Saving the dead from dying...

Lazarus fell quiet quickly. He curled up by the door, whimpering occasionally, sensing something wrong. In this form, the fever had no hold, but when the moon’s hold over him broke, a wave of nausea hit him. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was ill, or if it was from the alcohol. All he could think about was the weird sensation he had felt as he curled up by the door, whining for Melissa. It didn’t even occur to him that he should find his jeans as he tore open the door to find Melissa on the floor, her pallid face contorted with pain.

‘Melissa!’ he gasped, crouching beside her. ‘You... woah,’ he crashed to the cold stone floor losing his balance, yelping as the chill of the floor stung him. He swore and crawled back into the cellar, grabbing at his jeans. They were ripped, but it was better than nothing. He shuffled back to Melissa’s side and brushed her hair away from her face with a hot hand.  ‘You di’n drink, did you?’ his words were slurred and clumsy, but her eyes snapped open, staring up at him.

‘No,’ she croaked, ‘you were far more important.’ She coughed and Lazarus cursed her stubborn personality.

‘You shoulda gone.’ He muttered. She shook her head as best she could lying down.

‘I couldn’t have left you like that. I couldn’t leave you alone.’ Her voice was faint and Lazarus, even in his half drunken state realised he had to do something.

‘You could. Should. Wha... wha can I do?’ He looked at her helplessly. ‘You want my... my blood?’ Her eyes widened furiously and she shook her head again, more insistent.

‘No,’ she said, turning her head away from him. ‘You’re drunk, Lazarus. You don’t know what you’re saying.’

‘Jus a bit? Enough so’s you can go get your own? Can’t go like tha’ can ya?’ He put a finger on her lips, the heat from him intense. She pressed her lips tightly shut, desperately fighting her own inner beast. Painfully, she lifted her hand and batted his finger away.

‘Lazarus, stop this!’ she cried, ‘I won’t drink from you!’

‘Why not? Yer bein an idiot now, I’m the only one for miles with any blood worth havin.’ He frowned, putting his hand in hers, encouraging her. Granted, he was drunk beyond sense, but he was right.

‘No. I would rather die than drink from you and live knowing I gave in.’ She continued to defy him and numbly, he felt the anger building up.

‘If you don’t take it, I’ll force it down your throat, so stop bein stupid ‘n’ jus drink!' his irritation was not concealed in his voice at all and Melissa froze.

‘Shan’t,’ she stated and Lazarus glared at her. He took her chin between his finger and thumb and turned her head back to face him.

‘Do it,’ his eyes had gone cold and his words lost their drunken quality.

‘No,’ she wept, a tear forming at the rim of her eye. Lazarus growled and he released her, getting up and stomping back into the cellar, his bare feet slapping against the cold stone. She heard a bottle smash and she closed her eyes, hoping she was wrong about what he was doing. But as he returned, a shard of glass in one hand, the other tightly balled into a fist making his throbbing veins bulge, she realised she was right indeed.

‘Still not gonna change your answer?’ he snarled, holding the broken glass to the inside of his wrist.

‘Lazarus!’ she whimpered, closing her eyes against him.

‘Sun’s up soon. Wanna just lay there ‘n’ burn?’ he pressed the glass against his skin, threatening to break through to the veins beneath.  

‘I’d rather that than watch you do this to yourself.’ She said, trying to keep her voice even.

‘Melissa! Lazarus shouted, making her wince. ‘Just drink the goddamn blood, okay?’ his voice seemed amplified by the stairwell and his demanding eyes were bored of taking no for an answer. He dug the edge of the glass into his flesh, gasping with the pain as his blood slowly welled over, running down to his palm. He tilted his wrist a little so that the blood dripped off his skin, falling beside Melissa’s face.

Melissa closed her eyes against the sight, trying to push back the beast, the thirst. The beast inside of her growled hungrily as a drop of his warm blood landed on her lower lip; he had moved his wrist so it was above her face, forcing her to take his blood. Her tongue flicked out and lapped up the little splashes of blood that landed on her lips and unable to control the hunger anymore, she grabbed his arm, pushing her fangs into his wrist to let more of his blood flow into her. She didn’t even realise she was crying until the tears were flowing like tiny rivers down her cheeks, falling to the floor. She whimpered as she drank, taking, taking, taking until she had the strength to stop herself.

Her cheeks flushed a light pink as she healed his wound. He hardly noticed, his eyes screwed up tight against the pain of her desperate supping. She was able to move again, but she stayed still, lying on the ground, eyes closed again, the red tears staining her cheeks.

‘Why?’ she mumbled, her voice hardly above a whisper.

‘I was hardly about to let you die,’ Lazarus grumbled, rubbing his wrist, watching the pink marks fade slowly. He glanced at Melissa, looking at her through slightly more sober eyes. ‘I think you drained half the alcohol in my blood stream,’ he laughed weakly. She frowned and cursed herself inwardly.

‘I... I can’t believe I gave in!’ she growled, sitting up. ‘Why the hell did you do that?’ her eyes opened, staring into Lazarus’ coldly. Her ruby red eyes made him shudder and he looked away.

‘I just told you,’ he said, the irritation creeping back into his voice, ‘I wasn’t about to let you die! Don’t sound so ungrateful, that hurt!’ he snapped at her, unsure whether he was talking about the physical pain of her drinking from him, or the emotional pain that her tone of voice caused.

‘But now, every time I look at you I will taste your blood in my mouth; I will remember that moment. The moment you forced me to drink from you against my will!’ She snarled, grabbing his wrist she stared at it, the little pink marks slowly vanishing. She sighed and lowered her head, kissing the pink marks gently.

‘I saved your life, stop being so bitter about it,’ Lazarus said pulling his arm away, standing up. She stood up, facing him. Her eyes swirling from red back to green.

‘Lazarus. I'm sorry, I hate drinking like that. Thank you.’ She sighed, realising he had saved her, no matter how much she hated how he did it, he still saved her. He shrugged.

‘It’s fine. I’m gonna go find somewhere I can throw up, I feel like crap.’ He told her, taking the uneven steps two at a time.

The End

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