I gasped, my breath shallow and jagged, each inhale tangled with agony, bitterness, and disbelief. How was I still breathing? Hadn't I just... died? Or maybe it wasn't my body that wanted to give up—maybe it was just my brain, deciding it had had enough of me for one lifetime.
It felt like my mind had short-circuited, shutting down in self-defense. I'd heard about this sort of thing—a defense mechanism, they called it. When trauma strikes, the brain retreats, cocooning itself in a haze so thick it feels like drowning. Maybe some of my brain cells had just thrown in the towel altogether. Honestly, I wouldn't blame them.
A broken, trembling mess. That was me right now.
The shivers wracked my body as the memories surged back—fragmented but vivid enough to make my skin crawl. Strangers' hands clawing at me. The disgusting, foreign sensation of being licked, kissed without consent. The sharp, bruising pain of fists landing on me, over and over.
Stop it, Leif. Just stop. Don't think about it. Don't feel it.
Another gasp tore through me, my breaths erratic, like I'd been suffocating moments ago and my lungs were still struggling to catch up. My chest ached, each rise and fall like a stab. My lips throbbed, swollen and raw, as if they wanted to remind me of what I desperately wanted to forget.
I couldn't even open my eyes. They felt puffy and scorched from all the desperate, uncontrollable crying.
Wait.
This wasn't the corridor. I wasn't on the cold floor anymore.
Something soft was beneath me—a mattress. A warm, slightly scratchy cover lay over me. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, but there was something else. Something oddly familiar.
It was the scent of cold sunshine and peppermint, breezing faintly around me like an invisible presence.
I froze. I knew that scent.
As my sluggish brain connected the dots, I sensed movement beside me, followed by a low, familiar voice.
"Little princess? Are you awake?"
It was quiet, almost gentle, though there was an undertone of something hurried, almost anxious. But the voice itself was still so typically indifferent—detached, as if it belonged to someone who didn't care.
A vampire's voice should be, of course.
I tried to open my eyes, willing myself to meet the source of that voice, but my body refused to cooperate. The effort was too much. I managed only a squint, everything around me blurry and incomprehensible.
So, I did the only thing I could. I spoke. Or at least, I tried to.
What came out wasn't my voice. It was hoarse, fractured, barely louder than a whisper.
"Vampire?" I croaked, my words trembling with exhaustion and something I didn't want to admit was fear. "Is that you?"
Please, I begged silently. Don't let this be a hallucination. Please, let it be real.
For a moment, there was silence. A terrifying silence, the kind that slowly crushed what little hope I had left that this wasn't dream.
And then his voice broke through.
"Vampire?" he echoed, his tone free of the earlier tension. "That's what I am to you? Would you give me your blood, princess? Though…" His voice dropped into that infuriating, teasing lilt, "it looks like another vampire was quicker than me."
He chuckled, nonchalant as always, his words dripping with that familiar mockery I'd come to expect from him. Always teasing me. Always reminding me of things I desperately wanted to forget.
Like now.
Maybe I was too tired, too shattered, or maybe I was just too human—but his words felt like a dagger plunging into my chest.
Some vampire was quicker?
Was he mocking me? Making fun of the bruises, the bites, the disgusting marks that stained my skin like reminders of what I couldn't erase?
A fresh tear slipped down my cheek before I even realized it, followed by another. I thought I'd run out of tears hours ago, but apparently, I was wrong.
"Why are you doing this?" I choked, my voice cracking under the weight of my weeping. I didn't even try to hide how much it hurt. My body trembled, shaking as though it was fighting against itself.
Why had I even hoped he would show up?
Why had I dared to believe I might mean something to him?
I was just his entertainment, his distraction from boredom. Nothing more.
Why the hell had I started to like him?
"If you want to mock me, fine," I whispered, though my whisper quickly turned into a desperate cry. "Serve yourself. Go ahead. But it's not funny, you know? Making fun of something so humiliating—something I don't even want to remember." My voice cracked, trembling with anger and sorrow. "Is it funny? To be almost raped? Because of whom?"
I couldn't stop now. My words spilled out, my voice rising, my tears unstoppable.
"Do you know why they did it?"
"Wait, prin—"
I didn't care what he wanted to say. I wasn't going to stop.
"I just wanted to have a peaceful life," I spat, my voice shaking with rage and despair. "To go unnoticed. To be invisible. To get through this school without anyone bothering me. But then you—you—glued yourself to me. You, the perfect transfer student. The one so goddamn handsome that everyone notices you. And guess what?"
I took a shuddering breath, tears streaming freely now, streaking my cheeks.
"They didn't do this to me because of me. They did it because of you. Because you weren't there. You're always there, always following me around, but when it mattered, when I—when I needed you—" My voice broke, trembling under the weight of my words. "You weren't there."
I gasped, trying to catch my breath as I wiped at my face, but the tears wouldn't stop.
