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[Warning: Sexual Assault, Violence, Murder]

"So you're alive?" A somewhat lyrical chuckle woke me from the abyss. My lungs felt on fire as I took a large inhale, then I cried like a newborn at the sensation. My sudden movement drew my attention to another kind of pain, burning and intense, in my abdomen. 

A knife jutted out of my stomach. Fresh red blood mingled with the dark and crusty with each minuscule movement I made. The old blood had spilled down my stomach to pool at my back, sticking my bare skin to the once-white bed sheets. 

Helpless and in shock, I could only hover my hands over the knife, unsure of what to do to save myself. All I knew was I did not want to die. 

Recalling someone had spoken, I searched the room for my would-be saviour. At a doorway, he leaned languidly—a tall, slim-built man fresh out of a shower and holding a white towel. 

As my eyes examined him, he surveyed my body head to toe with a cold glint in his deep, blue eyes. His stare made me anxiously aware of my exposed, naked state. 

When I moved to hide under the duvet, the pain reminded me that there were some things more important than modesty. My nails dug into my palm as I tried to rack my brain as to why I was here. What had happened to me?

Nothing. There was nothing in my brain but my racing thoughts and panic. 

Seeing he was making no intention to step forward, I outstretched my hand to get his attention. When I tried to pry apart my dry cracked lips I found myself unable to speak. 

He blinked as if snapping out of a trance, then took a cautious step toward me. The faint light from the window eerily lit his almost translucent, white skin. My would-be saviour looked so weak and pale, just like a handsome, noble, and sickly prince. 

Despite having such romantic thoughts about this stranger, alarm bells rang in my head when he finally approached me, climbing onto the bed at my feet. 

No matter how hard I tried to recall his name or anything about him, everything was still blank. It left only fear to consume me whole. 

"You tried to get away from me again Luna," he sighed softly, surprising me when tears fell from the corner of his eyes. Gently he pressed the slightly damp towel that had been on his shoulders onto the wound. It hurt, making me groan; however, somehow I knew he had the intention to suppress the bleeding. 

My mind tried to make sense of the situation I'd found myself thrown into. I must have lost consciousness after being stabbed. I'd already lost a lot of blood. 

So why was he showering instead of getting me help? Why was he so surprised that I was alive? Did he want me dead? Then why was he acting so gentle now?

The fear of the unknown had every muscle of mine tense in anticipation of his next move.

When one finger accidentally brushed against my bare skin, I finally unravelled. Letting go of all the burning air building up in my chest, it escaped into a high-pitched scream that I barely recognised as my own.

Instead of being shocked by my sudden outburst, he merely raised a brow. Glancing sideways his expression actually looked pissed that I'd broken the agreeable silence.

In response to my never-ending scream, he quickly pinned me to the mattress. Then pressed his lips over mine to block out all the sound. At first, I assumed he was shutting me up, but as time passed, -whilst I was forcefully submitted into silence- his kiss became greedy and desperate. 

A sharp pain in my lower lip brought me back to reality. The metallic, bitter taste of blood filled my mouth. 

When he pulled away, my hands scrambled to press the towel against my wound again, wincing at the pain. Then I pointed an accusatory glare toward his menacing face.

"I have you, I finally have you," his eyes betrayed his warm smile as he spoke, stone-cold and emotionless, "you'll be all mine this life, not his."

Now I had my answer. He was insane. He had to be batshit crazy. My life was not safe in his hands at all. What should I do? How should I appease him to keep my life?

"Okay," finally my mouth obeyed my brain and spoke. 

Unlike the appeased expression I had anticipated, he let out a maniacal laugh. Exagerately he bent over, hand over his heart like I'd told a joke. 

As I said, this guy was insane. Unpredictable and dangerous. I needed to get away from him. My mind raced with thoughts on how to get help, or at least medical aid. 

"It hurts," I whined unintentionally, my hand still pressing on the reddening towel. 

His eyes glanced briefly at it before returning to mine. 

"You'll be fine," he coaxed me like I was just a child. He suddenly shifted to hover over me, his body mere centimeters away from the hilt of the knife. Just one minor movement and he'd knock it. I was barely holding it together with the pain as it was. 

"Please," I begged, unsure of what to ask him to do, I just wanted him to do something, anything to stop this agony. 

"Shh…" his thin lips pressed against my damp forehead. Uncaring for my sweat-drenched state, he peppered my face with light kisses. Then alarmingly his lips pressed against my neck, making my muscles tense again. 

His kisses continued downward, as his hand raised towards the hilt of the blade. I noticed, whilst staring wide-eyed at him, that he bit his lip to draw blood, then moved to pull the blade out.

"No," I squeaked, then writhed beneath him as a gush of blood came out of the open wound. He pinned me firmly, then kissed my wound. 

Like magic, the intensity of the pain dulled. 

He raised his head, his lips curved into a bloodied smirk, standing out in contrast to his flawlessly pale skin. So quickly he turned from a sickly prince into a vampiric king. One a prey, the other a predator. 

