Apollo [Castalia]

[Cedric Costello]

[BACKDATED 17/10/17]

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Apollo Damona. In the grand scheme of things, the club probably wasn’t Cedric’s best idea. Given his proclivities, it nothing else, this was the business he should have handed over to Costello to run. Cedric should have stayed at the flagship—the far less raunchy Cocoa Bean. The business was newly renovated and there were plenty of things Cedric had to keep an eye on to try keep it all as above board as possible. If the cops came looking, it needed to pass the bill. They couldn’t see all of the illegal underneath the surface otherwise he would be done for. It was a delicate balance. This, he told himself, was why he had to stay. This had to be where he spent his time, when not at home. There was a piano, too. How could he not include a piano? Every now and again he ended up at said piano, tinkling out a tune even if there was music playing overhead. The music was never super abrasive, or intrusive; it had enough of a beat that the dancers could move to. Not only women, by the way, but men, too. Cedric would not have Castalia believe he had bought himself a strip club filled with women just to sate his needs. He would never touch an employee. Maybe that’s why Apollo worked best. Again, he’d ended up at the piano. It was on a raised platform but was also, somehow, inobtrusive. No one really paid him much mind as he sat there, focused on the keys in front of him and the blues tune he let loose beneath his fingertips.


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Ivette had been out with friends; it was a night of carefree attitude, a time to escape the clutches of her mother’s illness for a spell. It was something she needed, something that the girls knew she needed. Club by club, they danced the night away. That is until Jill wanted something a little... different. The strip club had been a good idea. Hot girls, hot guys - what could be better? In the back of her mind, she knew she had an answer. Pills, like the ones she knew Destiny had in her back pocket. Booze, that she could so easily order. She’d been clean for a year, just shy of the period in which her mother had fallen ill. Ivette had sobered up to take care of her, but while she had stopped the alcohol and pill popping... she’d traded it for something worse, something more dangerous if one wasn’t careful. The bite of a vampire. “I think someone needs to have a lap dance.” Sang Lucretia with a grin. Her blonde friend clutched her arm as soon as they walked through the door in awe of the club. “Damn, this place is hot.” The group took in the appearance of the club, it was tasteful and so well done. “And so is that man playing the keyboard.” Destiny chimed to her friends as Ivette was lead to the bar.


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Cedric had zoned out. He wasn't paying much mind to the club nor its occupants; he'd not seen how, as it neared midnight, the crowd had swelled. The roster was his responsibility and, on the nights he knew he was definitely going to be there he left the floor and barstaff a little lighter, knowing that he could step in if required. He was hyper sensitive to the noise around him; though half his attention was on the keys, the rest was keeping an ear out. First, he heard someone say 'keyboard'. Second, right after, he heard the ear-splitting wolf-whistle. It was Ben, at the bar. That was Cedric cue. Help was needed. The blues came to a halt and the suit-clad vampire stood, closed the lid of the piano and stepped from the platform. He expertly weaved his way through the crowd until he'd slipped behind the bar. "Thanks man," Ben said as he deftly curated and combined the ingredients needed for some cocktail or other; he offered Cedric the smallest of glances, and Cedric merely nodded. He undid the button of his jacket to get more comfortable, maybe more casual, as he turned to the set of ladies who'd just moved up the bar queue. "What can I get you?" he asked, accent indefinable, tone deep.


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He had an accent and a deep voice. Ivette felt her arm be squeezed in acknowledgement of the question as the girls grinned at the wolf whistle. She pulled down on her olive dress, allowing the tight cloth to loosen briefly around her hips as they looked at the bar. "Just a club soda for me, with lemon." She didn't mind being the designated driver, it always helped for her as she brushed her fingertips through her hair. The other women hummed quietly as they decided on, "Two glasses of scotch." Ivette could only shake her head. Neither of them would apparently be walking out of the stripclub. Lucretia removed her wallet from the bag on her arm, taking out the proper amount and sliding it, and a tip, towards the man. "I don't suppose you're on the menu?" To which Ivette went blood red as she said, "Luce! Behave!" And she flashed him a sheepish smile, "Sorry. She's been drinking. They both have."


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Cedric smirked as he went about collecting the drinks. He'd learned how to make a few cocktails but was glad when people asked for just the regular drinks. Scotch he could do., club soda too. Most often, women came onto him only when they saw him slip behind the bar; the other employees all wore black shirts, and either black pants or jeans. They all wore aprons tied around their waists. Cedric, however, was always wearing a suit and never an apron. When he got behind the counter to serve up drinks, they all knew he was someone important. They reckoned that a man who owned a club would be a man with money. They wouldn't be wrong. Most of the time, Cedric resisted. He played along then slipped away. But these women were young. They were nice to look at. They were a temptation, and those were getting harder and harder to resist. He didn't want to admit to it. He didn't want to talk to Castalia about it. He assumed he could handle it. And we all know what people say about assumptions. His cool gaze swept over the three women and settled on the one who flushed. The blood in her cheeks was... oh so deliciously enticing. Why hadn't he fed yet? That was always a mistake. "I prefer sober encounters to drunken ones," he said, gaze settled upon the club-soda-girl. It wasn't even strictly true. It was just a line. One that he shouldn't have delivered.


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"Don't we all?" She said as she watched her friends with a sigh. They hadn't done this in a while, though. They needed an escape. They worked and had lives with children, she had to take care of her mother. A few times a year wasn't a bad thing though, was it? "Even drunk though, as long as they can walk, we're fine." She said as she ran her tongue over her teeth and gave him a smile. "Sometimes sober is the best way to go about." That's what her sponser had always told her, anyway. It wasn't the best way of life. Sobriety wasn't as overrated, though, as she once thought. It helped her come back down from the high that the bite created, the way that euphoria rocked her over. In some instances, it was better than sex. Only once had it gone bad when a man had drank too much and left her in a public space. She'd forgotten his face, what he looked like. She'd woken up in a hospital bed with her brother looking down at her, frowning. 'You almost scared us, V.' He had said. "We'll go find a dancer!" The two girls said after they glanced between Ivette and the man in the suit. He was cute, and they knew how stressed she was. "Maybe you should stay here and talk to Mr. Keyboard Player." Destiny said, and Ivette frowned. "Pianist. Didn't you ever pay attention back in school?" To which Destiny rolled her eyes, a clear indication that no, she had not. Once they had their drinks, the two made a beeline for a dark haired man.


