Color Me Crimson | 𝘙𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘝𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦

1͓8͢

In the darkness between late night and early morning, I find myself alone.

The natural serenity of the cabin is disturbed by mental images of Lucien's eyes. They disappear as soon as I notice, then dance in and out of consciousness, seemingly at his beck and call. A hypnotic voice whispers promises of oblivion as cold, merciless fingers wrap around my throat, then piercing pain shoots through my body.

I wake in a sweat, only to repeat the process.

Sometimes I look over, expecting to see Levi in the wooden chair. It's empty.

No, I'm merely hoping he'll be there.

By morning I'm just as much in need of a shower as I was yesterday. Self pity attempts to wedge into my psyche, but I push it out, not dwelling too much on how I ended up in such a circumstance.

I stretch and slowly climb out of bed, ready to get rid of the nightmares and begin the one called reality. My limbs still weigh twice as much as usual, but the pain in my arms has gotten better. Walking is a bit easier, too. I replace the pajama shorts with my favorite jeans and change out of the shirt from yesterday, putting on one from the pile Levi brought.

As lightly as I can, I tiptoe out of the room on the off chance Levi's sleeping in another room. I pull the door open and it lets out a whine. I cringe. Stillness settles once more, and I pad down the hallway, taking in my temporary residence.

Last night I took my first steps out of the room for a shower, but could barely stay awake while Levi changed my bandage much less look around. This morning I'm more attentive to my surroundings.

The hallway has three doors, one for the bedroom I've been staying in, one for the bathroom, and one I haven't yet opened. I'm sure mystery door number three is another plain bedroom where Levi sleeps—or it could be a crypt stacked with blood bags. Just in case, I'll save that particular surprise for some other time. I have a feeling there's already plenty in store for me today.

At the end of the hallway, there's a kitchen complete with modern white cabinets and countertops. Two sets of plates and two cups sit neatly in a dish rack, the only clutter on an otherwise clean counter. To the right, the room expands from a dining room into a mid-size sitting area next to the main entrance. A scattering of shelves surround a small television, and natural light shines from a large window that faces a sectional couch. A blanket is folded on one side, but there's no sign of Levi.

The lace curtains are pulled to the side and reveal a sight I'd never find in the city—a forest. Not a tree or two, but green leaves as far as I can see, accompanied by the chirping of birds and the occasional shaking of branches as animals scurry from one to the other.

It's not the kind of forest I imagined as a little girl, crawling with creatures ready to poison, eat, or kill you. No, this forest is light, it's full of life. Turns out I've already left behind everything I know. There's no sky-high buildings, no honking of horns or distant sirens as the multitude parades ever onward. Here, it feels as if I have space to exist.

The relative silence is deafening. And to my surprise, I like it.

The knob of the front door rattles and I spin, overcome with the urge to find somewhere to hide.

"Good morning," Levi calls as he steps in, bringing with him the scent of pine and pollen.

My pulse calms at his familiar tone, coupled with the same tired expression on his face I've come to expect. I'm relieved his focus isn't on me as he turns his back to lock the door and then strides into the kitchen.

It's astounding he doesn't make a sound as he carries two brown bags filled to the brim. The tuff of plastic from a French baguette sticks out the top of one, and I can tell it's fresh from the slightly sweet, warm and rich aroma that wafts throughout the room.