aware (peterick)

13

He wakes up in a cold sweat because he's hungry.

The easiest thing to do would be to stay in bed and feed from Pete. He's fairly certain that Pete wouldn't mind. The older boy is too busy sleeping to give his consent. Even so, it doesn't matter what state Pete is in; in any situation, Pete has no right to give his consent. Because Pete belongs to him, and he's got the bite mark to prove it. Arguments aside, he can do whatever the fuck he wants to Pete. He decides he'll do it silently and painlessly, because he doesn't want to wake Pete up just yet. Pete would never even know.

But he seems to be in a bit of a tight spot at the moment.

He can sense immediately that he is alone.

He can't smell Pete, and he can't feel Pete's warmth.

Maybe Pete has already woken up. That's probably it.

He doesn't blame Pete for waking up a little bit earlier than usual. Humans can survive on nothing but vampire blood for months; they wouldn't need food or water, and they wouldn't need to sleep as much, simply because they wouldn't feel tired.

He knows this all too well. He'd experienced it, back when he was still human. The mere idea of humanity is nothing but a faded memory now. A dream. Sometimes he wonders if he was ever human at all.

He calls for Pete.

He gets no reply.

It's dark; the blackout curtains had worked extremely effectively today, but he knows it's night-time. He can see brilliantly in the dark. He quickly scans the bedroom and sees that the door is closed. On the floor next to the door he can see a cardboard box, its flaps open to reveal the glistening contents inside.

He is instantly alert.

He tries to haul his body into a seated position, but it doesn't get very far and slams back down onto the mattress. Gritting his teeth, he cranes his neck back to investigate the cause of his immobility. Secured to the iron framed headboard, a pair of chains encircle his wrists, suspending his arms above his head. The silver-grey fastenings are far too tight and his fingertips tingle from the lack of circulation.

He starts to struggle.

He doesn't like this. He really doesn't like this.

He's supposed to be the dominant. He's supposed to be the one in control. Not Pete. Pete is supposed to submit himself to him, not the other way around. And by god, as soon as Pete walks through that door, he's going to drain the bastard dry.

Right now, however, anxiety wants to be his best friend.

His mind is drifting.

He's back in the Detainment Recovery Ward of the VCA department. His skin is slick with sweat, his wrists are raw from yanking frantically at tight restraints, and his body trembles with nervous adrenaline.

He's weak and constricted and frightened.

And he's hungry.

Patrick is so, very hungry.