FALLON

With all these waking up at unhuman hours daily, I feel edgy and jittery. It was almost a miracle to fall asleep on the sofa.

"Oh, go fuck yourself!!!!" Hearing my phone ring, breaking up my surprising but short afternoon nap, I curse loudly. Jumping at my feet, I notice Greg's name popping on the screen. I pick it up, yawning at my phone.

"Only one thing is more irritating than feeling tense because you lack sleep, and it is waking up by a moron right after finally drifting to sleep," I shout at him.

"Did you hear from Melissa?" My cousin sounds strangely demanding, like being annoyed. Every evening, Melissa and I go for a walk or drink. And sometimes, we stay out until dawn. Greg knows it. Melissa likes clubbing, and I like her company, plus I don't get much sleep anyway.

"Not yet, no. Why?" I reply, knowing Melissa will probably call me soon. But this night, I should stay home, watch Netflix, and turn to bed earlier. Or if I must go out, take a short stroll through the park, tiring myself even more until it gets dark, which will be soon. I sure don't feel like leaving my home, not even for a drink.

"Oh, nothing, we got into the fight, and she left the work earlier. I just wanted to check on her. Call me if she calls you!" If Melissa fled the gallery during the working hours, I know the fault must be on this manwhore.

"What did you do? Hey, Greg!" I try asking further, shouting again over my phone, but he hangs up on me right away. Now, I am sure Melissa will call me. The bastard did something but didn't want to admit to me what it was that he did.

I shower and order pizza, exhausted like hell. My hands are stiff, and my back feels painful.

Working in my studio the whole bloody day, I forgot to drink and eat, all until I stopped. No wonder I fell asleep. I worked from before 4 am to after 4 pm, a real art maniac that I am. Even going to the bathroom was a pain in my ass, and I was delaying it as usual. I almost peed myself, not wanting to drop my brushes, spatulas, and palettes down from my hands.

Those not blessed by having creative madness disease running through their veins won't understand, so they shouldn't try to get it, either. You have it in you, or you don't. Just so simple.

These four canvases, covered in black and red, overlapping in vigorous strokes and strong brushes, it is a bliss. I feel fulfilled observing my work. Droplets, blots, speckles, and splotches of paint make my heart tick.

Every painting is different but still a part of the meaningful collection. I've been productive today. Greg plans my second solo exhibition next month, begging me to change my palette a little. As if that is easy.

Patting myself mentally for arranging that first session with the therapist tomorrow, I feel even better. I've been brave today too. Yeah, me!

Things have to get better for me once.

My hands are black and red, and knowing how I am, there is probably some on my face, too. I don't mind getting myself dirty as long as I feel free. There is nothing that little soap and water won't wash out.

Well, almost nothing. I wish it would remove the stains of my haunting dreams.

Creating art makes me happy and less lonely, or at least it did. Now it only helps me to keep my head over the water, maintaining my mental sanity half-checked.

There was also the fifth painting. I placed it aside from the other four, displayed against one of my painting easels.

I painted those unnaturally green eyes again, but now I imagined a face, that big black area above could be hair, and that red, thin line under eyes could be lips. Very abstract, but still, looking a lot like a face. I brought it down with me to the living room.

I couldn't help myself, wanting to keep it close. Inspecting and studying it is slowly becoming my obsession.

My phone beeps as I stare at it while biting into the third pizza slice, thinking whether the face is attractive or a scary one. Probably the both, so popular two in one deal.

We're going out tonight, only two of us, I have to get drunk, and you have to take care of me, preventing me from doing something stupid. I read Melissa's text. All my plans of having the quiet night drop in the shallow water. I can't turn my back on the only friend I have in this city.

"Greg called me. What the hell happened?" I hate texting, so I call her instead.

"Oh, did he? I turned him down again this morning. So he told me I'm a hypocrite for fucking Jerry and refusing him. So he is banging some Nicole tonight. And Jerry doesn't even exist." Hearing her yelling in anger, I move the phone away from my ear, not wanting to turn deaf. She is as loud as she is beautiful and fun.

"What? Are you sure? I bet there is also no Nicole." Greg is an idiot, only doing it to make her jealous, probably since he heard of her date last night. The one she didn't have at all. I am to blame, reason more to go out with Melissa, and stand by her side. I doubt he would do anything with Nicole, though. He didn't tell me anything, dodging my scolding him.

