Isla felt woozy, having just lost the only bit of food that she had ingested for the day. She could feel tears stinging her eyes and her face flushing. She was never one for hiding her anger; the blood always rushed to her face when she was embarrassed or mad, no matter how hard she tried to hold it back.

   She could see the room spin around her and could feel the cold sweat leaking from her pores. She stood, a slight moan escaping her lips. She knew what was happening, and she fell to the ground just behind the couch.

    "I don't believe that she can handle our lifestyle, Damien." Vanessa proclaimed as she watched Isla fall unconscious. She smirked, having already figured that fact out the moment she set eyes on her in the parking garage. She was pleased that she was right, again.

    "I think she will grow accustomed." he breathed, leaning back into the soft couch. Frank, the man who had brought in Donnovan, was dragging the corpse away and towards the kitche where a delicately placed trash chute was located.

   "We'll need to replace the carpet again," Damien grumbled, "Perhaps a nice burgundy. That way we won't have to worry about staining, no matter how wonderful the combination of red and white looks." he sighed, wiping his bloody hands on his white handkerchief. He tossed the handkerchief to the floor, watching it soak up the blood that it landed in.

   "Frank, take Isla to her room, please." Vanessa sighed. Frank returned from the kitchen, his bright yellow and orange shirt now stained with a large red splotch. "And change your shirt, please. You're only as good as your appearance."

   He leaned over and gently slid his arms under Islas limp body, picking her up as if she weighed not more than a loaf of bread, and took her down the narrow hallway and into her bedroom at the end of the hall.

    "Do you really believe that she will stay and help you, Damien?" Vanessa challenged.

    "She has so far. Plus, she is my doctor." he smiled at her. "Doctor knows best. Besides, she has high morals-"


    "- so she won't leave a patient of her own."

   "Damien, you know that I care for you, and you know that I want whats best for you and your health. Isla isn't good for you." she pleaded. "I've worked with people like her; she's not to be trusted."

    "Says the woman who killed her own mother!" Damien laughed. Vanessa bit the inside of her lip.

   "You know exactly why I did that. If it wasn't for you, she would still be alive."

    "Because you love me, right?" he scoffed. " How many times do I have to tell you, you can't love a murder."

    "We're both going to hell anyway, why can't we go together?" she whispered in his ear, her body leaned over the couch in a more than seductive manner. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, then as quick as a cobra, struck her.

    She pulled back, holding her cheek, her eyebrows knitted in pain. "Why won't you ever let me in?" she asked, her voice shaking. He grabbed her hand and yanked her down over the back of the couch and into his lap. He held her face close to his, closing the inches between their lips.

     Vanessas breath came in small gasps as her body went crazy with the sheer anticipation of Damien finally showing her the slightest hint of affection. It was long overdue.

    His teeth locked onto her lips, and she began to squirm as the blood ran down her chin. Only after his mouth filled with the coppery liquid, did he throw her to the ground, laughing.

    "Fuck you Van, I don't need your love." he barked.

The End

2 comments about this story Feed