13/31 (Kinda On Hold)

XIII: Let the Bodies Hit the Floor

Ever since the bathroom incident Chris has been extremely distant. He won't touch me, every time he looks at me, it's with the look of agony. It's been three days of almost complete isolation other than Nosferatu. I know he's trying to avoid me, he barely leaves his room other than a few times I've seen him out in the garden with Hellsing, or early in the mornings at the dining table.

In the case of me attempting to join him for breakfast, he always stands and leaves, returning to the solitude of his room. It's dragged me down so much, my heart can't stand for much more. Does he just not desire me any longer? Was it me drinking too much, or my drunken behavior afterwards? I find myself clueless and desperate, all I want is for him to explain what is going on.

I'm still fearful to approach him, the few times I've opened my mouth to speak to him, or even reach out to touch him, he's growled at me with a glare. I haven't tried to speak to him since then, but I'm losing my wits. I'm done waiting for him, my body has grown restless for his touch, to feel his skin against my own, his lips on mine, to even hear his voice.

I begin to rifle through the drawers of my dresser, searching for something to grab his attention. I happen upon a lacey red bra and panty set with a gorgeous rose pattern on it. I don the risque ensemble, pulling on a silky black robe over it, and tying it shut. I walk out of my room, then knock gently on his door before pushing the door open and entering.

He stands in front of a window, staring out at the view before him, his attention completely consumed. I quietly pad over to him, wrapping my arms around his torso and gently kissing his ink-covered neck. I slide a hand underneath his pristine, white dress shirt, then slide down below the waistband of his dress pants.

"Chris...I need you," I tantalize, kissing his exposed chest, "my body cries out for your touch, please."

He growls lightly, "get off me."

"Why? Why are you acting this way?" I plead.

"I said get the fuck off me," his voice loud and resonating throughout the room as he pushes me against the wall, his forearm pressing into my throat.

"Chris...please.....I can't breathe," I whimper, desperately clawing against his arm as his eyes bear into me.

"Don't fucking touch me," he growls once again. He moved his arm from my throat, allowing the oxygen to flow back into my lungs.

I fall to my knees, eyes wide with fear and sadness, "why won't you speak to me? What have I done....that I deserve you ignoring and avoiding me? Do you no longer desire to have me in your home, if so, tell me so that we both no longer waste our time. Please, just speak to me. I cannot fathom why you're acting this way."

"It was nothing you did." He says, "but everything I caused."

"What are speaking of? You've done nothing wrong."

"As far as you know, I did nothing wrong. I know what I did. I know why you were so weak. I know why you were so dazed. It was more than the alcohol and drinking of your blood."

"Whatever it was, I forgive you. Just please stop blaming yourself, it's okay. You don't have to avoid me because of it, you did it on accident. I'm okay."

"I made you weak Scarlett," he yelled. "Not only did I allow you to drink too much and not only did I drain too much blood, I fucking allowed myself to continue hurt you and drain you."

"You only drank my blood, I told you to. How did you make me weak? Was it not just the blood and the alcohol making me tired?"

"No, it wasn't just that. I fucking released my pheromones into your system. I fucking allowed myself to. They fucked with your head, Scarlett. I did it without you even fucking knowing and you barely remember it. I almost fucking killed you." His voice is cold.