Annamaria remembered the night in startling clarity. Stefan had come home early in the morning, one or two o'clock, covered in blood, and soaking wet. She'd been curled up in a ball in a corner of the messy living room, among the discarded beer cans and bottles, empty cigarette boxes, and condom wrappers. She shivered; she wasn't cold, she just hadn't gotten her fix. Stefan had introduced her to it, and gave it to her at will, sometimes letting her suffer for days before he gave her her next fix. She'd been too weak to stand when he entered, but she'd been conscious enough to take in his state. His eyes found her in the corner, and he roughly pulled her up. Annamaria was so weak that she had to hang onto him, though she regretted giving him any control over her balance.
"Stefan..d-do you have it?" her teeth chattered.
"Maybe I do, maybe I don't." he sneered, pushing her away.
"What happened t-tonight? Did...did you hurt someone?" she asked in hushed tones.
"Bitch, where I go is my damn business, not yours. Comprende?" he yelled.
"I-" she tried to answer, but he'd yanked her up again and shoved a needle roughly into her side. She gasped at the sudden pain, but began to relax when the drugs took effect. When she'd tried to sink to the ground, he'd pulled her up yet again.
"Stefan," she groaned, "What do you want?" He shoved her in the direction of the bedroom. Though the house was normally full of people, tonight it was empty, and no one heard her cries.
--
The memory, still fresh, hurt Annamaria all over again. She pulled her legs up and buried her face in her knees, but her eyes were strangely dry. She felt a light touch on her elbow and was grateful for Horatio's presence. He hadn't changed in all these years, and she was glad for his consist ancy.