Cries of a Love Bat

His eyes were tinted red; the once dark brown orbs now lost in their own pain. Under his eyes were dark bags; the thin line between his eyeliner and the circles was no longer noticeable. His chapped and busted lips trembled with his slow, staggered breaths. Breathing was forced, and now soon would be the urge to live.

The floor was stained with red blotches, leaving little to the imagination on what was there before him. Under the blood and everywhere else was a thin layer of dirt and dust, just collecting and waiting to infect his open wounds. The walls were cracked, and sockets for chains were pulled out. A small window in the corner held bars across it, much like the ones that caged him inside of this cell.

He was in the corner with his legs pulled up to his chest, waiting for the rays of the sun to leave what he now called home. He felt lucky, in a sense that if he was chained to the brick walls he would have died from the sunlight peering through. That was the intention of the window, but he hid in the little space of the remaining shadows; never closing his eyes to sleep, for around noon he would have to stand up to squish further into the corner, because that was when the sun lit the room the most. After noon he was lucky enough to sit back down for trees blocked the rays from entering the room again. Sleep was something unknown to him now a days. He forced himself to stay awake, because his captor would come to torment him in the night.

This night was just like the rest; the tall longhaired figure waltzed into the prison, walking passed the other cells without a glance at their occupants. He only came down here for the dying boy.

“You should rest, it would do you good,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting in it after placing it in front of the cell. When the boy didn’t answer he continued, “Joining us would make your life so much easier. We could heal you and you’d be able to leave this place; stretch your legs perhaps.”

After taking a deep breath the boy chocked, “Dying is the better option.”

“It’s your life we’re talking about.”

“I’m dead, I don’t have a life.”

“Ahh, but that girl of your does. You’re forgetting that she can feel this, and that you contribute to her health,” the man explained. “When you die, she dies.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“I can at least try and make you think that though. I can hope that maybe you wont guard your mind one night, and I can get in.”

“I wouldn’t let you touch her, especially if you have to use me.”

“One day you will. You’ll give in. You get weaker every night.”

The scene then clouded, and the man handed the boy five pearly white pills. They lay in his dirty hands, sparkling against his skin. He put them in his mouth, chocked them down with no drink and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and letting himself drift into death.

I shot up, gasping and grabbing at my throat. I could feel the heavy weight of the pills and their bitter taste still on my tongue. My breathing was sharp and uneven.

“Let me sleep Pete,” I mumbled.

He always did this; showing me what was happening and then clouding it. When the dream gets hazy though, I think its was William finding his way in, so Pete shows me that he kills himself to cut off our connection.

I lazily got out of the bed, grabbing my pillow and wondered down the halls. I still wasn’t used to the warehouse. It was big and I kept getting lost. The only place I knew how to get to from my room was Patrick’s room, but only because of recent issues.

Every night Pete sent me a nightmare, and when I woke up I would go into Patrick’s room. I would crawl into bed with him and stay there the rest of the night; Pete couldn’t get to me when I was with Patrick. If I stayed in my room he would send another dream, and I would never get any sleep.

The bed was warm and I pulled the blankets over me, scooting closer to Patrick’s back because he hated it when I stole the covers. He rolled over and stared at me, looking slightly amused for such a late time of night.

“I was waiting for you,” he whispered, grabbing my hand and interlocking our fingers. My breathing fell back into its normal pace as he squeezed my hand. “It’s later than normal; an hour later to be exact.”

“I did what you told me to do, I mentally built up a shield.”

“Out of what?” he asked, smiling as I pulled in closer to him and he put his free other hand around my back.

“A brick wall…”

“Try two brick walls tomorrow.”

The mental shields was something Patrick thought of yesterday, saying that I could try and block Pete out of my mind. He was becoming more of a nuisance because what ever he was trying to prove or tell me was making me loose sleep.

“Any clues this time?” Patrick asked softly, curious to what his friend was up to.

“Nothing, except he killed himself on overdose tonight,” I explained.

“Charming,” Patrick said sarcastically.

I snuggled into Patrick’s chest and yawned, “Thanks Tricky.”

“For what?” he questioned.

“Being here for me, helping me, giving me a place to run to and escape to.”

I could tell he blushed when I said that because he stuttered, “You’re welcome Emily.”

“Night Patrick.”

“Good night.”

When it was time to wake up, Patrick got out of bed, shaking me slightly so I would open my eyes.

“Yes?” I asked, wanting to stay in bed.

“Let’s go, time to get up.”

I let out a frustrated sigh as Patrick grabbed his hat and put it on, motioning me to hurry up and get out of bed. “It’s still only ten p.m. Patrick, let me sleep until eleven please.”

“No, the other two are up already. Joe said he was ordering pizza for breakfast.”

“Man our life is fucked up. Why do we have to do everything backwards?” I asked, standing up and putting on one of Pete’s old sweatshirts that I left lying on the floor from one of the numerous times I slept in Patrick’s room.

“We’re vampire slayers. We do this shit,” Patrick said proudly.

I rolled my eyes when he lead me down the stairs, and I was ashamed to say that yes after three weeks I still couldn’t find my way around the warehouse. It wasn’t that big, but it was just confusing, with all the halls, doors, and multiple sets of staircases.

“Oh hey guys,” Joe smiled, waving us over to the island. He and Andy were already sitting down on the bar stools, putting food on their plates. “Pizza just got here.”

“Thanks Trohman,” I beamed when I realized he got me mozzarella sticks.

I chewed on them slowly as they messily ate their extra cheesy pizza. Cheese dripped off the plates and onto the floor so I laughed when Hemmingway came running over to eat it.

“First time I’ve ever seen him run!” Patrick exclaimed.

“He has before, when Pete dropped the chocolate chips onto the floor when making his pancakes,” Andy pointed out.

Joe frowned. “I miss Pete’s chocolate chip pancakes.”

“Yeah he was good like that; making us his famous pancakes even though he couldn’t eat them himself,” Patrick remembered.

“Pete was actually a good cook when he wanted to be. He even made me his raviolis ‘Andy vegetarian style’ as he liked to call it,” Andy mused.

“I miss Pete,” I mumbled.

I looked up when no one said anything to see the guys just staring at me. I didn’t really know what they were thinking because they didn’t really show any emotion on their faces.

“Me too,” Patrick finally said.

They finally started talking again, mostly about new fights coming up and plans for weapons to try out. I stayed out of their discussion, subconsciously taking their plates when they were done eating and putting them with mine into the sink. The rest of the pizza was put into the fridge and after I made everyone their coffee I sat back down with them.

“I want to try it again,” I stated.

Joe looked at me, smiling brightly as he realized what I meant. We both looked to Patrick for his approval.

“Are you sure? Last time you really got hurt…”

“It’s okay, I think I’m ready now.”