"Oh, fuck, yes! I heard him on the phone. I picked up my things and left work an hour and a half earlier. I told him I'm quitting the stupid job." Wow! She is so into him if she reacted this way. My cousin is an A-class asshole.

"You did? He told me nothing about you quitting. Haha, well done! Did he say anything?" Melissa is the goddess for doing this. He is probably pissed off. And I hope regretful.

"You can't quit, he told me. I replied with screaming; watch me, fucker! Anyhow, be at 10 pm in front of my building, we're taking the cab. I won't be driving tonight!" We live four minutes by foot from each other, with her condo closer to the underground, 77 Street Station.

"Oh, can the cab pick me up first, so I don't need to walk?" I usually walk alone those four minutes, but not alone and at night.

"Oh, yes, your alleged stalker. Sure!" Melissa agrees.

So, after finishing the whole damn pizza with four kinds of cheese on top, I pour myself some red wine and watch one episode of Stranger Things. It goes perfectly with my life. For some reason, I stare more at the red liquid than at the TV.

I put skinny black jeans on, a grey simple sleeveless top, throwing a thin, black leather jacket over one shoulder. With my fingers coated with a bit of hair oil, I ruffle my wavy, half-long black hair into the more or less decent hairstyle. With a touch of lip gloss on my lips, a bit of mascara over my lashes, and my comfy black shoes on my feet, I am all ready to go.

Nobody will notice me anyway, no need to look better. Plus, I feel like crap, only helping Melissa kill the heartbreak with alcohol abuse, without other consequences than drunkenness.

First, we visit a bar nearby, me continuing with wine. Melissa sticks with her fave Strawberry Daiquiri poison of the cocktail. Then we hit three more bars. At the third, I exchange wine with orange juice, but Melissa doesn't change a thing. She is already tanked, slurring her words out.

The words she uses the most: Greg, sex, bastard, manwhore, bitch, whore, fuck, and kill.

But, when we finally enter that club down in Chelsea, and she starts to sway her hips and smile seductively to all men around, I realize that keeping her safe from herself won't be an easy task. After saying she had to go to the ladies' room and seeing her kiss a guy on her way there, I decided I had enough.

"Where are you?" I threw in the towel, calling my cousin for help. If this works out, I can go home and get some sleep I so desperately need. Ever since I left my apartment, I have had that creepy feeling of someone following and watching me. But not seeing anyone, I attributed that to my wracking nerves and my sleep-deprived mind as usual.

"In the gallery. Why?" His voice indicates my cousin's bad mood. He deserves that and much more, that male pig.

"Are you alone?" I whisper into my phone.

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is Nicole? Ooh, there isn't one! I thought so. Listen, Melissa is with me, drunk. I won't be able to keep all these horny males away from her. And since I invented all about that Jerry guy and her date last night, you should come. So, get your stupid ass here, you idiot! Electric Room, now!" I yell at Greg, watching out that Melissa doesn't hear me.

"I'm coming!" Of course that you are! I smile mentally, hoping he'll come to his senses and stop acting like a jerk.

It took Greg exactly thirty-eight minutes to arrive. Being drunk as she was, Melissa wrapped her arms around his neck, and his hands did the same maneuver around her waist, painting the picture any good-hearted painter likes to paint.

"I won't touch her. I'll only tuck her inside the covers, I promise!" Greg promised after hearing my threats of the dick amputation if taking advantage of my wasted friend. And so, we parted our ways.

Greg took Melissa with him to his place, and I took a cab back to mine.

FALLON

Standing in front of my building, I turn around, observing the yellow car driving away as I take my key out. I can't wait to hit my bed.

Holding the key, I stretch my hand out, aiming for the keyhole. And then, everything goes south for me.

Like a blast of wind on flickering candles, the intense gusts of the ice-cold air hit and sweep my feet off the ground as something equally cold wraps itself around my body and over my mouth, blocking all sounds I tried to squeeze out of my lungs. Maybe someone's arms, hands, I think as I find myself spinning and whirling like being carried by a tornado up in the air, falling into the darkness of its vertigo. My eyes shut on their own. Am I flying? Floating?

I fear for my life, just wanting to live, praying to all and every God I can think of to stay alive. I can't breathe, but I still miraculously do.

