My Precious Nightmare

15: Oh, The Sweetness

Hasani found himself looking longer than a casual glance when she came out in his shirt and sweatpants. His clothes ate her, but they were clean, and that's what mattered. After having him press his disgusting drying blood all over her and then bleed some of her own from her finger, mixed with the cold sweat that had plagued her sleep, he guess she'd feel disgusting. He gave her access to his shower, but she refused, even before he warned her that he'd come in if he heard her passing out. He understood. To be naked, even with a wall and door between them, would make her feel more vulnerable than she already did. He didn't want to push her more than he already had. And it probably wouldn't make matters better to let her know the vampiric infection just made her look like meat to him. He couldn't even remember what it had been like to be sexually attracted.

Even so, he still did up all the locks on his door and tucked the keys where she wouldn't find them.

Guilt or not, it was best if they didn't trust each other, or more specifically her trust him. With blood like hers it was unlikely she wouldn't attract another vampire in the future, and if she thought they'd be as nice as him, well...

At least, that's what he told himself when he set the bowl of bland oatmeal in front of her and she just looked down at it with big, sad eyes, her hands lost in the long sleeves of his shirt. She was adorable. She'd been from the start, even with strawberry milkshake all over her feet.

"I don't eat, so this is all I have," he said. "If you're good, I can buy something better." Those words tasted nasty on his tongue. He sounded like a damn kidnapper. Granted, he already was one, but it's not like he could pass up on her. Not with an ancient vampire roaming the city.

Again, true as it may be, it still felt like an excuse. Even though he kept her in the name of saving lives. In the name of research of the parasite which held him captive. In the name of her own protection.

But a smaller, but no less truer part of himself whispered of big sky blue eyes, toes covered in pink ice cream, and the smell of butterscotch and lavender. It spoke of something sweeter just beyond in the few kind words she'd given him, or in every action she'd made since realizing her situation. He'd been alive a long time. With that came a certain talent in measuring the character of humans.

Deeper down and less friendly, however, in the ugly depths of his monster was the taste of her ambrosia and an electric thrill of strength. Oh, that rush of sheer invincibility, even if but for a moment, free as wings could never make him—

"What's your name?"

Her voice was tiny, but pierced through the quiet like a needle.

"Hasani," he said.

"...Where's it from?"

He hesitated. Strange of her to be asking him questions now. He'd mistake her for being friendly if it weren't for her white face, wide wet eyes, and her hands still tucked away in his sleeves, the spoon untouched.

"Eat and I'll tell you."

As he expected, she freed a slender, pale hand and took up the spoon. She was a docile sort, this girl. It made it both easier and harder for him. He almost wished she'd fight back, even be a complete terror. Then maybe he wouldn't feel so bad.

She even ate the oatmeal without complaint, even though he knew it couldn't even be all that fresh. He used it for thickening topical ointments, since it was generally soothing to the skin and few had allergies to it.

"I was born in Egypt," he said.

Her doe-like eyes looked up to dance around his face.

"But you're so pale."

"The parasite can't stop oxidation on all parts of the body, only the ones necessary to it." He fingered out where he knew a particularly large streak of white hair grew. "The cells that make pigments are the first to go, especially in the eyes."

"So, the sun...?"

"I get sunburned easily, yes, but no, I don't poof into dust."

She did smile a little at his flop of a joke, but it was enough to drown him with relief. Maybe, if he could make her smile more, make her time locked up here as pleasant as possible—

Then what? It didn't change that he wounded her, threatened her life, locked her down, and probably would leave her with some level of trauma.

"Egypt," she murmured with a hint of wonder around another spoonful of oatmeal. "You barely have an accent. Were you raised here?"

He chuckled, because that was funny. "No. I've only lived here for a few hundred years, that's all."

Her spoon dropped with a clank.

"No way," she said.

He shrugged. "Believe it or not, you still need to eat. You haven't had anything besides cocoa for three days, and your color is terrible." He swallowed down a painful rock that told him she wouldn't be so sickly if it weren't for him. He hadn't a choice. The monster made him do it, as it always did. "Do you think you could swallow some steak? Red meat would do you some good."

She chewed for a moment, then a moment longer than was necessary for mushy oatmeal.

A long list of anticipated answers ran through his mind: 'I'll have to eat whatever you want me to, since I'm now your cattle.' 'It's not like I have a choice,' 'It better be the best steak in the world,' 'Do you seriously expect me to eat meat after becoming yours?'

But, instead, after giving him a short look, she gave a soft, honest smile.

"That sounds amazing. I can't normally afford steak. Thank you."

He shivered from the sole of his feet to the top of his head.

He had guessed she was naturally kind hearted, or even just too passive or fearful of conflict to try and pick a fight or show her hatred. But the way her gaze had warmed on him, as though she saw through him and somehow understood even just a fraction of how he was torturing himself...and forgave him.

He shook himself. No. He must have seen things. He'd been alone for far too long. Vampire or not, he was still human enough to get lonely. And such kindness bordered on stupidity, and he'd like to think she was more intelligent than that.

"I hope you can cook it yourself. I can't say I've had much practice in cooking anything other than poultices and medicines for few centuries."

Her nose scrunched up in disbelief. "Are you really that old?"

"Ancient. Though not as old as I could be."

And when those big, beautiful eyes seemed to ask him to tell more, he allowed himself to sit in the one other chair at the table.

"I was born long after Egypt had been conquered by the Persian Empire, but before it gained its independence from the British Empire..."