"And do you know what they said?" I whispered, my voice barely audible, trembling with rage.
He didn't answer. He didn't move.
"They said," I continued, my voice cracking, "that if I'm your bitch, why not be theirs."
The words hung in the air, sharp and raw, echoing in the heavy silence.
The silence that followed my words was suffocating. He didn't laugh. He didn't tease me like I expected him to. He just sat there, his presence heavy, his gaze weighing on me like an anchor.
I hated it.
"Say something," I snapped, though my voice wavered, weak and uneven. "Don't just sit there like some… some smug asshole who thinks he's above it all. Say something!"
He finally shifted, leaning forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes—dark, unfathomable—locked onto mine, and a shiver crawled up my spine. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating, devouring me like a black hole.
"Baby," he said quietly, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean what?" I shot back impatiently, my voice cracking. "Didn't mean to make fun of me? Didn't mean to ignore the fact that they—" My words caught in my throat, the memory clawing at me like jagged glass.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "I didn't know."
"Of course you didn't," I said bitterly, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. "You don't know anything. You just show up, throw around your stupid nicknames, and act like you own the world. But you don't. You don't know what it's like to feel so…"
I trailed off, my voice cracking as the weight of my humiliation crushed me.
"So powerless," he finished quietly.
I blinked, startled by the calm certainty in his voice.
His gaze didn't waver, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes—something raw, unguarded. His eyes, which I'd always thought were void of emotion, empty and cold, now brimmed with something heavy, something heartbreaking.
"You think I don't know what it's like to be targeted? To feel like you're nothing more than a plaything for someone else's amusement?" His voice was steady, but there was a sharp edge beneath it, like he was fighting to keep it together.
I didn't know what to say.
"You're right," he continued, his tone low. "This is my fault. I wasn't there when I should've been. And yeah, maybe they did it because of me. Because they hate me." His jaw tightened, his fists clenched as he leaned back in the chair. "But don't you dare think for a second that what they did to you was about me."
I stared at him, my chest heaving as I tried to process his words.
"They hurt you, princess," he said, his voice soft but unyielding. "Not me. And I swear to you…" His tone darkened, fury laced through every syllable. "They won't get away with it. They deserve so much worse."
A chill crawled up my spine at the intensity in his voice. Only now did I notice the unusual details about him. His normally clean, composed appearance was anything but. His hair was messy, his hands bruised and trembling slightly, and his entire body was tense, like a coiled spring.
"What…" I whispered, my voice trembling. "What did you do to them? Did you… hit them?"
He tilted his head, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his lips. "Does it matter?" he asked quietly. "Are you afraid of me now?"
The flicker of hurt in his eyes stopped me cold. It was brief, but it was enough to twist something in my chest.
"I'm not," I said, biting my lip as my fingers curled around the edge of the quilt. "I don't need your revenge. I don't need you to… to fix them. I just—" My voice cracked, and I turned my face away, unable to meet his gaze. I just want to live in peace. I don't want to be the villain in someone else's story.
"I know," he said simply, his voice quieter now. "But that doesn't mean I'll let this go. They touched you. They hurt you." His tone darkened, and his fists clenched again. "They touched my baby."
He stood from his chair, moving closer. His hand brushed my cheek, his touch so gentle it sent a shiver through me.
"I've never felt this powerless," he murmured, his voice almost trembling. "Never. I left you alone, and I hate myself for it. I want to choke my grandfather for calling me away in that moment. I want to kill those bastards for what they did. Sending them unconscious to the infirmary wasn't enough."
His tone was brutal, his eyes bloodthirsty—but his touch was impossibly soft. His words should've frightened me, but instead, they filled me with a strange, almost shameful satisfaction.
I almost purred.
"Who's your baby, you damned vampire?" I huffed, turning my face away from him. But I couldn't stop the corners of my lips from betraying me, lifting just slightly.
He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that I'd never heard before. "It's Orin," he said. "Not 'vampire.' My name is Orin."
I blinked, stunned for a moment. Orin. We'd never exchanged names, had we? Somehow, I'd almost forgotten.
"Leif," I muttered. "Not your baby. Not your little princess. Just Leif."
"That's a pretty name, baby," he said with a grin.
My heart stuttered.
He was smiling—not his usual mocking smirk, but something genuine, something that lit up his face in a way I hadn't thought possible.
It was like a halo had appeared behind his head.
Damn it, I thought, my chest tightening against my will. Why does he have to look so beautiful when he smiles?
The room fell silent again. A strange kind of silence—not cold, but not entirely comforting either. It was awkward yet warm, unnerving yet oddly calming.
After a moment, Orin's fingers lifted from my face, and he shifted. Instead of returning to the chair, he sat down on the edge of my bed.
My heart stuttered, an inexplicable nervousness settling over me. Heat rose to my cheeks, and I couldn't help but blush.
