mattress dipped. She leaned closer, closer, closer, until her face was an inch away from hers, and she had pinned the girl with her weight.

She could see her reflection in the glassiness of the girl's big brown eyes. She looked monstrous. Her features were somehow all sharp, all aggressive. Her lips were wet with venom, her own eyes nearly all pupil.

That was her.

That was her, and she looked like a nightmare.

Oh, the Cullens were so stupid. They thought vampires could survive on animal blood. They thought she could adapt to their abnormal way of living.

They were trying to restrain a beast.

"Lena, please," Renesmee said. "Please don't."

She tilted her head, and observed the girl. She looked truly frightened. Her eyes were wide, nearly bulging out of her head. Her bottom lip quivered, her chin wrinkled. Her chest rose and fell quickly.

Unlike Lena, the girl actually needed air.

It was another reminder that she was impossibly fragile compared to her. She could throw her across the room and expect her to shatter, as if she tossed a plate.

She wouldn't, though. There was no fun in that.

"Do you hate them?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Your parents," Lena said. "Do you hate them?"

"Why would I?"

"You're weak because of them. I could crush your skull with my thumb," she said.

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. "I don't."

"You should," Lena told her. Her eyes drifted to her throat once more, and her hands fluttered to rest on the warm flesh of her neck.

Renesmee flinched again. She tried to move back, as though meaning to sink deeper into her mattress, but couldn't. She squeezed her eyes shut, and began to mutter under her breath.

Lena didn't need to, but she turned her ear towards her and leaned closer.

She was praying.

"Why don't you scream, girl?" she asked. "Your parents will probably hear you before God."

She opened her eyes and looked at her. Her gaze was misty, tears clinging to her lashes but refusing to fall. She swallowed - Lena felt it beneath her hands - and opened her mouth-

She tightened her hands around her throat just as the beginnings of a noise passed her lips.

She choked, wheezing as she clawed at her hands. Her nails were useless, and her strength pitiful. As her eyelids began to drift shut, and her eyes started to roll back into her skull, Lena released her.

The girl fought to catch her breath. Her face was all red. Her chest heaved worse now.

"Why are you playing with me?" Her voice was weak and raspy, but she spoke regardless. "If you're going to kill me, then just do it."

"I'm practicing temperance," she said.

She narrowed her eyes. Something shifted in her expression. She was still terrified, but now she was angry too.

"You're a sadist," she said.

Lena didn't know what a sadist was, but she said it in an accusatory tone, so she could only assume it was an insult of some sort.

She ignored her, and removed her hands from her. With the nail of her forefinger, she traced a line down the column of her skinny white neck. A nasty red line was left in its wake. She pressed her finger in, and the girl gasped as her nail broke the surface of her skin, and blood began to run down her throat.

"Please, Lena. Stop it." She was back to begging, back to crying. Her voice shook as she spoke. Lena wondered how far she would have to go for it to break.

She held her finger in front of her face and studied it. It was dark with sweet-smelling blood.

The girl sobbed beneath her. The entire mattress shook with her body as she cried.

Lena ignored it.

Her gums ached, and without much thought, she popped her finger in her mouth.

Her eyes rolled back into her skull. There were no words to describe the taste, or the feeling of her blood on her tongue. But with that one taste, that short-lived moment of bliss, she found she could not stop.

In an instant, she was at her neck. Mouth pressed against the wound, hands latched firmly onto her shoulders as she fed. She wanted it all. Every last drop of blood in this girl's body would be hers.

The well dried up, and her grip on the girl tightened, willing more blood to rush to her wound. She cried out in pain, but it didn't bother Lena. Smothering the girl's screams was no longer a priority. She cared only about the blood, only about drinking more.

The fire in her throat worsened. She knew blood would satiate it. When she no longer bled, she pressed her teeth to the flesh of her neck, and bit down, hard.

Renesmee bucked under her, but her attempts at throwing her off were fruitless. Rather, they only pressed Lena's teeth deeper into her neck. She clawed at her shoulders, her back, her face, but nothing deterred her. She was a leech, latched onto her flesh now. The only way to get her off was with a flame.

Lena drank greedily. Fresh blood pooled in her mouth, and she gulped it down greedily. She was a messy eater. Beads of blood ran down her chin, but she ignored them. What was a drop or two? Who tried to catch rain on their tongue when they stood by a river?

The girl relaxed. She let her continue to feed without fighting. Good. Though it didn't hurt, she was growing tired of her hitting. She wasn't foolish enough to tell herself she stopped out of anything but exhaustion. She wasn't surrendering.

Renesmee whimpered lowly every so often. It was the only sign of life she offered.

Instead of hushing her cries, she tugged the girl's hair, craning her neck back. The wound opened further. Blood rushed to it faster. How clever she was!

The fire in her throat was nearly extinguished. While it was tolerable - far more bearable than it had been in weeks - it was difficult to detach herself from her host. She wasn't sure she wanted to, to be honest. She didn't know if it was worth the effort. Her blood was so sweet, her body so warm. What was another mouthful? What was another-

Glass smashed behind her, and suddenly a pair of impossibly hot hands were on her shoulders. She was pulled back firmly, forced away from her meal, then thrown with a lot more force against the far wall. She flew through it, leaving a gaping hole, and landed on the living room floor.

She snarled and rushed to her feet. Crouched down and hissed. Through the hole in the wall, she could see a large man with russet skin glaring at her. His arms shook as he drew several deep breaths. This was a beast, she knew, but not one like herself.

"Get the fuck out," he said.

She stared at him.

He took a step forward. Something about his posture told Lena she should have been scared, but she wasn't. Lena wasn't afraid of anything. There wasn't a thing on this earth that she couldn't overpower or outrun.

The front door opened. Lena spun around and bared her fangs, expecting another unwelcome interruption. Two familiar figures ducked into the house. Carlisle, who couldn't even look at her, and Alistair.

Carlisle was carrying a black bag she had never seen before. He walked past her and into the back room where Renesmee laid, barely clinging to consciousness. Lena could hear her whimpering, calling out for someone. Jacob. Who was Jacob?

The man, she supposed, when he moved to crouch on the floor by her bed and take her hand in his. A lover, then. How she envied the simplicity of her life. Playing pretend, ignoring reality.

"Lena."

She turned back to look at Alistair. He stood by the front door, eyes trained on her. He raised a hand, and signalled for her to go to him.

It was the first time he had interacted with her. Though they stayed in the same house for the last two weeks, they never crossed paths. Alistair preferred to be on his own, and Lena was too unsure of him to ever venture beyond observing him.

"Come on," he sighed. He looked oddly human when he tipped his head and tutted like that. She wondered if it was a mannerism that survived from his human days.

The house smelt of wet dog and urine. Lena told herself she didn't want to stay there anyway.

She shuffled over to him, and followed him outside.

thank u for reading x