Farah:
I follow after him throughout the house, taking in all the details that I can. It's a large house, so large in fact, that I'm not sure I'd actually call it a house so much as a manor or palace.
We're quiet. He doesn't speak, and I make no attempt to force a conversation. It's only when we suddenly enter the kitchen that he finally speaks, but it's not to me but rather a middle-aged woman who is working diligently at the stove.
'Sybil, what are you cooking?' he asks as he guides me towards a stool at the breakfast bar.
'Will you actually eat it, Sir?' she returns his question with one of her own.
'Not likely,' Everette replies as he sits on the stool next to my own, 'but Farah will.'
Sybil turns her head towards us, smiling at me sweetly.
'Is there anything you dislike, dear?' she asks.
Shaking my head, I struggle to answer her. I'm gobsmacked. I just can't believe how comfortable she is with Everette. She obviously knows what he is, and yet she doesn't seem even the smallest bit scared.
'I can eat anything,' I answer her eventually.
'That's good,' she says, offering me a wide, friendly smile. 'Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes.'
She doesn't seem surprised by my sudden appearance or by my humanity and I find myself wondering if Everette regularly brings girls back to his house. I almost giggle aloud as I realise that I'm jealous. I should be worrying that Everette is planning to kill me, but no, I'm jealous that I'm not the first girl he's killed.
Fuck's sake! I'm clearly off my bloody rocker!
My eyes wander around the room as I try to fight the urge to look at Everette. I have a lot of questions for him, but I can't possibly ask them in front of… Sybil.
I almost jump out of my skin when I feel his hand on my thigh. My eyes meet his abruptly as he squeezes my leg almost encouragingly.
Everette:
She's overwhelmed. That much is obvious.
What isn't so obvious is why I care. It shouldn't matter. I've practically kidnapped her, after all.
'Why did you bring me here?' she suddenly asks, nervously glancing towards Sybil.
I don't really know what to tell her. I can hardly tell her the truth, that even I don't know what I'm doing.
'You weren't safe,' I tell her, my honesty surprising me.
'Am I safe now?'
'No.'
She doesn't bristle or try to get away from me, instead she just sits there, accepting my answer.
Her voice is a whisper, strangely at contrast with Sybil's clattering of dishes, when she asks, 'Will you hurt me?'
'I don't know.'
'Do you want to?'
I don't answer her immediately. I don't want to disappoint her. Which is completely ridiculous.
Why the hell would I care about the feelings of an insignificant human?
Except I don't think for one second that she's insignificant.
At least not to me.
'Yes, I do,' I tell her sincerely.
Again, she doesn't baulk even though she should. She should be running for her life, trying to escape the ultimate predator, instead of preparing to eat with him.
'Farah,' I begin.
I don't know exactly what I want to tell her. Sighing, I stop myself. There's no point telling her that as much as I want to hurt her, I won't. It would be a lie.
I want to tell her to leave, while forcing her to stay. I want to bleed her dry, but I want her to live. My thoughts are a contradictory mess and so I choose to stay quiet, ignoring the building tension between us.
Sybil plates up two Full Englishes. She knows I won't eat it, but she gives it to me, anyway. It's habit. Routine. I think it helps her rationalise the fact that she works for a vampire.
It's not that I can't eat it, but rather I just don't want to. There are very few things that the humans eat or drink that us Vampires enjoy.
In fact, there may only be one; alcohol.
The rest is all pretty much tasteless. Some meats taste better than others, the richer the better, but nothing tastes as good as blood.
I toy with the food on my plate as Sybil leaves the room. I know I should say something to Farah, but I haven't got any idea what I can possibly say to her. I can't change the facts.
'Will you hurt me?' she asks again and the emotion I hear in her voice gives me cause to turn towards her.
I hate it. That sound. That pain.
'Farah, I can't promise I won't.'
'You're not going to let me leave, are you?'
I don't deny the truth in her words.
'Do you want to?' I ask instead.
'No.'
I breathe out heavily, relieved by that one tiny little word. I might kill her. I will almost certainly hurt her, but she will not leave.