Holy fairy, why am I feeling so embarrassed?
"Leif," Orin said, his voice unusually soft.
I glanced at him, startled by the shift in his tone. His dark eyes, usually so guarded, now held a vulnerability that made my chest tighten. I wasn't sure I was ready to face it.
"What now?" I muttered, my voice small. I didn't have the energy to spar with him anymore, not after everything that had happened.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out quietly.
"For what?" I asked, genuinely confused.
"For not telling you the truth about me," he admitted.
I raised an eyebrow. "What truth?"
He hesitated, exhaling slowly before speaking again. "I don't want you to look at me differently, okay? I want to stay that annoying vampire in your eyes—the one who makes you adorably mad for no reason."
I blinked at him, caught off guard by the strange mix of self-deprecation and tenderness in his tone. His words should've irritated me, but the softness in his voice left me disarmed.
"Fine," I said, trying to sound indifferent. "Continue."
"My last name is Blackhorn," he said, his voice steady but low, "and I'm the grandson of the principal of this academy. I'm the youngest, 'defective' member of my family, and my grandfather was the only one who accepted me and raised me. That's why I'm here."
I stared at him, his words sinking in.
It wasn't as shocking as I thought it would be. Somehow, it… suited him. Rebellious young master, I thought.
"I was annoyed at the idea of attending my grandfather's school," he continued. "The first day, the usual happened—bullies circled me, whispered behind my back. It was always the same. I didn't care. But then…" He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Then I saw you. A little, quiet baby."
My face burned. "Excuse me?"
"You," he clarified, his smile softening. "You were trembling, avoiding everyone, but still carrying this… spark. It was as if I'd finally found a priceless gem after a lifetime of searching for one."
I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out.
"I've always been too lazy to fight back when someone hit me," he admitted. "Too annoyed to talk back when they insulted me. I knew it was envy, and I couldn't bring myself to care. But when I found you on the floor today…"
He stopped, his throat working as he took a deep breath. "I thought I'd kill them. For real. I've never felt anything like that before. It was so painful—seeing you like that. I felt lost. Hopeless."
His eyes met mine, filled with affection, relief, and a hint of anxiety that I hadn't seen before.
"I like you, little princess," he said softly. "And I love you."
The words hung in the air, heavy and full of meaning.
"I'm sorry in advance for teasing you," he added, a faint smile breaking through the seriousness of his tone. "But you're too cute when you're mad for me to resist."
I stared at him, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. I like you. I love you.
My chest tightened, a strange mix of emotions twisting inside me. Anger, confusion, fear—but also something warmer, something fragile and unspoken.
"What do you want me to say?" I asked finally, my voice quieter than I intended. "That I feel the same? That I trust you? That I'll just… forget everything that happened?"
Orin didn't flinch. "No," he said simply. "I don't expect you to forget. Or to feel the same. I just wanted you to know."
"Why?" I demanded, my voice cracking. "Why would you tell me all this? Why now?"
"Because you deserve to know," he said, his gaze steady. "And because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't say it. You're the only light I've found in my life, Leif. I'd rather risk you hating me than not tell you at all."
His words hit like a punch to the gut. I didn't know how to respond, so I turned my head away, my fingers twisting in the quilt as I tried to keep my composure.
"Light?" I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice. "I'm not light. I'm just some pathetic kid who can't even—"
"Stop," he said firmly, cutting me off.
I blinked, startled by the sharpness in his tone.
"You're not pathetic," he said, his voice softening. "You don't even realize how much you shine, do you?"
My throat tightened, and I bit my lip, unsure of what to say.
"Leif," he said, leaning closer, his hand brushing mine again. "You don't have to say anything right now. I just… I want to be here for you. That's all. If you'll let me."
I looked at him then, really looked at him. The vulnerability in his eyes, the quiet intensity in his voice—it was too much and not enough all at once.
"You're really annoying, you know that?" I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.
His lips quirked into a small smile. "I've been told."
A beat of silence passed between us, and then, for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I let out a shaky laugh. It was short and quiet, but it felt like something breaking loose inside me.
Orin's smile widened just a little, and for the first time, I didn't feel the urge to push him away.
"Fine," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "You can stay. For now."
His eyes softened, and the warmth in them made my chest ache in a way that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"Thank you," he said simply.
I didn't respond, but as he stayed by my side, his presence steady and unwavering, I felt something shift.
It wasn't a grand declaration, and it didn't magically erase the pain or fear still lingering in my chest. But it was a start.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Note:
This should be the last part of The Monster from Within—want some bonus content? Though honestly, I'm not sure what else to write here.
Any wishes for the next story?
I don't know when I'll write the next story—y'know, Christmas, university exams (my first ones!!!), and my depression and anxiety. Yep, that's even the reason why this part took so long—I kind of got lost in my own psyché.