And that feeling of scratching and fighting for my life feels so well-known to my being at this moment. Just as that touch on my body seems familiar, so familiar that it makes me dizzy and light-headed. My heart races, skipping many beats.

Slipping into the blackness, I hear the voice stopping me from fainting.

There is something about that voice, something I somehow know. But I don't know how or what it is. Or who it is, feeling too scared to dare to jump into discovering the secret of this paranormal happening.

"Fallon, open your eyes. Now!" The voice pierces sharply through my mind, making me freeze and drain the last of my power and strength, opposing to do what it asked. But it appears like order, so fucking much compelling and controlling over my will. He even knows my name.

I hate myself, standing so helpless, observing my determination bending and breaking.

"Open your eyes! Stay silent!" The voice walks through my thoughts again. I struggle against its dominance in vain, shivering under its coldness, hopelessly submitting to its commands. I am gone, so gone.

I blink once..., and I blink twice.

It is a male, judging by his voice.

"Don't be scared! I won't hurt you!" Another of his orders kicks into me. This time I don't even try to disregard it. All fear leaves my body, my heartbeat slows down, and my breathing gets perfectly even.

Avoiding to look at his face, I glance around, realizing we are high against some skyscraper, noticing glass and metal over the walls, on who knows what floor.

I look down, seeing his leather, black, shiny shoes standing on the narrow window sill. Then I drop my eyes down onto my feet, seeing an abyss opening beneath me, the mesh of city streets and lights looking so distant while blinking up at me. He holds me that high, dangling in the air.

Then he glides his hands from my waist and mouth onto my cheeks, still holding me firm. Somehow, I know he won't drop me. His fingertips burn my skin with their frosty touch.

"Look at me, Fallon!" Pulling me closer, tightening his grip over my face, he orders. And I do, wishing I didn't.

His eyes are glowing in the dark with neon light, an unnaturally color shade of mint green, and I know I'll never again search for monsters under my bed because here is the only one that matters. His eyes bore into mine, unblocking my mind to my horror, giving the face and reason to my nightmares.

So many lies, so much suffering seep into me as he reveals only a tip of an iceberg that lies hidden within my shattered mind.

Kate and Tisha were never my friends. I never enrolled in any college. Greg wasn't my cousin. Or Uma aunt of mine. The first time I saw New York was 99 days ago.

There was never Nick in my life..., as it was always him.

I know his name now, Sandor, also known as Sean.

Anything I say or do won't make the difference. He is powerful, and I am nothing.

My arms wrap around his neck and shoulders, my eyes drinking in his facial and bodily features that I so well know. And to my horror, my eyes welcome it all.

He said things would be different now, but I stopped hoping about us a long time ago.

He is beyond repair, and so am I.

His possessiveness of me was the only good thing, shielding me from other vampires.

At least, he never shared me like others share their slaves, the human bitches, as they call us.

FALLON

Many movies choose to promote vampires in a more or less romantic light, adding more humanity to them than they carry under their ghostly skin for real. There is nothing lovey-dovey about these monsters.

They are evil creatures, and that's it. I know them..., I lived among them, with them.

I even had one feast on me, and it included feeding on my blood and sexually abusing me regularly, multiple times every damn day for the past year and a half.

And Sean isn't the worst you can meet if you get to be that unlucky to meet them as I have been. There are much, much worse vampires than him, my Sean. Yes, I call him mine, call me stupid, call me an idiot, but I do. I guess that's that famous Stockholm syndrome.

Yet even the least evil one of that undead kind is only a bloodthirsty animal still, no matter male or female.

Vampires don't fly exactly, but they move so fast that it seems like they do to the human eye. They, though, can levitate, jump and climb high, being very agile and swift creatures. Their speed is untraceable, uncatchable to our sight. Their strength is enormous. But nothing beats their persuasion skills as those are beyond limits.

They will let you see what they want you only to see. And vamps can make you forget or force you into believing what they choose for your mind to imagine. They are that powerful.

These creatures are ferocious, arrogant, and cunning, regarding us, people, as less worthy, inferior species.

Forget the myths about vampires feeding on animals, or using blood banks, taking care not to harm humans. They prefer drinking blood from the living, breathing, the real, heart beating thing, us humans.

Every one of them, without exception, doesn't give a fuck about us or our feelings. And that includes someone as kind as Sean's friend Romilly, the one who tried to protect me from him but never reached that goal. She still couldn't resist the temptation of tasting me, my blood, and disobeying her inhuman nature.

