The Guily Ones

Protection

"Careful there, you're dealing with the Slayer now!"

"The Slayer?"

"Yes, my name's Buffy!" came the voice from the TV, followed by a burst of hearty laughter.

Groggily, I blinked against the weight of sleep, trying to center myself. As always, waking up surrounded by oversized, plush pillows disoriented me for a moment. The cushions were in stark contrast to the glaring neon lights above me, which bathed the room in an uncomfortably harsh white glow. Then again, even softer lighting wouldn't do much to improve the charm of a basement.

I yawned so wide my jaw cracked, and as I stretched, my joints followed suit with their own symphony of pops.

"Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Eric called from the couch, casting a glance in my direction.

I paused, caught off guard by his choice of words, but managed a quick nod before groaning and dragging myself upright. His laugh echoed in response."I heard that," he teased.

Was I blushing? My cheeks probably matched the color of ripe tomatoes in midsummer. Ever since Eric had first given me his blood, my dreams had taken a decidedly R-rated turn—about him, of course. The last dose had turned them so vivid, I'd woken up drenched in all kind of fluids, grateful not to be trapped in the same room with him at the time. My self-control had limits, and those dreams had all but shattered them. Despite being locked away by him in a dungeon, my body inconveniently forgot about that as soon as I closed my eyes, supplying me with the downright filthiest sexdreams my subconscious could muster. 

And I hated it. Truly hated it.

It had been three days since I'd first woken up in this strange room—or at least I thought it was three days. I'd had three long, heavy sleeps, which was a miracle considering my current status as Eric's prisoner.

More or less, anyway.

The last words he'd thrown my way before slamming the door, as I pounded on it like a lunatic, were, "It's for your own safety."

Yeah, right. Pull the other one.

Eric was clearly committed to the belief that keeping me locked in the basement of his house constituted "protection." Personally, I suspected it had more to do with his bruised ego after learning of my fervent desire to see him dead.

He'd left me alone for a full twenty-four hours, refusing to explain his cryptic claims about a promise he'd made to my grandmother.

Hello? Was I the only one baffled by the connection between my grandmother and this vampire?

Perhaps he'd just wanted me to stew for a while. If that was the case, his plan had backfired. It hadn't taken long for me to adjust to the imprisonment. Sure, I'd panicked at first, terrified of suffocation. But once the noisy ventilation system kicked in and my nerves settled, I'd realized something: it was surprisingly cozy in here.

The bed was ridiculously comfortable. The sofa had a massage function. And the TV offered access to streaming services and HBO—luxuries I couldn't even afford at home. There meals a day magically appeared infront of my room in a small hallway before the next heavily plated steel door locked me in. All meals tasted delicious, seemed home made and were full of nutrients. 

I couldn't remember a time in my life, I'd ever been this pampered.

Yet, despite the comfort, the confinement had forced me to confront the truth about myself. 

I'd spent far too much of my life tangled in dependencies—first with Tom, and now, disturbingly, with Eric. Somewhere along the line, I'd stopped living for myself.