𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓

[1]: Adrenaline Rush

[A/N: This book is heavily inspired by @laurieholdenfan 's Manson fan fiction 'Neglect'. I got a lot of great ideas while reading her amazing story, such as the 'vampire-esque' element. Please go ahead and add it to your library and read it after you finish mine <3]

He decided a long time ago that he would never stop killing.

The sensation was addictive, the adrenaline that runs through your veins after you take another's life was simply a high one could not come down from.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn't stop. He needed to.

He needed the blood.

The man peered through the window of the small cottage that he found in the middle of nowhere. His dark eyes narrowed as he watched a middle-aged man finish preparing a delicious looking meal, then open a cupboard and pull out a tin of open dog food.

He made sure to stay hidden as he looked around the room for a dog, there wasn't one. The man he was watching proceeded to slop a spoonful of dog food in between two slices of bread and put it on a plate.

The man disappeared down the stairs and into the basement. He took this as the perfect opportunity to slip in through the open window. He stealthily slid between the glass and landed quietly on the floor as if he'd done it 1000 times.

The living room was full of clutter and everything seemed to have a thin layer of grease coating it. His eyes fixed themselves on the framed picture that hung over the fireplace. It was a painting of a blonde girl smiling wide.

He took his place behind the door and waited for the old man to return from the basement. His calloused fingers gripped his knife and held it up to his chest.

Heavy footsteps could be heard from the other side of the oak door. He got into position.

The door flung open, and out he came. The knife was forcefully plunged into his back before he could even turn around. The man cried out and fell to the floor.

He straddled the man's back and pulled his hair back, then covered his mouth with his dirty hand.

He resisted the man's writhing and biting as he leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Don't fight it."

With the other hand, he brought the knife gently across the man's neck, making a long cut. The man but down on his attacker's hand even harder, but he didn't let go.

He forces the old man's head to the side and leaned down, bringing his chapped lips to his bleeding neck. He began to suck, swallowing gulp after gulp. His victim began to slow down his movements, which was a given considering how much blood he'd lost.

Once the man fell unconscious, he pulled himself to his feet and wiped his mouth with his leather sleeve.

This is where he would've finished the man off and left, after removing every single piece of evidence that could prove he was ever there in the first place - not that anyone would know he was dead, there were no houses for miles in every direction.

But, something had been nagging at him ever since the man pulled out that can of dog food. His eyes flickered towards the open door that undoubtedly lead to the basement.

He'd come back for his organs afterwards.

He left his unconscious victim and began to slowly walk down the steps into the darkness. When he got to the bottom, his hands explored the walls, looking for a switch.

Before he found it, he heard something. He heard a whimper, but not like a dog's.

He rushed to find the switch, which he did. The room lit up, but he wished it hadn't. His dark eyes landed on a young girl with her hands bound above her head and her ankles strapped to the wall behind her. It was the girl from the painting, only she was bruised, beaten and about 30 pounds lighter. She only wore a pair of dirty underwear, that looked like they hadn't been washed in years.