And they will tell you it's all about survival of the toughest and them being on the top of every chain there is.

My eyes couldn't track the route he was taking as we moved places, and since I knew that, I never tried to look around, keeping my eyes shut, clinging to him so helplessly. I stopped trying ages ago with him about anything, beginning on the second day of my captivity. I accepted his ownership over me, letting myself go. If I wanted to live, I had to. And I wanted to survive.

All I did was follow his orders and wishes, accepting the role of his pet slave, doing whatever he wanted me to do.

If he was hungry, I stretched out my arm. If he was horny, I spread my legs wide. And he enjoyed every second of my submission. Fuck, so did I.

In the end, it was the best I could do for my survival, awakening possessiveness in him.

I did my best not to faint as he carried me around. His speed always made me dizzy.

When he finally stopped moving, I dared to think and look at him and our surroundings.

We were in something like a cellar, with no windows at all. Furnished to the high end with luxury bits and pieces, but not allowing any sunlight inside.

Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling, brightening the extravagance of this basement condo. Luckily, the air has had enough oxygen because of the ventilation system, spreading all over the walls.

This place had it all as all vampires, no difference, were rich, using their mind-compelling skills over us to accumulate their wealth. They could walk inside any bank, just asking for a million or two in cash, walking out like that was nothing.

The monster brought me into the spacious living room, landing me on the leather, red sofa. The slick, industrial-style club table already waited for me with a plate filled with food, plus the glass and a bottle of my favorite apple juice.

Sean or Sandor stood in front of me, motioning me to eat and drink, with his feet slightly apart, scanning over me with his already lustful eyes.

Vamps are always so horny.

He exerted his famous arrogant pose of the bloodsucker, crossing his arms over the chest while still not showing his fangs out to me. I did nothing to provoke him yet. But I probably will. Not that he needed the reason in the first place.

"Your new place? Nice as always." I looked sarcastically up at his, now aqua blue eyes, the ones he had when not irritated, making him look a lot more human. I smirked on purpose at him, and he returned the favor. If someone has seen us now, he might think of us as the perfect couple.

When our eyes locked, I felt those familiar shivers all over my skin, frightening and arousing me at the same time. I lowered my sight right after, squeezing my thighs.

I am still so pathetic in this creature's domineering presence because nothing changed.

Sean, the vampire, my slavemaster, still has me, looking as handsome and young as ever. He is pretty from the outside as much as he is a freak from the inside. And he keeps his distance from me, on purpose. I know why very well.

His attention was elsewhere with him in action, running around while holding me than standing still.

Now, his whole focus is on me, and he has problems keeping his fangs within his mouth when next to me. And his dick inside his pants.

Feeding on me or engaging in sexual activities were his favorite activities, usually nicely joined. Vampires and abstinence don't go along.

"Yes, I moved here after you. To keep an eye on you." His smooth cold voice gives me goosebumps like it always did.

No matter what Sean did to me or how his actions made me feel, I was so drawn to him, always wanting more. I tasted the curse of the vampire seduction and the variety of his sexual skills from the first moment he laid his hands on me, claiming me as his. There was no going back from there for me. It didn't make any difference that it wasn't a consensual act at first.

His charms of the supernatural being hooked me at once, twisting my will and my body to his likings.

"You were the one following me. And you arranged all of this. But why? Why did you let me go?" I ask, not daring to look at his eyes again.

So, he came from Rome to New York after me. He still didn't reveal to me why he let me go three months ago. Or why he made the illusion of a new life for me when he did, sending me to another continent, making me rich, granting my wish of becoming a painter. He even changed my accent from British to American for things to appear more credible.

Everything about him is an illusion, confusion, and trick for trapping me.

"So, you won't even look at me, I see... Yes, I organized everything, but I did it in a hurry. That's why you felt out of place. I let you go because I have a conscience. And feelings for you." Hearing my vampire master's answer, I bitterly chuckle. He even got me into the college, the fucking Parsons.

That memory of the beast between the sheets wasn't Nick, but him. And those bruises all over my body, he left. Chaining me up while having his way with me was giving him an extra kick of pleasure. It was him that I missed having sex with all this time. No man looked at me because Sean didn't allow them near me.

He still wants me, with the same intensity as before. And Sean never shares what is his.