13/31 (Kinda On Hold)

XXXIII: And The Rain Will Kill Us All

The light from the windows casts shadows across the floor, casting the room in erie light. The suns begin to set low upon the horizon, as night impedes upon Hell. It is the seventh sunset I have spent with only the empty comfort of bloody corpses, and a silent bedroom.

I am still just as empty and jaded as the first, if not more. The craving beneath my skin still ebbs and flows through my blood, biting away at my barely composed outside. I feel as though every time I take another woman to fuck, another piece of me dies, that I am slipping away, more and more.

I am stuck in cruel cycle of emptiness, burning hatred, and frustration. Scarlett circles my mind, time after time, wiggling her way in every and every form. How is it that one woman has shattered every bit of me?

I clench my fists tight at the thought of her, my sanity is gone. I can feel her drawing near, the flick of her hair across my face, as I reach out to touch, but make contact with only air. Her sweet scent remains no matter how many times I have the sheets changed, no matter how many fucking woman replace her in my bed.

Her memories stain deeper than the blood that pools across the floor, that splatters across the wall. She is my weakness, in every meaning of the word, and I am paying the price for it. Maybe William was onto something, having his blood mate dead.

I was once the most powerful Lord in Hell, and now I feel like the weakest piece of shit to ever gain beingness. I can still hear her laughter, echoing down the halls, her flesh pressing against mine, the taste of her lips. My hands fly to my hair, tugging at it, before flying out to attack the glass before me.

My fist shatters the mirror, a sharp pain barely making its way across my radar. I pull my shaking hand away, the glass embedded, dripping in blood. As I glance up at my reflection, I am consumed by the sight of my haunted self.

I have heavy bags under my eyes, my red eyes, blood shot as blood shot can be, I shake with anger and insanity.

I have fallen once again.

_______

I fix my tie one last time, checking my appearance in the mirror, and once I am satisfied I turn away. My attention is turned to the doorway as Helsing's low growls echo through the room. I see a face I was once convinced I would rather stab than ever see again.

"You're here sooner than expected."

She smirks knowingly, "you wouldn't have sent for me if you didn't absolutely need me." She moves forward, her hand drifting across my shoulder, "I know you Chris, you don't beg."

"You're the only whore that I knew that would come at such short notice. You'd never miss your chance with me."

"Only a fool would. If you were anyone else, I'd tell you to fuck off. But for you, I can be your everything, your sinner, your whore, anything."

"Why do you desire me so much? You're the only one, with exception of Scarlett, that has been persistent with me. Do you just want me to fuck your brains out? What is it that you want?"

She gazes up at me, "maybe it's because I want what I can't have, but what I know is rightfully mine."

"I have never been yours. I am not yours, I never will be yours. I am not an item to be possessed and if that is what you believe then you are much more foolish than I already know you are."

"Say whatever you wish Christopher, but words are useless," she grazes her hand down across my chest, before trailing it exposed the exposed skin of my neck.