"Better?" He asked softly, a hand pushing a damp strand of hair from my face. 

Gently I nodded my head whilst pressing the towels firmly against the now open wound.

My mind was less clouded by panic, so I took the time to take note of my surroundings. A large ceiling-to-floor window covered one side of the room, showing we were high up and overlooking a brightly lit nighttime city landscape.

The room, though luxuriously decorated, was generic. A hotel maybe?

My mind made assumptions about our situation, seeing the tousled sheets, and smelling the musty scent in the air. Were we lovers? So why was there a dagger in my abdomen and my body so sore like I'd been fighting for my life?

If he had been the one to do this to me, why was he acting so gentle and kind now?

Closing my eyes I tried again to recall some memories, any memories. A sharp pain hit my temple, forcing me to stop.

I knew what objects were, and how they were used. I had common sense. It was a start at least. 

When his hands stroked across my bare abdomen, my eyes snapped open. In surprise I let my inner thoughts show. My face twisted in disgust as I flinched from his touch.

Bitter laughter filled my ears. The same hand that had just stroked me tenderly, gripped my hair and pulled my face up toward his. 

The movement brought the pain back, though not as intense as before. I tried to remain as still as possible, like an agreeable little doll in his hands. 

He pulled me to sit on his lap, only a thin towel between our privates. Then he smothered me in a tight embrace, his face nesting into my neck.

My hands hovered mid-air, not knowing what to do. Frozen in panic, my heart beat agonizingly fast in my chest, threatening to break my ribs. All I could do was just press this flimsy towel against the wound hoping I wouldn't end up bleeding out on his lap.

His hands wandered up and down my back, then gripped tightly into my flesh.

"She died, just like that, she died," he muttered insane ramblings into my neck, "now I have you, I have you, Luna, you're all mine."

Scared, all I wanted was to break free from his hold. Putting my thoughts into action, I tried to wriggle from his grip, which he then tightened so much it hurt.

"You're really here Luna right?" He pulled apart to stare deeply into my eyes, making me freeze like a deer in headlights. 

"I'm not dreaming, you really came to me?"

None of what he said made sense. 

"You cannot leave me," he continued, his every word wrapped around my chest, constricting my every breath.

"Please," I found myself begging, face full of tears and snot as my hands found their way to grip his arms. "Please stop."

"Don't leave me for him again," he somewhat wept, "if you do… if you do…" his eyes narrowed towards the door, "I'll kill him. I'll kill every bastard who touches you."

Killing intent emitted so strongly that waves of nausea hit me. Bile climbed up the back of my throat. 

I did not know who he wanted to kill, only that I wanted so strongly to protect them. Subconsciously his words started to make some sense as I pieced them together. 

A loud crash interrupted the silence, sounding like a door being smashed open. The hurried footsteps followed along with the sound of a man shouting "clear."

"Here he comes," the crazed man emitted that killing intent again. 

Fearful, I scrambled from his lap to the middle of the bed, clutching my towel like a life raft and turned towards him on guard. 

"Don't worry Luna, I'll make his death… quick."

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted his hand dangerously close to the bloodied knife. The footsteps were growing louder. I couldn't let him kill them. Though I found no reason behind it, guilt tore me apart inside. 

My hands instinctively gripped the knife, pointing it toward him. "Don't."

"So you've chosen him, want to betray me again?" His eyes narrowed towards me, all his fury and killing intent towards me. 

Swiftly I tried to climb off the bed, only to be pulled back and pinned beneath him. My wound had reopened and the pain came back at me tenfold, whatever he had done before had worn off. 

Delirious from the pain and relying heavily on the adrenaline, I did my best to push him away. My attempts were futile as he pressed me deeper and deeper into the soft mattress beneath.

Somehow the blade found its way between us, then buried into his chest during the desperate scramble for freedom. 

"Luna," his eyes widened in shock, locking onto mine. He finally let go of me to hold onto the hilt of the blade. Then when I tried to wriggle from beneath him, he neglected the blade and pinned me down. 

"Can't get rid of me that easily," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Panicked, my hands lifted to push the blade in deeper, faster than my brain could comprehend my actions. What was I doing?

Before I could continue to contemplate my irreversible actions, he slumped forward; eyes still wide and glaring at me. His face, for just a brief moment, looked full of naivety and angelic innocence. 

I wanted to explain myself, apologise, or just do something. My bottom lip only quivered, not even making a sound as his surprisingly heavy body finally gave up the fight and fell onto me, pinning me to the bed.

Winded by his heavy fall onto me, I struggled to breathe. My hands pushed as hard as they could, trying to pry him off. Yet they felt so sore and numb. I was so weak, so tired. Blood from both his wound and mine pooled between us, sticking us together like glue.

Frustrated at my weakening body, I could only let out a guttural roar as I pounded my feeble fists on his bare back. Venting my anger, pain, and cluelessness onto his body. 

"Why?" Was the only word that managed to escape my mouth as I began to lose the battle with my heavy eyelids. 

Just as they closed a bright light filled my vision and I thought, "what a short and miserable life…"