I'd stopped playing make-believe long before my father left.
Life often got tough. I was raised to deal with pain in an objective way—ignoring the feelings I couldn't deal with at the moment, working on the now. Aside from my books, escapism as a coping mechanism never held much appeal to me. Not until now.
Before I'd even noticed, I'd started pretending.
Sometimes Rose was there, sometimes she wasn't. That's how time passed. Much like my own, twisted version of the sun—which, objectively, didn't make any sense, since the one thing I could be sure of is that she came to see me at night—, I knew she would come back, and that was how I counted my days.
We fought a lot in the beginning. I didn't know what was happening on the outside world; she made sure not to answer any of my most daring questions about her routine. Those conversations often led to arguments that would end with her storming out of the room and disappearing for some time. I couldn't afford her absence, so after a while I stopped questioning her so she'd stay longer and come back more often.
By pretending I didn't see the little differences, it was much easier to ignore them, until there came a day when I almost couldn't notice them anymore. She caught onto my mood, telling me the things she knew I wanted to hear, and together we created a house of cards for us to live in.
And then there was the bite.
You grow up learning that venom can severely damage, or even kill a man. You don't expect it to feel good when it hits your veins. You don't expect for it to come from the mouth of the woman you love—it belongs to creatures that crawl and slide, to nightmares.
My hair, never too long for a guy's, grew longer by the day and could now hide the forming scars. I tried not to dwell on what that meant. It made me remember how relieved I was by the fact that Rose's death wouldn't be permanently marked on my skin; how ironic it was that all I had to do now was look at the right side of my neck, slightly above my shoulder blades, to see that I had failed.
In the back of my head, that little, familiar voice told me I was but a shadow of the man I once had been. The only thing that could silence it was the pure bliss of the bite. I didn't know the chemistry of pleasure; it didn't matter. Nothing did after the fangs sank in.
In my arrogance, I told myself I could live without it, but every time Rose stayed away for too long, I'd feel the telltale signs of a drug withdrawal. After a while I had to acknowledge it: I was addicted, and not only to the bite. What came after it also held me as much prisoner as the military-issued doors.
Rose's body on mine, her hands grabbing me, pushing me, tearing me to pieces and putting me together again, her hips, her lips, her oaths, murmured on my ear or screamed at the ceiling—she was with me at last. My own personal Nero, holding a match over gasoline and watching Rome burn.
To help with the fake sense of normalcy she brought me more and more Westerns. The books were the only way I could keep myself occupied when she wasn't with me, but I was a fast reader and would run out of options more quickly than she could bring them. That made me start rereading my favorites, an old habit I couldn't kill.
To Rose, reading things once was torturous enough, and she'd always tease me about it back at the Academy. Now she never said anything about my reading habits, even though she kept throwing sarcastic comments at me every once in a while about one thing or the other. It was weird for her to ignore what was once one of her favorite ways of driving me mad, so I asked her about it one day.
"When I came here" she said, after a moment of silence, "I knew I had to learn how to speak Russian somehow. So I guessed reading was as good a way to practice as any. I still can't understand much, but at least now I know how that freaky alphabet of yours works."
After that, we started speaking Russian every now and then. Her accent was heavy, but she had a good grasp of the language for someone who had just started learning. She had a funny way of mixing formal and informal, something that undoubtedly came from her multiple references—the things she learned from the streets mixed with an unexpected eruditeness. Sometimes, despite her getting better by the day, I would hear her mutter "fuck declensions" or "what do they need that many pronouns for."
I had once fantasized about teaching her and talking to her in my mother tongue. I guess life had a funny way of making my wishes come true.
I looked like a modern-day lumberjack. That, or a really threatening hipster.
My beard had grown insanely fast. I was almost considering breaking the mirror and using one of the shards as a blade so I could shave. Sometimes, Rose would caress my beard wistfully, but she never said anything about it. I wondered if she liked seeing my disheveled state.
After getting out of a long bath, I headed towards the fridge to get something to eat. As I was about to open the refrigerator, I heard a noise coming from the door, and stopped cold, my hand still reaching for the handle. My blood rushed in a mix of excitement and anxiety, and I felt my palms sweat.
To my surprise, though, it wasn't Rose who came in.
A man that couldn't be older than twenty-two walked into the room, closing the door behind him with a low click. He was smaller than me, his blonde curls cascading over his shoulders, giving him an air of innocence that made him seem almost angelic. His red-ringed eyes and pale complexion left no doubt to what he was, though, even before he smiled wickedly at me, showing his fangs and making the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
I knew that smile. It was the last thing I'd seen before the end of it all. His lips, tainted by blood; life drained from my lover's veins.