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The two were left alone and Cedric wasn't sure it was such a great idea. It would have been better if the two girls had dragged their friend off behind them. It was his own fault. Why had he allowed that single chink, that impression that he was open and willing? That he was free? But she was there, and she was correcting her friends and calling his precious piano a piano rather than a keyboard. They'd gone off to admire Cedric's wares, and she remained to admire Cedric. There was no rejection there. But what was the harm? He was only talking to her. She was on one side of the bar, he was on the other. "So. Are you the designated driver or do you just prefer to keep your wits?" he asked. It crossed his mind it might have been an insenitive question, but she looked young and healthy and nothing at all like an addict should. Though, not all addicts wore their addictions on their sleeves. He could attest to that.


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"I'm actually a year and a few months sober." She said, hardly shy about it as she turned her attention back from her friends and to the man standing on the opposite side of the bar. "It also helps, really, as they get themselves into a lot of trouble." A frown played across her lips as she considered it. By the end of the night, she was sure she'd have to peel Lucretia off of the ground and deliver her to her boyfriend. "Someone has to be the adult." There was a shake of her head, a chuckle.

Her best friends were troublemakers, but good women. "I'm sorry they don't know the difference between a keyboard and piano, I think anything more than ten keys is too difficult for her to comprehend." She admitted, looking over her shoulder as she watched them look towards the dancing man. He was attractive, not too much older than they were. "You're the owner of Apollo Damona, aren't you?" She asked, due to the way he was dressed.


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Cedric laughed. It was so out of place, but he laughed because he'd thought he was safe, and yet he'd said exactly the wrong things. "I apologise," he said, though she didn't seem at all phased about his question, nor did she hesitate to answer it. He followed her glance toward her friends and then back again, and shrugged his shoulders as she apologised on their behalf. He then nodded. Ben was busy tending bar and Cedric should have been helping. But he was talking to a customer. That was part of the job, right? He was keeping the sober driver entertained. "Cedric Costello," he said, offering his hand over the bar. It would be cold to the touch. But some people naturally ran cold, didn't they? He was surprised there weren't more people calling him out for being what he was. But he'd been lucky. No one ousted him as a vampire. He knew he must have been covering his tracks properly; but then, he'd not had as many tracks to cover, lately. He'd offered his name, in the hopes that she would give hers in return.


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"You don't need to apologize." She smiled, recognizing the laugh. "It's not something I'm ashamed of. It was a troubled part of my past, but I overcame it and here I am." Her hand lifted to rest against her throat as she mentioned overcoming her addiction, she knew it wasn't gone. It was still there, bubbling beneath the surface. It had only become a different design, a different constant desire. It was the pain that went with the pleasure, the way fangs sank into her throat and her brain just went white. Ivette moved her hand to take his giving it a firm shake. "Ivette McKinley." Her name wasn't anything special, it wasn't anything odd. It was just normal and she'd always been one who enjoyed it. His hand was icy and she lifted her gaze to look at his features. The vampires were often cold, she didn't think she'd ever touched any one of them warm. "It's nice to meet you, Cedric." She leaned forward unconsciously, folding her arms to rest them against the countertop. "Your club is beautiful. Kind of old fashioned."


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"Thank you," he said. Was that a reaction he detected, when she felt how cold he was? Did she suddenly warm to him a little more? He knew he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be imagining his hand in place of hers as she touched her own throat. He could imagine his lips where her fingers rested; he could imagine her body beneath his. Wasn't it always the way? Wasn't it always what he tried not to imagine? He cleared his throat and glanced up at the club, the curve of the stairs as they led up to the rooms where the girls and boys sometimes took their paying toys. That was the allure, wasn't it? Word got around. This wasn't just a strip club. These weren't just dancers, in all their natural beauty. This was a bordello, and these girls and boys got their own bonus on top of their above-board pay. "It's newly renovated," he said. He should have continued to talk about the club. Should have, could have. Didn't. "How do you get your kicks these days, Ivette?" he asked, gaze weighted with a confidence behind the question that he should not have summoned. It was a risky question. It was a sensitive question. "It can't be easy, being a year and a few months sober and watching your friends have the time of their lives..."


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They called what she was a blood doll, didn't they? It was a question that she wondered as she moved her hand to collect her drink and take a sip. After she set it back down, the woman considered the times she had been bitten and the occasional times that she could remember it all. Vampires. It was such an amusing thought, that they were real threats in Harper Rock. That they walked around, that they died. That they came back. Was this man a vampire? She wondered it as she could still feel the lingering coolness of his hand. Sure, people were cold, but she didn't think it would stay that cold. Even if one was handling ice on a regular basis. "I remember it being called something else when I was younger." She said, the idea of it making her wonder if everything was the same. Did it have a double meaning? Was he just like the last owner? "It isn't easy, no. But I manage. I gave up alcohol and drugs for something with a better reaction." She didn't miss the glance of his towards the stairs. "I let men and women give me a bit of a rush and give me what I need as they take what they need to sustain themselves." Sometimes, it was sexual. There was a vampire who hadn't given up his name who did that. She knew blood thieves were in it for the power, but herself? It was all about the pleasure. "It's almost better than ecstasy."


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The answer that Cedric received was not the one he was expecting. It was almost illicit in nature, though it was not explicit. She could have been talking about anything, and Cedric couldn't be certain. He arched a brow and almost wanted to reach for a drink, though he couldn't exactly consume one. Old habits died hard. He couldn't help the way his eyes did their damnedest to rake over Ivette's curves. It was hard when the bar was in the way. And then he thought of Castalia, and visibly flinched. No, he told himself. He couldn't be thinking this. He couldn't be having this conversation. But he was intrigued. And it was just a conversation. Nothing more, nothing less. "Yes, I like to think it's classier now," he said, trying instead to look around the club, to instead think about all that he had changed in the place to make it better. It certainly was busier than it used to be. It used to be a dump, a slimy hole. Not it was a destination. "And you have me intrigued. What exactly is this drug that's better than ecstasy, almost? I might have to try to get my hands on some..."


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“Certainly is from what I remember in the past. The staff is better looking, surely.” She made a soft hum, the noise one that she made when she was often considering. “It’s not a drug per say, an act, really.” Was it even an act? A high? She’d never bothered going to get her blood tested for any toxin that may enter her bloodstream on the evenings that she fed. Perhaps it was the bite itself, something that increased dopamine levels. She knew there was a direct connection between it and users of certain drugs, of the ones she’d been so dependent on for a couple of years. “Some vampire,” She said, lowering her voice as she smiled at him, “Prefer a little more enjoyment to their meal when there’s consent. Isn’t that what we all want anyway, a little bit of peace and understanding? It’s not a bad thing.”


