The Sanguine Mistress

IIX

A dimly lit room. Plain white walls, a few posters mounted a ceiling fan spins at a snail's pace. Thin curtains obscure the light of the outside. Behind the curtain was a bed, queen-sized, and a dark red comforter with a bright rose imprinted on the base of the covers. The comforter also wore a gold trim. Under the red comforter was a man, buried under blankets only his head. Frantic were his movements. Tossing and turning like a ship bullied by the waves of the ocean. Drops of sweat descended from his face. His eyes buried under his brows. A harsh scream ruptured out his lips, a mad flinch catapulted him upright. Breathing heavily. His eyes erratically scan his surroundings. An old poster of a rock group from beyond his time, collecting dust. An analog clock emits a soft tick with each passing second. An open closet revealed a pile of clothes, some stretching outside of the closet itself. A nightmare, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils before letting out a prolonged sigh. Holding on to his heart with his bare palm, silencing it.

"Robert", a familiar voice echo within the halls. A feminine voice dragged his name with a soothing voice, "Are you okay? I heard screaming"

"Yes, Mom", Robert shouted, throwing his voice through the halls.

"Okay, well if you need anything or if you wanna talk, you can always reach out to me. I know you're going through a difficult time"

"I know Mom, I'm okay", he replies. But was he, Robert wasn't sure. His hand still holding onto his ever-pacing heart. Droplets of sweat walk down just inches below his eyes. Robert dared not close them, halting that dreadful image to form within his mind. He pulled up the blankets, freeing himself of the blanket's grasp. The cold wind from an open window dragged him from bed. Robert strolled to his open closet. Shuffling through the pile of clothes searching for something to wear for the day. Eventually settling for a light blue-sleeved, white baseball t-shirt, and a pair of denim jeans, the center leg of which was partially ripped. The sleeves were short enough to expose half of his forearm. The base of the shirt portrays a young woman, her waist bent slightly forward extending a hand holding a signed baseball. He slips on a pair of dirty white sneakers before leaving his room.

The aroma of bacon and pancakes invigorated Robert, carrying him down carpeted stairs. Upon his arrival in the kitchen. Blood was scattered throughout the walls, the ceiling dripping with red, "Robert", a tormented breath repeating itself, at first, it was soft, weak, his mother slouched on top of the blood-soaked dining room table, "Robert", a rupturing shout piercing his soul, his head shook, the blood vanished from his eyes. His mother, father, and little brother each stared at him. Eyes full of concern. Robert backed himself away, frozen in the stares before later.

"So, honey how was work", Robert's mother asked, her question breaking through the silence.

"Madhouse as usual", he answered, "human resources cut through half of our staff, and I ended up doing the work of three people"

"That sounds terrible", she commented. Robert's parents drifted off into their conversation. His little brother held up strips of bacon, waving them above the plate imitating the sounds of airplanes combating in the skies. Robert's eyes averted to his plate of food, a small pile of eggs, two strips of bacon, a pancake, and a slab of melting butter rest in the center, cloaked in syrup. Next to the plate is silverware. A fork and a knife. Robert's knife sliced through the pancake, slowly, his chin resting on the base of his palm. Robert shifted his gaze once more while parting his lips when he caught something in the corner of his eye. A bat, he was sure of it. Hanging upside down, pulling his gaze. Holding it. Its glowing red eyes probed his soul. Immediately, her image loomed over him. He felt a cold shiver surge through his shoulders. Groping and squeezing, his spine froze as he heard a whisper, "Remember our deal". Robert shook away the sensation. However, the bat has yet to leave, its gaze still meeting his. Robert ignores the bat, stuffing himself with his breakfast. As he was eating, he felt that bat's gaze over him. Occasionally their gazes would meet.