For a moment, it was like nothing but his suffering could bring me peace. My intentions upon seeing his face were cruel, almost animalistic, and I couldn't even feel ashamed for it. I wanted him to beg for his death. I wanted him to feel sorry for existing. To break him down piece by piece so he would know how I'd felt when he took everything away from me in that cave.
Another cliché Rose made me understand: true hate can only come from love.
"Long time, no see," Nathan said nonchalantly, still smiling.
I was surprised at seeing the more calculating side of me taking control after hearing his voice. I was unarmed and alone, so my only possible action was finding a makeshift weapon with which I could attack him. I needed time to think of my options, so there was only one thing I could do: stall.
"What are you doing here? Where's Rose?" I asked, trying to sound as if I was interested in his answer. It would take me too long to get to the mirror and break it. The bed's legs were also not an option—they were too thick for me to break with a single blow.
"Your owner is away, but don't worry, little lap dog," I wanted nothing more than to wipe that fucking grin from his face, "I'll keep you company while you wait for her.
I didn't answer. After a few seconds of silence his expression turned into one of mock hurt.
"How rude of you, Belikov. You should treat your guests with more respect," he said, his eyes dancing when he noticed my clenched fists. "I guess we could say I'm more of your jailer, actually, but that doesn't mean there have to be any hard feelings between us."
I snorted.
"Not much of a talker, are you?" He examined his nails, seeming unpreoccupied, like he wasn't afraid of me. I guess he didn't think an unarmed dhampir could do much damage. That or he was bored and wanted me to try. If his goal was to piss me off, he sure as hell was succeeding. "How did you get Rose to become so obsessed with you? The only ways I can think of are a bit unethical for a teacher."
"I'm not talking ethics with a Strigoi."
"Of course you won't," he laughed humorlessly. "Never mind the fact that, right now, you're nothing but a Strigoi's bloodwhore. I'm pretty sure the last thing you do when Rose comes around is discussing ethics."
I ignored his words, paying attention to his face and what was brewing underneath his nonchalant expression. He looked… almost jealous.
"You're the one who waits for her when she is here, aren't you?" Understanding hit me like a bolt of lightning.
He flashed me a cold smile that made the hairs at the back of my neck stand up. Then his eyes met mine as he started walking closer to me, his movements almost gracious.
"I always knew Rose would make for an amazing Strigoi," he started saying in a low voice. "She's driven, a quick-study. Oh, Dimitri, you should have been there when I took her to feed for the first time! Three teenagers camping - she didn't even hesitate. She killed them slowly, enjoying their screaming just as much as I was. Of course it was a mess, the young ones always get blood everywhere. But I've never seen anyone look so beautiful in red."
A memory of another lifetime flashed quickly through my mind. Rose and I, sitting at a rooftop, stealing a few moments away from the rest of the world. There was snow everywhere and she was smiling sadly at me, ready to give up on our love so I could have the chance of starting a family. She was wearing red, and as the sun rays played with the patterns in her dress, it made her look as if she was on fire.
I shook the intrusive thoughts away, focusing on Nathan getting closer to me by the second.
"She was made for greatness, Belikov. She was never meant to be with you, playing house and wasting away guarding some old Moroi, trying to live on minimum wage. I can see in your eyes that you hate me, but you should thank me, really. She's surrounded by luxury now, the whole world at her fingertips. She's fed on royalty, felt their magic flow through her like an elixir. Your blood is nothing compared to that. I can give her much more than your cheap thrills."
"I'm sure making you wait outside as she sees someone else means that she can't live without you," it took all of my strength to form a coherent response and not jump on him for what he was suggesting.
"Oh, she can," I could feel his breath on my face as he came even closer to me, his eyes never leaving mine, "and that's your mistake, Belikov. Believing she can't live without you."
I ignored his snarky comment, focusing on his weak spots and the way with which he held himself. Despite being a Moroi in his previous life, I knew he was a strong fighter, but that didn't scare me. I would do what I couldn't the day Rose was turned. I would bring him down.
I had never moved so fast in my life, but somehow he was ready for me, blocking my punch before it could make contact with his face. I didn't dwell on it though, and kept my attacks coming.
When the first blow hit him, successfully wiping that fucking smirk off his face, he came down on me harder than before. I was ready for that, though, and started using his rage in my favour. His attacks became a little sloppier, and even though he recovered fast, sometimes I managed to be faster.