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A smile curved Cedric's lips. He was a vampire, and cold to the touch, but he felt the flush of heat, the desire, the need to feed. The promise of something more, and no. He couldn't do this, not here. But he was hungry. And he was sick of blood bags. He was sick of stale blood. Yes, he preferred blood infused with lust but... well, could he? He didn't have to go the whole way. He didn't have to... even go upstairs. They didn't have to go upstairs! They could go to one of the booths, mostly hidden away. She would get what she wanted, and he would get what he wanted. He would have her consent. He might even give her a little money for her trouble. "Consent certainly does make things easier," he said, straightening. Ben had things under control again. Cedric looked over his shoulder, to one of the booths by the bar; it was empty. It was dark. It was where he usually sat to get caught up on paperwork. It had a good view of the club but was still out of the way. "You know you can get paid for that kind of thing?" he said. He was still trying to talk himself out of it. But he'd made up his mind. So much so that when he talked, his teeth gleamed -- now sharp. Now visible.


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It was something that she and her friends did. Donate their time and their blood. The idea of payment had actually never crossed their minds. Ivette knew that there was a shortage of blood supplies at one point - she had to donate it for her mother because they’d had trouble finding a match. Was it because of vampires? She’d always assumed they liked it fresh. Some, she knew, fed on animals - after all, she’d witnessed one doing so and ended up becoming a meal. She’d remembered the man’s face though. Handsome and angelic, the terror on his features the next time that she’d seen him. It had been a long time, though. A year and a half, maybe? “I’ve never given it a thought. It’s usually a service - I get what I need, they get what they need.” Ivette recognized that glint, the sight of his fangs. She wasn’t afraid. Instead, she reached over to cover her hand with his and smirked. “Would you like to taste?”


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Cedric should have been more cautious. In the city's current state, there could be spies everywhere. There could be hunters infiltrating every club, pub, and bar. They could be questioning every person of importance, every boss, every employee, going about their business slowly and stealthily to weed out every blood sucker there was. They could be putting names on a list so that if the cure still existed, if it were weaponised, they could come and quickly, easily take out every target. And yet, he couldn't resist. Maybe he could have were it not for her hand on his. Her hand, so warm. Warmed by the promise of fresh blood. Fresh. It wasn't a crime. He was doing nothing wrong. It was everything right, actually. He cleared his throat, and nodded. "Yes. I would like a taste," he said and nodded toward the free booth. "And you should consider thinking of a price. Fresh blood isn't easy to come by these days. Good opinion of vampires is slipping. Finding willing donors is a rarity," he said. Or, so he assumed. He'd not honestly tried for a while.


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“It’s not as common as it used to be.” She admitted as she straightened up, letting go of his hand before she lifted her own to her neck. She brushed her hair aside, revealing it and readjusted the necklace she wore. It would sit lower against her skin, not in the way for him to feed. “Some of us quit after the secrecy went away. Others decided to fall quiet after the idiot brigade started trying to recruit.” She explained with a sigh, “Little old me, though? I don’t have time for that nonsense.” Ivette explained before she made her way to the booth. She slid in afterwards, choosing to slide in backwards so that he’d be able to see her proper curves. The hem of her skirt rose just enough to reveal more of her tanned skin before she settled. Her thighs bare as it sat higher than it had at the stool. “I’ll think of a price regarding the bite.” She smirked once he was closer, leaning into the cushions. Removing a hair tie from her wrist, she quickly tied the loose waves away so it wouldn’t be in the way.


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Cedric followed Ivette along the bar and slipped out the side just in time to follow her. He got a good view of her backside as well as her front. Just for blood, he repeated. Over and over in his mind, he summoned Castalia's body to mind, her face, her smile, her curves. It didn't work as well as it should. Now he was projecting. What would it be like to be able to do the things to her that he could do to someone else...? Did he really want to kill this girl? Could he? Yes. He could. She was a sheet of ice on a flat road and he hadn't seen her until he was on top of her, and now he was slipping, sliding, unable to stop. Something changed. A switch flipped and he was no longer just the nice looking bar owner. He was the hunter. The predator. And they would start in the booth but then they could move elsewhere, couldn't they? He slipped into the booth after Ivette and didn't even realise he'd done it until it was too late -- his fingers slipped over her exposed thigh, looming over her as his lips pressed to her neck. He was not awkward. He was not timid. He was not shy. He knew what he wanted, and he went for it.


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It was a nice club. She wasn’t lying or trying to get any further than she needed. Her friends had made the right call. Had either of them known that Cedric was a vampire? She doubted it. Even if one couldn’t throw a stone in the city without smacking one, it was only a coincidence. One that she didn’t mind, not with the sound of music playing. Of the excitement in her veins waiting for that hit, of her friends giggles towards the man dancing for them. The last time she’d been fed from had been a week before, she typically gave herself a few days to heal between. She knew it was supposed to be at least a week, but sometimes, such as this one, it was too tempting. As she felt his lips against her neck, Ivette let out a soft sigh. The anticipation that always followed that sensation as the coolness from his flesh tickled the area was something that got her. It was without fail every time, the want. The feel. It was always in that moment where she was hyper aware of the proximity of the other body against hers. Sometimes clothed, sometimes not. It never mattered to her, not in the end.


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There was no hesitation. Ivette didn't push Cedric away. She didn't ask him to stop, or to go slower. He still had Castalia in his mind; when he kissed Ivette's neck, he was kissing Castalia's. He'd never bitten Castalia, not with the intention to feed, however. No, that was her job. It was a mistake to remember that, too; it was a mistake to recall how it aroused him, to have her teeth in his flesh. His arm wrapped around Ivette's waist, his knee between her legs, forcing her skirt a little higher and his fingers along with it. They pressed into her flesh just as his teeth sunk into the tender skin of her neck; there was a pop as the sharp canines broke the vein, and a groan of absolute pleasure as hot, fresh blood spilled over his tongue. This was both right and wrong. This was securing blood in a consensual manner. No one was being harmed. No one was being slighted. But he could have taken from the wrist. He could have forced distance. Instead, he was already thinking about a private room and a bed and glorious, heavenly relief.


