Drabble:168
He tried to hide how much it still affected him- how a night off from work, lying in his moon-soaked bed, made his demons come alive; how the decadence and possibilities of his not-so-distant life called out to him, alluring him like a siren's song.
He tried to repress his dreams, filled with the tortured pleas and anguished screams of his victims, long bled cold; dreams that were filled with the soulless, accusing eyes of the dead, and tinged by the hunger that parched his throat …
He tried, he really did, to rid himself of the guilt of the crimes he had committed as a Strigoi, but the bile still churned his stomach, and tears of remorse still clogged up his throat at night, when his ghosts cut short his restless slumber.
He managed to persevere in the light of the day, but night time seemed to bring out the worst of his memories. He knew, logically, that it had not been his fault, but it was hard to forgive himself when the pale faces and ripped throats of the people whose life's warmth he'd stolen refused to fade from his mind. He still tried, if not for his sake, then for her, who loved him despite being intimately acquainted with the worst of him.
There was no hiding from her, not when she was his sole salvation- not when she was both a stark reminder of his past atrocities, and his beacon of hope for a future filled with sunshine and laughter…
She was the one whose familiar heat he seeked when awakened by the cold shivers from his dreams; her heartbeat the metronome that helped him tune back into reality.
Upon awakening, he'd wrap his hands around her, as if by holding her close, he'd be able to hold himself whole, and she would lie with him, gently soothing him, brushing her fingers through his hair and across his shoulders as he would wriggle closer, burrowing in her warmth.
She would silently support him, lend him her unwavering strength by night; never pressurizing him to unburden, because she knew of his demons, and she understood his grief. She understood him, and his flaws and she still loved him….
He'd seek her out, night after night, holding onto her for dear life, because sometimes it felt like she was the only thing holding him whole, keeping him sane.
"Fix me", he'd whisper hoarsely, lip brushing against the familiar indent of her collarbone.
She'd bless him with her love, pledge him her heart and soul, and he'd be at peace again; fall asleep in the shelter of her embrace, feeling a little more human than he had been the day before…
Firstly, I apologize for my disappearance (again), but life does get in the way. Secondly, this was the first time I wrote anything in weeks, and it's bound to be a little shaky, so sorry for any mistakes. Thirdly, thank you for reading, and for sticking with me so far, your support means the world to me. So yeah, thank you!
Take care, lovelies! Cheers!