The Strigoi never fought thinking they would lose. The chances that they would were pretty small, after all, but that could also be used against them. I clung to my mortality, to what made me who I was, as he clung to his ego. I didn't feel pain as his punch broke my nose. I didn't phase when his kick hit my ribs. Every time one of his blows hit me, I came back for more, and as my blows hit him, I could feel his self-assurance waver.
Seizing an opportunity after he tried going for my throat—but left his right side weak in the process—I used my weight in my favour and shoved him to the closet, breaking the door with the force of my blow. I took one of the wooden shards and stabbed him in the stomach, making him scream and shove me away with so much force that I almost flew to the opposite side of the room. Before I could get up, though, he was already above me, his hands closing over my throat as I tried fighting his iron grip, unable to breath. And then he was gone.
A high-pitched noise came from the other side of the room, and I focused on getting up to see my new opponent. I couldn't do anything but cough, though, my throat hurting like hell. After a few seconds that felt like years, I managed to prop myself up to a seated position, and what I saw made the blood in my veins freeze.
It was like watching two wild animals measuring each other up. I was scared of Rose for the first time since I found her at the footsteps of that church in Novosibirsk. I couldn't see a trace of humanity in her eyes, not a lingering feeling beneath the surface. She gazed down at Nathan, who was smiling at her like a maniac, his lips swollen and his face a bloodied mess. I knew the most severe wounds hadn't come from our fight, but had no idea how Rose managed to get him in that state in less than a minute.
"I'm not going to wait for you if you stay with him," Nathan said, spitting a little blood on the floor. The emotionless in her eyes became disgust as she looked over his beaten up form.
"You should leave before I give Dimitri a real stake so he can finish his job," she said, kneeling down beside him and picking up one of the wooden scraps, her voice calm and collected.
He looked at her in defiance for a few seconds before getting up and walking away, leaving behind a trail of blood. "Have fun trying to get out of here, bitch," he barked over his shoulder at her, banging the door as he left.
For someone who bragged about being perfect for Rose, he sure as hell gave up easily.
"Fucking men," she said, turning to me and walking in my direction. She didn't look me in the eyes as she helped me up and sat me down on a small chair by the fridge, leaving for the bathroom and coming back a few seconds later with a first-aid kit in hands.
"Be still," she ordered as she started cleaning the cuts in my face. I obeyed, trying not to wince from pain as she treated my wounds without seeming to care enough to be gentle.
Seconds became minutes as she threw more and more bloody wipes at the trash can by the kitchen sink. Neither of us spoke as her hands roamed my body, disinfecting every wound left by Nathan, her focus never shifting from the task in hand. I tried not to dwell on the fact that, if it wasn't for her timing, I'd probably be dead by now. My pride was the place where I was hurting the most right now, and by not being gentle, she helped me a little with that.
"You've stored a first-aid kit in here? How thoughtful," I said after a while, unable to take her silence anymore. If the only way to get a reaction out of her was starting a fight, then so be it. I'd take my chances.
She stopped her ministrations and just exhaled loudly, finally looking at me in the eyes.
"All those training sessions," she started, "telling me about how I needed to control myself, and you almost fucking die over a dick measurement contest."
"You have a way of bringing out the worst in me," I shrugged.
"You're such a hypocrite", she laughed humorlessly. "Over and over again you contradict yourself. Do you have any idea how much I gave up to be just like you? I thought you understood what it meant to be a guardian, and yet here you are. You made yourself look unbeatable, and yet here you are. And you blame me for that? You say I 'bring out the worst in you'? I once wanted you by my side because I had never seen you bent. Now you're just fucking broken."
Before I could come up with an answer she took my broken nose between her fingers and, without any previous warning, snapped it back into place. I let out an agonized scream as tears poured out of my eyes, blurring my vision. She didn't let me recover. Before I could even blink the tears away or take an excruciating inhale, she was in my lap caressing my throat. The quick movement blindsided me so I almost jumped as I heard her murmuring in my ear, but soon enough surprise gave away to longing at the possibility of being bitten.
"Your blood is mine, Dimitri," she said, her breath fanning my skin and making every nerve in my body feel like an uncapped handwire. "I'm the only one who gets to taste it, to drop it, to waste it. It's about time you recognize that."
And then, just like that, she left. No bite, no promises. Just me, halfway to nowhere.
A.N.: It took me nine months to give birth to this little monster. As always, I hope it was worth the wait.
This time, the songs are Bitter and Sick by The One Two and Heart-Shaped Box by Nirvana.