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She gave a noise of pleasure, her hands moving to his chest just as her mind began to fog over, as his teeth pierced her throat. Ivette felt her body beginning to grow heavy beneath the man, becoming pliable to his desires. She could feel a slight sting of pain that quickly faded to that euphoric rush. It was always similar to a buzz at first for her, where one could decide to keep going or quit drinking for the night. The fact she’d been an addict always made it hard to quit. She always wanted more, to feel more. The word slipped past her lips, her body reacting to his touch as she shivered and her eyes fell shut.


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It crossed Cedric's mind that he should have curtains installed around these booths. Would it look too stuffy? Or was it just so that he could satiate his desires? Stupid, of course, to do so after the fact; to think that he could take her, right here and right now in the middle of a busy club. There was a thrill in the thought. He could let her go, only to find her later. Away from the club. Maybe even the next night. Next week, when the effects of the sudden pregnancy were only mild, barely there. Put distance between this encounter and her death so that it could not be traced back to him. The woman sighed and swooned, and Cedric held her close so she would slip. His fingers inched higher until he found the lace of her underwear. No, this was wrong on more accounts than one. She was intoxicated by the venom in his bite. This was the high she sought. This was the drug that was better than ecstasy. Although she'd hinted that sex might be involved in these transactions, she'd not said, outright, that it was. He'd have to wait. He should have waited. He should have introduced foreplay. He should have bitten her afterwards. Now it was too late. Now, it would be a few hours before she was lucid enough for it to feel right. But that didn't stop him from holding her like he might hold a lover. It didn't stop him from imagining all the things he wanted to do to her. With her willing participation. For now, he took only her blood; he took no more advantage than that. It was sweet, and it was like eating a medium-rare steak at a five-star restaurant after only grilled cheese sandwiches for a whole ******* year.


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For all that could be said about her, Castalia was not an angry person at default. If anything, it was that she was one who enjoyed herself at leisure. She liked to read, to spend time with her partner, to dance and to sing. When she was human, she’d always been able to handle her emotions except for that one time of the month where she’d weep over cute commercials or when a boy would get the girl in a romance novel she’d found. As a vampire, well, her emotions were... conflicting. She felt things deeper than she liked. Love, lust, happiness were the ones she preferred. Sadness, depression, they were there but she could set them aside. The worst that she preferred to hide were anger and jealousy, even if they took a lot out of her. She used to be able to simply get angry and walk it off. Now, depending on how angry she was, she cried. It was all a hassle, and as she entered Apollo Damona after dealing with her lawyer, Thomas Owens, she only wanted one emotion to feel: Love. She went to the bar first, finding Ben and smiling at the man, greeting him in brief chitchat before asking. “Have you seen Cedric?” If he wasn’t at the piano, she knew she could likely find him in his office, but she knew one of them would know where to find him. But as she asked the question, she saw the slight flash of worry in his eyes. The man glanced over his shoulder, starting to say he was in a meeting before she followed his gaze. He didn’t have to tell her which booth he was in, she recognized the suit. The shoes. And she didn’t miss the bare legs sticking out, nor the pumps. She had half the mind to borrow a drink from one of the guests in the club. Instead, she moved over to the booth and folded her arms in front of her chest. It was the positioning of his hand that had her temper flaring, her voice coming out cold, “Should I just break her neck now? Or are you going to tell me about it later, darling?”


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Cedric was lost. It was a nightly struggle, to resist temptation, and every time he was tempted he was plagued by guilt. By the time he got home to Castalia it was like he'd run a marathon and won yet another battle in an ongoing war. Tonight was the night that he would lose; not that he had yet lost, but the odds weren't looking great. But with the hot, fresh blood sliding down his throat he wasn't thinking about what he was going to tell his other half. He wasn't thinking about whether he'd lie to her or whether he'd come clean. He wasn't thinking about anything but how he would dispose of this body later; he'd slipped into a previous mindset and the possibly consequences hadn't yet reared their ugly heads. He was lost in his imagination, and it wasn't a clean place in there. It was filled with naked women, naked men, a harem of sex and debauchery. When he heard Castalia's voice it was through a haze, but it was right beside him, beneath him, in his hold. He tried to understand what she was saying. Who was she talking about? Whose neck did she want to break? It took a good five seconds before Cedric came to his senses and opened his eyes; he couldn't see Castalia, but he could feel her behind him. Instantly, he let go of the human he held. He dropped his hand from her thigh as if it were a hot potato right out of the boiling water. The consequences had snuck up on him, and had sucker-punched him in the gut, leaving him breathless. He hated that he couldn't hide it. As a male, he couldn't hide what he had been thinking and nor did he even attempt to try. He just stood and hung his head, hoping the Ivette was at least coherent enough to pull herself up, to sit up. He at least tried his best to pull down the skirt of her dress before he turned to face his maker. What could he say? There was nothing to say. Everything felt like a lame excuse. "Don't," he finally managed. "It's not her fault. It's my neck you should break, not hers," he said.


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She needed to remember that it was his curse that was the culprit. Not the man himself, and not the girl in the booth. As she waited, Castalia wanted nothing more than to drag him off the girl. Even though she knew it was a possibility as they discussed, it didn’t mean it made it hurt even less. That it didn’t piss her off. Castalia had to remind herself that the taste of fresh blood was better than bagged. She couldn’t fault him, either. The girl was pretty, but instead of saying anything further for the time being, she clenched her jaw. It was an unconscious action when she bewitched her. The desire to make her fix herself was stronger than her awareness and as Cedric straightened up, she bared her fangs. At least he didn’t act like Nolan would have when she was angry, to grab at her. To try to console her. “Get up.” She growled at the young woman as she began to stir properly. Her desire to have her fix the dress helped, her hands moving to straighten out the green fabric. “And get away from him.” Ivette didn’t understand why she wanted to obey the angry woman that stood tense. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt the need to beg, but she kept her mouth shut as she put her hair back down. She smoothed out her dress and scooted to the far side of the booth, watching with wide eyes. “I haven’t ruled that out yet.” Her fingernails drummed against her bare arm. And as mad as she was, she hadn’t. Even if she was furious with him, she wouldn’t. She knew it. If anything, she’d just rip into his throat later. “******* hell, Cedric. In public. In the damn business that I didn’t like in the first place once I found out what it was.” Her attention, however, went from the man whom she loved to the girl. “And in public?” She then scowled. “I should probably...” Ivette started before Castalia cut her off with a dark glare.

