Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters except Vivian and a few I will introduce later. (I'll write their names as they come along.) (For those of you who are HIM fans, you should recognize one of my characters and all the titles to my chapters, which I don't own those either; just in case someone feels in the mood to sue a Goth girl, It ain't gonna be me.)

Chapter Three: One Last Time.

Vivian decided she was tired and that made her see things. This mysterious man was just a figment of her tired imagination.

She left the bathroom for later and called in sick to work. A white bandage was all that could be seen of her right hand. Sleep overtook her the moment her head hit the pillow.

She walked down a dim lit hall, 'the kill' playing like elevator music.

This was the dream that always reoccurred. The hall was in the hospital and at the end was Shannon; still in a coma. But no matter how fast she walked or how far she ran; she would never reach the end.

But this time it was different…

Vivian was actually moving down the hall; but the ever elusive door wasn't there. Instead, there was a slit and two separate halls. One was well lit and the other was pitch black.

A feeling of recklessness ripples through her; she started heading in the general direction of the darker one. Vivian was two steps away from stepping into the darkness when he was standing in front of her. Only centimeters separated them; he coolly looked down on her. There was the same hurt in his eyes. Vivian's shock turned into anger.

"Why won't you just leave me alone?!" she shouted, eyeing him; once again, he wore more black. A black leather trench coat; his hands stuffed in the pockets. Another black shirt; this time with a silver pentagram. Black jeans with the bottoms all torn and frayed. And to top it all off, black converses. The only color about him was his illuminating eyes. "What are you staring at?! Are you some sort of sick stocker or something?!" With that, she pushed past him, but he caught her by the hand.

He pulled her into him and held her the same way he had the night before, "Don't."

Vivian struggled, but he had a strong hold on her.

She couldn't look into his sad eyes; she focused her attention on untangling her hands from his. No use.

Finally, she wrenched her head up to look at him. She was about to yell again, but the anger melted away. Vivian never noticed how… beautiful he was.

Now that she wasn't struggling, she realized that the music stopped.

Vivian stared up into his eyes; pain etched in every vein.

Slowly, he leaned his face down towards hers. Vivian's eyes reduced to slits as she watched him come closer. The smell of spearmint became stronger; soon he was right in front of her face. Their lips not even a centimeter apart. Vivian's heart was pounding hard in her chest. Then he vanished as her eyes flew open to find her self alone in the dark. The covers kicked all the way to the end of the bed. Her clock read 11:30 p.m. She had slept all day and halfway through the night.

Vivian sat up, still thinking about what had just happened. She was mad at herself for almost kissing him; even if it was a dream. Angrily muttering at her self as she got out of bed, "dream whore."

Another thing she didn't like about this guy was he wasn't real. He was her imaginary stocker. Not to mention, he was just like her.

She would tell she made him up because she had always wanted someone who was just like her. Always wore black, never smiled; that is exactly what this guy was like. She sighed, if only there was really someone like that.

Vivian grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and want back to her room. A sudden urge to be out side came over her. Vivian reached through the silky black curtains and opened the French doors. The balcony hung out over the streets of Manhattan.

The wind bit at her bare arms and at her toes that stuck out from under her silky black pajama pants. Her also black tank top clung to her skin as she shivered.

Vivian leaned on the rail, one arm tucked in close while the one with the dr. pepper hung over.

She looked up at the clear night sky. The lights made the stars invisible, but the full moon loomed overhead.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

She turned to see him sitting on the railing with his back against the wall; looking at her with those eyes.

She rolled her eyes and turned to look at nothing. "What do you want?" she asked, tone flat lined.

"To tell you, I'm not a sick stocker."

This caught her attention. That was something that happened in her dream, wasn't it?

She turned to glare at him; her hair twirling, mimicking the movement. Only then did she realize what he was wearing. A black trench coat, t-shirt, jeans, and converse, his brown wavy hair hung around his face. She gasped.

She saw his eyes switch to focus on the arm she was leaning on.

"So… How's your hand?"

She twisted her whole body to face him, her face etched with disgust. She threw the almost full pop at his head, but it was a lousy shot with her left hand. He watched it fly over the balcony feet in front of him; then turned back to Vivian.

Vivian's long hair was blowing across her face as she stood there with her good hand on her hip.

"Come here," he said, holding out one of his gloved hands. She didn't move. "Fine," he grumbled and climbed off the rail. He looked straight into her eyes, "give me your hand."

Vivian felt a strange urge to obey. She tried to fight it and keep his gaze. Before she knew what happened, her large white bandage was resting in his hand.

He began unraveling the gauze, it went from pink to red the more he unwrapped it. Soon it was just her bloody fist sitting in his palm. He turned away quickly, almost angrily. When he looked back at her face; she would have sworn his eyes were red, but when she looked harder, they were blue.

He wouldn't look at her fist any more, just her face.

He pulled his hands away and took off his gloves. When he returned them, Vivian gasped.

"AH! Your hands are freezing!"

He tugged them back quickly. "Sorry." He put them up to his mouth and breathed into them. When he replaced them, they felt like a warm fire. He held her hand in both of his until his hand grew cold again. When he let go, Vivian was amazed.

All the cuts had disappeared, even the blood was gone.

"That proves it right there," Vivian said as she put her arm back by her side.

"What?"

"That you are part of my imagination, because nothing REAL could do that. I must still be dreaming. I'll wake up and that club will still be on my hand." And with that, she went back inside, slamming the door in his face.

Vivian laid back in her bed and pulled the black satin sheets over her head.

Only slightly hoping that she would have that dream again.