A/N: I know it's been a while. One word: school. But I've finally posted the chap that took me 3 days to write. Please review! More should be coming soon.

My house...cannot be mine anymore. It seems lonelier with each passing day as the monster I've become. As if only Emmie is welcome here--and this makes sense, as it is from Emmie's world. The stolen liquor, the publishing work. The computer; the cracked mirror. Everything reminds me of my life a week ago. I vaguely recall that Emmie's parents bought the house for her, as if she were a spoiled child and needed a new toy. They had been so eager to rid themselves of her. (And they did, in a way, get rid of me. But not in any way they could have imagined.)

And now? I am Elyse. Not Emmie.

As far as I'm concerned, Emmie is dead.

And so, I decide, I should leave her life behind, too. Just like my hatred of myself has been left in the wake of my hatred for Jager.

I haven't seen much of the vampire that changed me since the first night I fed; the first two days after that he stopped by often, but today is the third day without a trace of him. And I'm not relieved to be rid of him. I itch to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze. To dig my nails into his flesh so he can feel my pain, my fury. And I absolutely cannot stand the part of me that wants to love him.

To quench my frustration, I yank open the cabinet that holds my liquor and, seething, begin to open the bottles and pour them one by one down the sink drain. Drinking them no longer has any effect on me (I tried it a few days ago).

But I pause when I pull the bourbon into my hands. It reminds me immediately of the night I met Jager, and that damn song plays in my head..."Down on the inside, pretty on the outside..."

I look at the half-full (half-empty?) bottle and then impulsively down it with no other effect than its burning taste in my throat. The song flies out of my head as if I'd butchered it. Like I'd love to do to Jager.

I push him out of my thoughts for now and climb the stairs to my room. There I take my favorite flannel pants and the lavender seeds that are such a part of who I was, who I am. But that is all I pack, besides my wallet and money.

On an impulsive thought, I call a realtor.

I tell them I must leave town as soon as possible; the woman promises to come view the house and will perhaps buy it from me so I can leave without waiting for another human to buy it first.

I smile wolfishly as I hang up the phone because even if the realtor won't want to buy the house, I can make them. I could be disgusted at the thought of this careless use of power, but I have the urgent desire to leave this place, to get out of Emmie's world.

On that thought track, being a monster isn't bothersome in the least.

-vVv-

I am sitting on the same swing in the park that Jager found me that unforgettable morning. It is late afternoon, and the balmy, nearly-humid air caresses my flawless skin. It will storm tonight.

My curly hair is down and wild; a lock blows across my vision and I can almost believe it is another night in Emmie's life. Can almost pretend I am human again.

But then my attention is drawn the a young man in the shadows of a tree; I have a strong suspicion that he is smoking marijuana, or something worse.

I take hold of his mind, which is easier than anything because he's high. "Hey!" I call, and he looks up, stumbles to his feet. "Come here." I can feel the bloodlust rising up inside me, gripping my senses to the point of insanity. I need to learn control, I tell myself firmly; so I shove the feeling away momentarily and grin at the boy, showing teeth. "Can you share a joint?" I ask with no intention whatsoever of smoking the stuff.

He reaches towards me, tripping over his own words. "I got m-more to share than a-a joint," he drawls, and I squeeze his mind with my power, clamp down hard, before I grab his shirtfront and him to me. He's so out of it that he doesn't even flinch when I move my mouth to his neck.

His blood is sweet, even though I know he's been poisoning his body with drugs. I open myself to his memories...and wish I hadn't.

Because I know this boy; I--Emmie--dated him. Slept with him. Got insanely drunk with him. Even smoked with him. That was who Emmie was in college. A whore. A junkie.

I nearly choke on the sweet liquid flowing over my tongue as I shove him away. I haven't take all of his blood, but he will die anyway; I can hear the frantic beating of his heart, the weak effort it makes to pump blood through his body. He cannot even think, and never will again.

It gives me a mad sort of pleasure to let him die. Another phantom of my past, gone forever.

I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my sweatshirt and walk away, back to my house. Let the people that find him think he died of a drug overdose.

The realtor comes soon after I return to the house. In a way beyond the woman's comprehension, she loves the house before I even let her inside. She looks around; I tell her the things she wants to know. Then she agrees to buy it; her company will sell it after I have left.

"The legal papers will take a few days to process," she explains as we agree on a price and I sign paper after paper.

"Of course," I reply absently, and shiver at the realization that I am controlling a human.

I am giddy with the power of, for once, having control over my life.

And two days later, I leave my town behind, Emmie's life behind, and begin to hunt down Jager.