𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓

[17]: An Artist's Wet Dream

Cassie sat on the floor in front of the crackling fireplace in attempt to heat up. Kyle was curled up on her lap, fast asleep. She smiled, looking down at him. As happy as she was to be back with him, she knew that Kyle wasn't the reason she returned.

Marilyn's home was a mess, it had been that way since the night Cassie fled. He hated to admit that his home was a lot tidier when she was around. His home smelled of rotting flesh now and Cassie tried not to gag at the stench.

He was sat on his wooden rocking chair in the corner of his bedroom behind Cassie. He stared down at her through his long lashes, his eyes locked on the back of her head. Again, the sinking feeling. He couldn't tell if it was bad or good, but whatever it was caused him to slowly crawl off his chair and come up behind her. Cassie tensed, feeling his hot breath fan over her shoulder.

"I don't know what you do to me..." he growled down her hear, "I hate it." Marilyn placed a light kiss on her neck, before latching his teeth onto her neck. She froze in shock, but eventually relaxed into the sharp pains. Marilyn couldn't help himself as he heard her crying, he couldn't stop. She gasped, but made no attempt to pry herself away from him. Kyle sensed her suffering and instinctively curled up to her closer.

Eventually he stopped and she let out a sigh of relief and fell against his torso. He ran his tongue over the wound he had just inflicted, before placing a second kiss and pulling her into him. In the lowest voice she'd ever heard before, he whispered in her ear, "I hate that I missed you."

Cassie tensed up against him, his growl making the hair on her neck and arms stand to attention. He ran his fingers up and down her arms. Cassie was conflicted. She had missed him too, even knowing she definitely shouldn't have. She wanted to relax - but something was off. Something was way off, more than it usually was.

"What happened to those cops?" She barely managed to get out. He stopped, letting his hands fall from her shoulders. She could physically hear his teeth begin to grind.

"What do you think, Cassidy?"

It sounded strange. Her full name coming from his red lips. She decided: it was better when he called her Cassie. She no longer identified with little Cassidy-Marie.

It fell silent for a moment. "Who's..." she began, but her voice fell short of a name. A name she remembered so clearly but couldn't bring herself to say.

"What?" He said straight away. It made her wish she never opened her mouth. It amazed her how much power he had over her, almost like the wolf from Little Red Cap. "Cassie."

"Sabrina," she mumbled. Marilyn sighed, rolling his eyes. He hadn't heard her name come from anybody else since before her tragic end, well over a century ago. Her name was like venom dripping from Cassie's lips. He never wanted to hear it again.

"Don't say that name." He sighed, pleadingly. He contemplated revealing his past. He wanted her to know. But he didn't want to be vulnerable. He could be seen as heartless, monstrous, vile... but never vulnerable.

She stayed quiet, patiently waiting for him. Marilyn silently appreciated how patient she was. It was probably a skill she had developed wasting away, chained to a wall.

"She was... a woman," he coughed, finding it hard for him to reveal any more than what was completely obvious. Cassie waited. "A woman who meant something to me a long time ago."