Chérie

It was not until the next morning did the young woman really wake up. When she did, she screamed out, only remembering the pain she had been in, but felt no longer. Once her body registered that it was fine, she tried to look around for her glasses. But as she did, she realized not only did she not need them, she could see everything. The dust that caught the sun through the cracked window. The dirt pressed into the grain of the wood floor, even something darker that had dried into the lines. The slight texture hidden beneath the crisp white paint on the walls. As she looked down at her hands, she gasped.

They were as they had been before. Before the barrage of white coats and hospital beds. They had taken on deathly pallor, with veins popping out as if they were all that stood between the bone and the skin. But now, they looked normal. The pink undertone had returned. Slowly, she reached for her face, nearly laughing with glee as she felt her full, hot cheeks. Not only that, she could feel the individual hairs, peach fuzz, as her mother called it, beneath her fingers. Each tiny strand, separated by gaps she never knew existed. As she reached her nose, she stopped. The constant fixture in her life for the past year and a half, the cannula, was gone. She took a deep breath in, smiling with awe at how simple it was. No pain. Just as easy as she remembered it once was. How it was never supposed to be again.

Her head snapped towards the door as she heard a sound. She didn't know what it was, but it seemed far away. For the first time, she actually looked at the room, not just around it. She was in a massive canopy bed in the center, with lace dripping around her. There was a seat beneath a broken window, along with a few random paintings of red floral scenes. A black chest with a bouquet of white and red roses on top. She knew there were 15 roses, but she didn't know how she knew so.

She heard another sound, closer. Like someone was coming towards her. Panic began to set in as she struggled to lift her body out of the bed. But her body felt too weak to do more than tuck into itself in fear.

She began to smell him, it was a him, a moment before he appeared. He smelt like comfort. Calm. Safety. Within a blink, he stood in the doorway. He was tall and dark, with a strong jaw covered with a short, black beard. He could not have been older than 35, at most 40. His dark eyes pulled her in, full of what she could only describe as concern. She blinked again, and he kneeling on the ground next to the bed, holding her hand. "I came as soon as I heard you, my darling," he said with a thick accent she could not place.

He sounded sincere. Her body kept telling her to relax, that she was okay, that she could trust this man. But she fought the thoughts, pulling her hand back, much to his surprised. He broke into a wide smile, bright white teeth flashing. His teeth somehow different than other teeth, as if the bottoms were not smooth. "You are scared," he commented as he sat towards the end of the bed.

She nodded slowly. "Who are you?" she whispered.

He chuckled, placing a hand on the blanket over her leg, "You are surprise after surprise, ma chérie."

Both spots he touched radiated with warmth. Every word he said flowed into her ears melodically. Each breath she took was full of his scent, calming her lungs. Almost every part of her body and mind was at ease; but deep in her blood, she knew that something was not right. As she focused on that thought, her body seemed to twist in pain. She gasped in pain and doubled over. Immediately, he was behind her, hands clasping her shoulders, almost hugging her. His touch felt so good, she couldn't stop herself from leaning into him. "You're still hurting?" he asked, clearly worried. She nodded. "Oh, ma chérie," he sighed, fully embracing her as he kissed the top of her head.

She ripped herself away, groaning in pain as she did so. "Do not call me that!" she grunted, tearing up from both confusion and pain.

He stood up next to the bed and held out his hand. "You must eat," he said.

She stared at his hand, fighting the overwhelming urge to grab it. "Claire," he said her name, sending waves of calm through her body. "You are going to take my hand and come with me."

Claire stared for a moment and grabbed his outstretched hand. He smiled and effortlessly pulled her up, wrapping his arm around her waist. She didn't want to, but she leaned into him, for both the support and the comfort his touch gave the pulsing ache throughout her body. She stumbled alongside him as they made their way down a flight of steps and around random turns. The halls were beautiful, lit by glorious chandeliers over expensive rugs. The walls held gilded frames of beautiful art, and each window was made of stained glass. Tables held fresh flowers, small statues, or intricately shaped glasswork. It was like stepping into a castle.

Elias stopped at a beautiful, black wooden door. He knocked twice and a middle-aged woman answered. "Lana, this is Claire," he said as they walked into the room. It looked like a hotel room, down to the included bathroom.

Claire looked up at the woman and immediately felt her stomach churn as she stared at Lana's neck, watching her cool, black neck pulse with every heartbeat. "You poor thing! You need to sit!" Lana exclaimed in a deep Southern accent. "Elias, she looks like you sent her through Hell and back!" she chastised.

The two chatted for a moment, but Claire didn't hear any of it; all she could hear was Lana's heartbeat. It pounded in her ears like a deep bass. She tried to close her eyes, block it all out, but that only made it worse. She was bathed in the scent of sweet wine coming from Lana. Claire dug her nails into Elias's leg, nauseous. "Oh my! That's enough chatter, you look like you're starving," Lana smiled sweetly as she sat down and pulled her mass of perfect black coiled curls to one side of her head. "Go on, sweetheart. It doesn't hurt."

Claire began to pant and shake. She pushed herself as far from Lana as she could as she whispered to Elias, horrified, "What did you do to me?"

He gently pulled her back. "You should eat, and then we can talk, ma chérie."

Claire shook her head, "No."

"Elias," Lana said, placing her hand on Claire's thigh, sending shockwaves throughout her body. "I've got this, I think."

Elias smiled and laughed, "You are too good to me."

Lana stood up and walked past them and into the bathroom, fumbling through drawers. Elias was still holding Claire, rubbing her arm supportively. Every part of her body was twisting, stinging, and screaming. Fighting for and against something, the same thing. Deep inside of Claire, she knew what she wanted, but refused to consider it a real thought. People don't want that. Nothing real wants that. Only monsters, imaginary monsters.