A Tree That Sprouts Roses And Drips Blood.

Chapter Six.

I blinked my eyes open, but they slid closed. I blinked again, this time forcing my lids to stay back. A white ceiling stared down at me and I vaguely noted I was no longer in the leafy depts of the forest. I jumped up, realising how the motion should have dumped me onto the floor, off the sofa in the livingroom. I glanced down. A huge bed cradled me, draped in an ice blue comforter. And cushions, hundreds of cushions. A colossal mirror braced against blue walls, and nestled amongst an array of beauty products. My mind tried to conjure up some distand memory, involving blue walls and cushions. The memory clicked. No it couldn't be, could it? But it sure looked like it was. The normal bedroom. The huge bed. It was the same room.

I peered around. Maybe it had all been a stupid dream. I remembered going to the room, but it had changed. But I was so tired then, I was so tired now. I couldn't remember anything. Something about eyes and roses? A swirling dress. A memory danced on the edge of my conciousness. Coming infuriatingly close, then skipping back.

I should be afraid, but I wasn't. Why should I be afraid? My brain had all the characteristics of a fortune cookie at the moment and it hurt to think.

Maybe it had all been a dream. A complete child of my idle mind. I was so relieved it had all been a dream, but I couldn't remember what it was. More random things came back to me. Leaves. A purple sweater. Fire. Pain. Numbness.

My head pained me and I lifted a hand to touch it. My arm stung when I moved it and I looked down in surprise. Angry red lines criss-crossed over my arms and legs. What had happened?

Something moved in my peripheral vision. I jumped hissing in response to the stinging sensation all over my body. I slid off the bed and took up a defensive position against the wall. He moved back with exaggerated slowness. I saw his deep emerald eyes, slightly tinged red.

It all came crashing back. The balcony, blood, the smell of roses. His red eyes, my Grandfather's ramblings about....about. I gulped. Vampires. He's not human. I was running from him. A bike crash. The wet, warm ground, wet with my blood. Fire. Footsteps. Arms. Blackness. I remembered everything. He is a vampire. Demetrio Renaulti is a vampire!, a voice screamed in my head.

I slunk further back, pressing myself against the imposing wardrobe there. He came closer, a cautioning in front of him. My hand flashed out to grab the wooden hairbrush on the vanity table. I braced my knee against the wardrobe and snapped the handle of the brush. It splintered just the way I hoped it would.

Glancing up, I saw that he was laughing silently, his whole frame vibrating.

"Honestly", he chuckled, "didn't your Grandfather teach you anything?".

I looked down at my improvised stake.

"Enough.", I smiled, struggling to keep my voice steady.

I lunged across the bed, using the mattress as a springboard. Mid jump, I thought I heard a sigh. I crashed into him, but he didn't defend himself, he just stood motionless. My hand flung up and I made stabbing gestures at where his heart should be. But my stake might as well been made of marshmallow, for as much damage it done to him. When it hit his chest, it just scrunched up like a metal can. The splinters splayed across the floor. One dug into my bare foot and I hopped backwards, falling onto the bed.

He was laughing again and the sound filled the room. It was a rich sound, alive somehow. Typical, I thought, try to stab the vampire and end up injuring myself with the aftermath of my weapon. I looked up angrily at him, but when I saw his head thrown back in laughter all my anger vanished. He looked so free, I couldn't help but laugh too. When he heard my laughter, his cut off and he looked at me like I had just done something impossible.