[Castalia]

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No, Cedric did not grab at Castalia, nor seek to console her. Instead, his jaw was clenched and no excuse to be found; if she was angry, she had every right to be -- even if he had, in the beginning, warned her that this might happen. Even then he'd been tense. He'd been so reluctant to commit knowing that in doing so, he would be setting himself up for failure. And it had been so long now, so long that he had actually succeeded that it seemed like his success negated any warning of failure. The longer he'd remained faithful, the worse the fall. The way Ivette obeyed Castalia didn't surprise Cedric. The woman looked terrifying, her anger like a pulsing aura. Cedric was strong, he could take care of himself; he was taller than she was, swarthier. And yet she scared even him. Because if she chose to hurt him, if she chose to react that way, he wouldn’t stop her. He wouldn't defend himself. He wouldn't even defend Ivette if Castalia truly wanted to go after her. He'd been plotting the girl's death himself, hadn't he? What did it matter, the way she went out? Cedric flinched. In public, yes, but the booth was mostly out of sight. And, in a place like this, it wasn't unusual to discover people in intimate positions. But, he was the owner. And he should have been more professional. "I knew our clothes would stay on if I kept it public," he said, honestly. It's how it had started out, anyway. Should he tell her what his plans had been? "I might have thought about taking her to a room," he said. There were no 'buts'. There were no excuses. Just facts.


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He had warned her, and she still understood. She was angry, but she knew it was more at the situation they were in rather than at the man himself. He had held out longer than she had expected, always wondering on when he would return home smelling of soap. Turning her attention from her partner to the human girl, watching the way she tried to make herself look as insignificant as possible, Castalia clenched her jaw. "Leave your name and number with the bartender and get the hell out of here." She said, watching as her lips parted as she started to argue before the brunette flashed her fangs. It wasn't an order, she could have protested, but the moment a little growl escaped, Ivette scooted out of the booth and flashed Cedric an apologetic frown. Castalia watched as she made her way to Ben as she'd been instructed. Briefly, in the back of her mind, she knew she'd enthralled her. Afterwards, her gaze returned to Cedric. Her heart clenched as she saw him visibly flinch. "Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time you and I found a booth." She muttered to herself. Not that she particularly regretted that night, after all, it was what led them here, wasn't it? She was in love with him. She was worried about him. "I would have preferred you have gone to privacy, because at least then, I wouldn't have walked in and witnessed it here." Her fingertips pressed into the skin of her arm, leaving small crescent shaped marks from her nails. She couldn't pinpoint what made her so angry. It was something she realized as she stood there before ultimately stepping back. She didn't trust herself not to hit him. She wanted to, but she wouldn't. At least not in a light manner, or if she was annoyed with him like she had with his little black book.

"I'm not angry about the girl. Or even that it's getting difficult for you not to get your dick wet. Don't ******* be stupid and do something where someone can see you." She hissed between her teeth, appreciative of the music and the fact that no one was really giving them any mind.


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Again, Cedric cringed. Why? Not because of anything Castalia barked at him, but because when she told Ivette to leave her name and number at the bar he was happy. There would be a way for him to continue what they had started. It was a split second of a thought. It was unlikely that Ivette would want to come anywhere near him, not with the chance that Castalia might find out. Cedric had never seen her so terrifiying. She'd always been so understanding, but then he'd never done anything to make her question her faith. And now here he was, struggling against a lust that he could not control. He took a deep breath. "Wouldn't you have? If you'd come in and Ben had told you I'd gone up to one of the rooms with some woman, would you have left it at that? I didn't ..." he was going to say that he hadn't wanted to take her to a room, but that was a lie now, wasn't it? He'd planned to. It had graduated from one taste to wanting the whole hog. He was ashamed in himself, and Castalia should have been ashamed, too. Except she said she didn't care. She didn't care about the girl, she said. She should have cared. "Alright then," Cedric said with a curt nod. "I'll get her phone number from the bar, and take her somewhere private. Not here," he added, far too calm for it to be normal. "I'll have to kill her afterwards. Best not to do that where I work," he said. That was the smart thing to do; it was what he realised, now that he had some wits about him. If he was going to find some woman to ****, he'd do so somewhere else. Just like he used to. Castalia had always said she'd understood but he'd thought she was saying it out of kindness.


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Was it really only him that she was concerned about? She wondered this as she lifted her hand to brush her hand through her long hair. The woman was jealous, she knew it. She didn’t know what to do about it. Twisting her hair into a messy bun, she set her hands on her hips and gave the man a look. He was so handsome. She loved him and all of his faults. It didn’t bother her that he needed to get his rocks off, she knew how his curse was. She knew the toll that it took on him, the way his body became more tense; she had noticed the way he was becoming quieter even towards her. Truthfully, it was the fact he had started in public that bothered her. The fact that she had been in his business when it all began. Yes, it was something she did - but she hadn’t been killing from club as of late. “I wouldn’t have walked in on it and he tried telling me you were in a meeting. Might want to tell him he will want to keep the panic from his eyes, though.” She scoffed as she took in the bartenders appearance from where she stood, her gaze returning to her other half. “Get your dick wet if you need to, Cedric, just be smart about it. I don’t want you hurt. I don’t want some fuckwit cop shooting at you because they simply assume you are a threat.” Her gaze went to Ben as she considered his words, “But leave the girl be. I’ll deal with her.” She could feel it, the connection. It wasn’t as strong as what she’d had with Rhys, but it was there. Was it because she still wanted to break her pretty little neck? Castalia didn’t miss how calm he’d gotten, either.

“I’m not clueless on how your curse hurts you. It hurts you more than it does me, and lives end. It’s a cruel place, Harper Rock. I’ll see you at home. Go find some chick to spread their legs for you.” Even as she said the words, she felt that jealousy twist into rage the moment they left a bitterness on her tongue. Her gaze went away from him, to one of the dancers. It was a good thing she left her Jeep at home that evening and ridden with Ramsey. She would need the long walk to calm down.


