Sanity and Vampires (Captured sequel)

Chapter Five: Manipulative at Heart

Reality

1. Who knows?

I was shaky. I couldn't think of anything.

I couldn't stop hearing his voice in my head. "Laurie... Lovely."

By some miracle, I avoided Tyson for the rest of the day. He didn't push me.

That night, there was no way I was going anywhere near his black room, or the white Donor rooms, or the game rooms. Instead, I stole one of the abandoned guest rooms. Then I curled up on the bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

And this was not a good thing.

Suddenly, I was dreaming. And I knew that I was dreaming. It was obviously a dream, because never in real life had I been so bloody.

All I had on was white lingerie. I was walking around in the darkness. The blood dropped off me so thickly, it sounded like it was raining. Every patter followed me.

I took in a deep breath. Why did I play these games with Tyson? He was so much more dangerous than I gave him credit for. If I pissed Tyson off enough, that would be the end of me.

Why was I always so stupid?

I looked down, breathing thickly. The bloodstains drying on my skin, so thick that the blood was turning brown and black. It was gooey and thick, so thick that I wanted to vomit. It smelled sweet and cloying, and it covered my hair and my face and dribbled down my entire body. I wanted to shower. I wanted to scream and cry and get this all off of me.

Then the dream got worse. Someone else stepped in front of me.

He was... A stranger. Somebody. He was wearing a black hood that obscured his face. He was tall and skinny with long, piano-player hands and a quiet voice. No sign of any stab wounds on his body.

"Child, I don't blame you," he said. "I don't blame you for anything."

"Of course not," I said, softly.

"But I want you to understand that sometimes, I lose control," the man said, inching closer to me. Snow shone beneath our feet.

Suddenly, I was all too aware of the man's white fangs, glinting. And I was practically naked. The blood was dripping all over my body.

I stepped backwards, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," the man groaned, and his soft voice sounded strange for a moment. It was so raspy. "I know that you hate me. But I'm no longer asking for help, like before. I'm demanding it. And you will listen to me."

"S-Sure?"

"Good."

The cloak still obscured his face. He was hiding from me. He was playing with me. No- he was hunting me.

My heart palpitated. I jerked back. My breath grew thick. I stared at him. Then he took off the cloak, and it wasn't Tyson.

It was Paul.

Paul had grizzled beard stubble and cold, green eyes that seemed to pierce right through me. His gaze was like a shark looking at the kill. When he looked at me, he looked like he was staring at a doll.Not a human. Not a plaything. Not even a bloodbag. He gazed at me like he was looking at a piece of bread. Or a bug on the carpet. He gazed at me like I was so inconsequential; he could barely believe he was talking to me.

Paul smiled at me, distantly. He was wearing a grey knit sweater, and his eyes were obscured by skinny, obtrusive glasses which seemed to shoot a glare over his face. He looked so innocent. Too innocent. I couldn't breathe.