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Cedric's gaze shifted to Ben, too. In the back of his mind, it was all he could think about. The arousal pitched its way through his veins like a drug; he was on a high and the drug had walked away. He wanted more, but was being denied that which had started it. He'd have to go to some other club somewhere and find someone else. There was always a process. But what did he expect, anyway? Castalia had scared the **** out of Ivette. Even if Cedric did track her down, would she really be willing to pick up where they had left off? It angered him that he was even thinking these things, that he should even be allowed to. If their roles were reversed, Cedric didn't know what he would do, but he wasn't sure he'd so easily give her permission to go get her rocks off elsewhere, with some other man. But she'd said it before, and she repeated it now. For the second time in as many minutes she'd said she didn't care; she'd said he should go find someone to spread her legs for him and he finally snapped. "I am not sure why a policeman would shoot me for having sex," he said. He wasn't going to kill Ivette in public. That would be stupid -- though there'd been witnesses to see him with her and it wouldn't take a genius detective to connect the dots. Cedric was focused on the immediate. Why was he angry? He should still be contrite and apologetic. He should be on his hands and knees asking Castalia to take him with her. They would go home together, and he would school himself. He would reign in his lack of willpower and put everything back in order. He would resist, for her. He should. Instead he stepped out of the booth and straightened his jacket.

"I'll see you at home," was all he said as he stepped past Castalia and walked past the bar. Past Ben. He was headed for the office where he knew he had left his phone, wallet, and keys. From there he would head out to some other corner of the city, somewhere he wouldn't be recognised. And somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he should even bother washing before going home. If Castalia didn't care, then what did it matter if he came home smelling of some other woman?


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She knew better than to speak from anger. The vulgarity of her words were enough to remind her, even if she’d always reassured him that she would be okay if he needed to get relief. However, the moment they left her lips that time, she felt a squirming sensation in the pit of her stomach as she wondered would he really? Did she really not care? No. Castalia knew that deep down, she did care. And as he told her that he’d see her at home, she was sure of it that no, she didn’t like that idea at all. She supposed it was a conflict between being a good, supportive sire and being his and only his. Castalia wondered if it was part of it. She wondered how she could tell the need to balance to **** right off as he straightened his jacket. “Right. You will.” She snapped, turning sharply on her heel as that twisting sensation fell in her gut. As she slowed near the bar, Castalia took the information from Ben and caught her reflection in a small mirror. The shock of her corpse appearance would have once had her smashing it instinctively, but now, it only allowed her to focus in on the diamond quaver resting just above the curve of her breasts. The only time she’d taken the necklace off since he’d given it to her was to clean it. Otherwise, it always remained on her body. Something beautiful that always reminded her of her other half. Her hand lifted to rest against the diamonds, a frown crossing the bloodied, cracked lips in the mirror as she headed out. Her fingertips still resting against the jewelry. She’d been raised that monogamy was important, that she should only be the man she wanted to be with. Sure, her first marriage had failed, but did she really want to let Cedric sleep with someone else? The answer was obvious to her as she sat down on the hood of his car, waiting. Her arms folded stubbornly across her chest. Her stomach was in knots as she hoped he would take his vehicle, rather than a taxi.


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Cedric avoided looking at Ben as he exited the bar; it wouldn't have mattered if he'd looked up to greet the bartender, as Ben was studiously avoiding Cedric, too. The poor guy had been witness to an argument between his boss and his boss's missus -- hardly something an employee wanted to witness. It was unprofessional, too. Basically making out with another woman on a couch within view of the bar was unprofessional as well, and Cedric could understand Castalia's anger. He could be contrite in regards to how he had gone about the act. He wanted to be contrite about the act itself, too. But instead he was angry. If their roles were reversed he wouldn't want Castalia sleeping with other men, even if she had warned him of possible failure to be monogamous. It even made no sense to him, where his anger stemmed from; that he had warned her, that she knew he could slip and sleep with other women, it should have given him a free pass. Her understanding, her allowance, should have made him feel relieved. In part, he was. But it was a very small part.

If he was allowed to sleep with other women, then it meant she should be allowed to sleep with other men. And there'd be nothing he could do about it. Not really. And he did not want that to happen. And yet, he made no move to stop. The keys jangled in his fingers, his furiously frowning gaze steadfast upon the footpath. It wasn't until he'd pressed the fob and the lights had danced as the car's doors unlocked that he looked up. "Castalia, the hood..." he said, palm up as he gestured to the car. His precious car. Not that she was heavy enough to dent the hood, he hoped. His lips pressed into a tight line. He couldn't deny that, regardless of the car's hood and possibly damage to the paintwork, he was relieved to see her there.


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Her fingertips drummed against the sides of her arms as she waited. She couldn’t imagine how her life would have turned out had she not found Cedric, and she couldn’t see not being with him any longer. There had been feeling for him since the beginning, the sensation of being drawn to him still there. Even though she was still angry at him, a mixture of hurt sitting beneath it. She bounced her foot idly as she looked up at the building in front of her. “Should have burned down ages ago.” She mumbled, but she knew it was successful. She knew Cedric was successful and that she was proud of him. It was just the anger talking. She reached into the space between her breast and her bra, collecting her phone and the piece of paper with the girl’s information on it. Looking down at the device, she typed in the woman’s number and then her name. As she heard a door click shut and footsteps fall in her direction, Castalia turned off the power after clicking save and put it back into place. The paper in her hand, however, was being torn into pieces. Her nails and strength allowing her to turn it into confetti within only a few minutes as her gaze lifted and the words caused her to give a soft huff. “As if I’m heavy enough to damage your car.” She said as she stood up and moved over to Cedric. Her hand moved to his hip, her gaze softening as she frowned.

There weren’t many times where she had admitted she was wrong in her life, it was a prideful thing, especially when it involved someone she loved. She didn’t back down easily, or particularly liked to apologize. But he meant more than all of it. After a few moments, she said, “All of those times I said I’d be alright if you needed to relieve yourself? I lied. I’m not.” Castalia knew when to cut right to it when she needed to. This was one of those times. “I don’t know when I started trying to balance being your sire and your partner, but I want you to come home with me. **** needing to get laid, **** the curse, **** me being jealous.”


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Cedric shook his head. it wasn't so much the dents that he was worried about, nor her weight. It was whatever she was wearing; sliding on and off could cause scratches in the paintwork. They could be fixed quite easily, but that wasn't the point. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his shoulders squared as Castalia approached. He dropped the subject of the car. In the grand scheme of the evening, it didn't matter. There were other things to argue. Other things to discuss. Castalia had dismissed the curse, dismissed Cedric's need to get laid. She was jealous, and unhappy, as Cedric had known she would be. He'd been surprised that she'd so easily allowed him his freedom. And now it had come to pass, that thing that he had warned her about. And she wanted to fight against it. It could have been a term or condition written into the contract of their relationship. What kind of man would that make him, though, if he wanted to argue his right to sleep with other women? "I need release, Castalia. I can't dismiss it that easily," he started, pained. "I assumed you wouldn't like it, even though you always said you didn't mind. I knew it would be an issue and so I abstained. I remained monogamous only to you. Until tonight, and I slipped. Like I said I might, like I warned you I could. And you're not happy. We can go home, but it's easy for you to say '**** the curse' but sex... it is the only thing I am thinking about..." he said. And he didn't know why he was saying it. He didn't know why he was arguing. He should have just nodded, and taken Castalia home.


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They had nearly made it to a year. All in all, Castalia was proud of how long Cedric had lasted before falling to his curse. Of course, there was no way in hell she would admit it to him. She understood his need. She understood how the fact the two tested boundaries regularly made it harder on him. He was doing it all for her. He was putting himself through physical hell for them. The small woman frowned as she considered it all. She didn’t know what to say, what could she say? If she gave him permission, there would be another argument. If she didn’t, he would be in pain - she didn’t miss the sound of it in his voice. “I hate how much this hurts you.” The woman frowned. She said the words often, but she meant them. She felt helpless, that she couldn’t help ease his troubles. That she couldn’t take his pain from him. Would it be the same if he slept with someone else and they were in a relationship? Could they make it work? Castalia sighed as she considered what all could be said. What all couldn’t be said. “Is it absolutely sex that you need?” She asked, lifting her gaze to his as she spoke. They’d found a way to make some things work. There were ways. “You say you need release, but is it specifically gettin’ fucked that you need?” Her accent slipped, the southern drawl becoming more prominent with agitation slipping out. When Castalia caught it, she buried it back into place. She wouldn’t get angry again.

“You did warn me, and it’s one of the reasons I’m still here. Why I’m standing in front of you.” Castalia knew that had she been blindsided and not known, it would have hurt more. She didn’t think she would have walked out on him, but she certainly wouldn’t have gone home for a night or so until she calmed down. “Maybe you should let yourself think about it when we get home. We can try to find a way to restrain your wrists so you can’t pin me, just let yourself fall into pleasure.” If it would work. Her mind was racing a mile a minute. Her thoughts turning to things they could do, things she could specifically do for him. To him.


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The sigh was heavy. Gettin' fucked, she said. He could hear the accent, and he knew what it meant. He took issue with the wording. It was so crass, but why shouldn't it be? He sighed because he knew the answer to that question, and he didn't like it. Yes, that was what he needed. It's what he thought he needed. He wanted to feel that body beneath him, hair tangled in his fingers, flesh against flesh and... release. Was that what the curse was, then? It wasn't just the sex. The sex was just a means to an end. Was the curse instead the instinctive drive to procreate? Something dark inside of him was driving him to create monsters. He groaned, the realisation a slow crawl. It had always been there. This, then, might have nothing to do with the way he was turned. Blaming Castalia was not something he ought to do. Was this instead about how he had abandoned his own child? Was this his punishment? To be driven to procreate but suffer the consequences should he ever allow it to happen?

"Yes, Castalia. I think that is very much what I need. But there's more to it than that," he said. He was ashamed of the answer; he was ashamed that he had almost succumbed, but regardless of whether they went home or not the mood was gone. What Castalia had suggested sounded like heaven, but it also sounded like a bandaid. He always had a good time, he always enjoyed the things they did together. They'd found ways around, and they were glorious, but they always ended the same way -- and it was never anything he admitted, because he didn't want to insult Castalia, or make her feel unworthy. He never did feel fully satisfied. There was always something missing. And now he knew what it was. His seed needed to be planted. It sounded crass. It was crass. "Let's just go home, yeah?" he said, slipping around to the driver's side of the car.


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She felt selfish, given everything he put himself through for her. The woman pressed her lips together as she tried to think of what they could do to help him ease through. Did it upset her that she didn’t seem to be able to fully satisfy the man she held so dear to her heart? Of course. She wouldn’t admit, too, that she felt it was the reason her previous marriage had failed - she hadn’t been enough. Even if she knew it wasn’t the case, she had her insecurities. She would always have her I securities and her thumb gently traced over his hip where she’d grasped him. “Home sounds fine to me.” She said quietly after a few moments, after taking in his words and letting them sink in. She lifted her hand to brush her fingers through her hair, her action a bit more rough than she normally would. Haggard. Castalia could still feel every ounce of frustration, every ounce of anger that radiated from her thin frame previously. She, too, stepped back and to the car, her fingertips lingering against the cool metal as her gaze fell to her reflection. Although it wasn’t something in person, she could see where the flesh had fallen away on her face. A jagged, torn edge revealing bone and teeth in one area of her mouth. Deep, sunken eyes. Limp, dull hair lacking shine. Her eyes closed and reopened, the reflection never changing. A reminder of what she’d become, what she’d done to him. “If you ever do slip up again, and I become livid with you. Just remember that I do love you, Cedric, no matter what comes from my mouth. Your black blood is something you have... my emotions have always ran rampant after Kika turned me. Acheron implied I was being overly dramatic.” She said as she opened the door and moved to get inside, adjusting the skirt she wore so it was lower.


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Cedric watched every movement, every pause, every shift of her lip or twitch of her brow. He watched when he knew that Castalia couldn't see; but when she got into the car and closed the door, he looked away. He stared forward, kuckles white on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the way she pulled her skirt down and he didn't know whether it made him angrier, or whether it made him feel better. Without the temptation, the frustration wasn't as overwhelming. "You say that like you think you don't have reason to be angry," Cedric said. He knew that his own behaviour could be misconstrued; because he himself was angry, it might have been construed that he was right and Castalia was wrong, or that he for some reason thought that she shouldn't have been livid. He shook his head as he turned the key in the ignition, roughly pushing the gear into place as he pulled out from the curb. "You're not being overly dramatic, Cast. We're in a relationship and you caught me with another woman. I couldn't sit there and tell you that it wasn't what it looked like, because it was exactly what it looked like. You can't sit there and take it, because that's not how relationships work. And if I slip up again, you have every reason to be angry. And you'd have every reason to leave me. Just... it wasn't her fault, okay? It was mine..." he said, insinuating that if Castalia had any plans on hurting the woman, she shouldn't. It wouldn't happen again. Not with her, anyway.


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Once her skirt was settled, she crossed her ankles. Her eyes moved to the side mirror, taking in her ghastly appearance once more and the frown that had made its way onto broken, bloody lips. It was an eerie sight to see, one that she hated. “I’m not saying that I don’t have a right to be angry.” She frowned, “I am angry, I’m hurt. I feel as if I’m not enough for you. I know how much I mean to you, and I remember that you said if you could control it, I would be the only one you wanted to sleep with.” She have a soft shake of her head, “And I’m not sitting here taking it, either. You are still in trouble, mon amour, and you’ll have to figure out a way to make it up to me.” The woman sighed out. She leaned back in the seat, her fingertips curling against the hem of her skirt. “Cedric, relationships are about balance and compromise. You and I both knew the chance it would happen... I just honestly never expected to walk in on it. That is what upset me the most.” Truthfully, it was what it boiled down to. “I would have still been angry if I came to visit you and you had taken a shower because you slipped, but to see it, it hits harder.” She hadn’t missed what he was insinuating. It would have probably made her feel better, killing the girl in the long run, but, Castalia said, “I think I may have enthralled her and need to find it out. If I have, I likely will draw up a contract with her to see if she’d be interested in becoming a blood donor for you.”

It wasn’t something she’d considered lightly. Perhaps it would give him a better chance to not slip up, but, “I know you aren’t fond of blood bags nor feeding from men.” Castalia pulled at her hair once more before she let her hands fall to her lap. She twisted the cloth of her dress in her fingers, this time purposely revealing a small amount of thigh before smoothing it out again. “And leaving you would never solve anything, especially if I left you in a moment of anger. It’d piss me off further, truthfully.” Still, Castalia knew that the moment they got home, she’d want to begin to clean. It’d be a way for her to regain some control.


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Cedric scoffed and shook his head, but didn't yet speak. It was contradictory, to think that Castalia wanted to keep Ivette as a thrall for the purpose of being Cedric's personal blood bag. At first, it didn't stick; why would she reward him with the very woman she had caught him with? But then it clicked. Of course it would be controlled. A thrall, damned to do whatever their master asked of them. Of course the girl would be told only to feed Cedric, nothing more. She'd be restricted from doing anything else, from even trying -- and Cedric wouldn't try with a dead fish. Would he dare tell Castalia that half the allure of women's blood was the lust that thrashed through it? It was part and parcel of the curse. He instead kept that tidbit to himself. What did it matter? He'd been a good boy. A real hot-blooded human would still be a step up from the blood bags, filled with lust or not. "I'm sorry you walked in on it. I'm sorry you're upset. I'm glad I now know the truth and that you wouldn't be happy regardless -- despite the warnings. You should have just been honest to begin with," he said. He apologised because he knew that he should. He apologised becuase he was sorry; he could own up to his own faults even if he knew it was something he couldn't help. And he apologised because he didn't want to talk about it anymore. Now that he knew the truth, he needed the time to cool down, to think. He didn't look at Castalia or the flash of thigh; his knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, and he was driving a little over the speed limit. He was eager to get home.

"I don't blame you for wanting to enthrall someone to be my personal blood doll. You can tell her what to do, what not to do. If that's what you want, then so be it," he said. He felt caged, if he was going to be hoenst. It wasn't Castalia's fault; it was the curse. It was the need, and if he wasn't an honorable man it wouldn't matter. If he didn't have Castalia, he would be free to do what he needed to satisfy his desires. But because he wanted to make her happy, because he wanted to do the right thing, he was caged. But did he really want to be free? Did he want to live such a meaningless life? He couldn't talk to Castalia about it, not yet. So he held his silence.


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“I will now and in the future be outright honest.” She said after she felt that it was safe enough for her to speak - her emotions were beginning to boil again and Castalia didn’t trust them. They were a rollercoaster leading her down a path, the woman choosing to simply rest her fingertips against her lips. In some ways, Castalia knew she had given him too much credit that was truly hope on her end that he’d be able to manage. She fell silent so that she could try to calm down, and to try to find that little link in her mind that she knew she shared with Ramsey and Rhys. With the men, it had been easy to pick up on even in her foulest moods. Rhys had been immediate, the charm of the college boy increasing as she’d asked him to do things. The transition had been flawless, but truthfully Castalia didn’t like ordering any one around. She typically gave guidelines, but would she for this girl? Then again, she supposed on some level this was the same for their relationship. Cedric could not do the things he wanted to. And it was with that realization that her emotions went south. Her jaw tensed as she closed her eyes and tried to shut out the thoughts that welled around.

It was only when the car stopped and was in park that she let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in. “I didn’t purposely enthrall her, and I hate giving orders - they’re people, just as we are. I was going to draw up a legal contract that all of us can go over. I pay Ramsey and I paid Rhys. I think it’s fair I’m a little unhappy every now and then considering you’re becoming increasingly irate as the days pass.” She removed her keys from her purse, her thumb sliding over the one that she’d color coded blue for ‘home’ and shut the door behind her. There was no waiting for him, her shoes were off before she had the front door open and set in their respected place. Barefoot, she collected a notepad and pen before making her way to sit outside to overlook the lake. Rather than begin to do as she said, Castalia pulled her knees to her chest and simply stared out over the water.


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A legal contract. That was Castalia's idea? A legal contract. By the way she spoke of Ramsey and Rhys he assumed she meant that Castalia meant that Ivette would be paid, too. Paid to do what? Torture Cedric? He took a deep breath and didn't snap. He told himself not to snap. That wasn't Castalia's plan -- that's not what she intended. He knew that, and he couldn't accuse her of that. That would just make everything ten times worse. So when they reached the house and the car stopped, he waited two minutes before he followed. He waited and schooled his own anger; he talked himself into and out of starting the car and leaving, heading back into the city to some dive where she would never find him. In the end, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. He climbed the steps to the front door and went in the opposite direction Castalia had gone. Although the house was large, she would still hear the echoes of doors slamming; the cupboard where the towels were housed, a lamp sailing over the side of the stairs and crashing on the marble a floor below, the bathroom door. Pipes groaned to life as the taps were turned on. He'd pushed the plug into place so that the shower's water pooled at his feet. The scalding heat eased his muscles, but his fingers were still fists. The tiles copped a beating, knuckles splitting as they slammed once, twice, three times into the tiles. He stayed there until the water in the tub reached just past his knees. Then he turned off the taps and slipped beneath the surface. It was Chopin's 'Raindrops' he called to mind. He hummed it there, beneath the water, his airless body a dead weight at the bottom of the bathtub. He did not need to breathe, and thus had no need to break the surface. His fingers moved of their own accord, tracing the notes, imagining that they danced across the keyboard. He summoned calm.