Settling Alis free thickened the air until it felt suffocating. 

    Alex couldn't look at her, she couldn't look at Leila and I couldn't look at Alex. All three of us share a guilt or denial strong enough to have us turning our heads when the source comes near. 

    Unfortunately for me, Alex wasn't the only one I was desperate to avoid. Levi and Thomas were also on my steer-clear list. Practically everyone around me was now associated with emotional damage heavy enough to drag me through the floorboards. 

    Things only get more and more complicated the deeper I get into this twisted mess of compulsion and deception. A thread I wish I never started tugging. 

    My fingers tap on my stomach, my round eyes trained on the ceiling of my room I've become so accustomed to. It feels like I haven't had a good night's sleep in years. 

    Sighing, I swing my legs out from under the blanket and reach for the hoodie thrown on the floor. I pull it over me, holding my arms close to myself as I exit the room and move to the bedroom at the end of the hallway. The door is open a crack, the soft pink and yellow glow illuminating the floor of the hallway. I peek inside, careful not to make any noise as I check on Leila.

    She sleeps curled on her side like she always has, her blonde hair messily tied in a knot on the top of her head and her hot pink blanket pulled up to her chin. She looks like she always has, nothing about her is different besides her red eyes and hunger for blood.

    I don't know why it's hard for me to see that sometimes.

    Not wanting to wake her, I turn around and head to the staircase, descending down to where the stairs meet near the front door. Then, I turn on my socks and head to the kitchen, rubbing my sore eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. 

    The moment I lower my hand, my eyes meet the side of Thomas's face as he stands at the sink, rubbing water across the skin of his cheeks.

   I huff, feeling the awkwardness settle in as I move over to the fridge, pulling the jug of water from the appliance and placing it on the island. I look next to his head at the cupboard holding the glasses before looking back at the jug. 

    Maybe I should just drink straight from the spout and avoid that entire interaction altogether. I know that's what he wants considering he's been avoiding me the whole time.

   I'm snapped out of my thoughts when a glass is placed in front of me. 

    Looking up, I finally meet Thomas's eye as he lets go of the cup, dragging his hand back towards himself as he looks down at me. I wish I could tell what he's thinking, what thoughts cause him to sag his face the way he does when he looks at me.

    He turns away from me, stepping to the side as if he's about to leave me in the kitchen alone. I jab my arm out quickly, grabbing onto his hand to make him change his mind. He turns back to me immediately, my hand still not letting go of his palm.

    "I don't..." I trail off, looking down as I think of the words to say. No one in history has had to apologise or regret any of the things I do, so, it's hard to find the right ways to express myself without any pre-existing guidelines, "I don't want to be... like this, anymore. I want to be gentle I just... can't,"

    "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Michaela," He tells me softly.

    "Of course I do," I breathe a laugh, looking up at him through the messy strands of my hair that escaped my ponytail. "You most of all,"

    I glance over to the open doorway of the kitchen, hearing the sounds of sleepy groans coming from the lounge room where I'm sure other people are sleeping. Specifically, nosey-ass vampires with advanced hearing.

   Holding his hand tighter, I drag him across the kitchen until we get to the adjacent laundry. I shut the door behind me, piling both of us into the small room and pulling the string above for the dim light to come on. I then grab a handful of clothes from the basket beside the washing machine and throw them inside, shutting the lid and turning the noisy appliance on. 

    We stand practically chest to chest, the laundry small enough to force ourselves into each other proximity. 

    "I feel like I should... apologise... for kissing you," I start, crossing my arms over my chest. He barely blinks as he looks at me, waiting.

    "Mic-"

    "But I'm not going to," I cut off his words, taking a step closer to him under the dim lighting, "I don't regret it, not at all. In fact, I would do it again,"

    He blinks, looking from me to around the room as if he's waiting for a camera crew to jump out and tell him he's being pranked. "Why are you telling me this?"

   "I'm tired of being like this, Tommy. Letting those hunter guidelines dictate how I view people. So, I wanted to admit it to you but also to myself," I nod, only breaking eye contact with him for a second. Even saying that feels like more than I've ever been capable of, the words weighing on me as they leave my lips.

    "I would be lying if I said I regretted it," He admits, his eyes flicking down to my lips as if out of instinct. He stays silent, both of our breaths mixing together, "I can't control myself around you sometimes, Michaela,"

    "I don't care," I shake my head, letting my eyes trail down to the lower half of his face. 

    "Yes, yes you do," He nods, still not making any effort to create any distance between us. "You were scared-"

    "I was caught off guard," I correct, pushing my eyes back up to his, "I know you would never hurt me, Tommy. No one has ever seen me the way you do," 

    "You're just saying that because you want this to happen," He says, leaning to press his forehead against mine.

    "For someone that wants me to choose things for myself, you sure love telling me how I feel about this," I point out, lifting my hands to grab onto the material of his shirt where it covers his chest.

    "I don't want you making a mistake,"

    "You're not a horrible mistake to make," I admit. He doesn't say anything for a while before I feel him push himself away from me and turn his back to me, his hands rubbing over his face.

    My eyebrows furrow, watching him in his conflicted state with confusion. Embarrassment heats my cheeks slightly, the thought of being open and heartfelt to him only for him to turn away feels like a punch to the gut. 

    "What's the real problem, Thomas?" I demand, my face hardening into stone as he turns to face me, his brows pulled together as if he's in pain

    "What do you mean," He sighs, leaning against the laundry sink behind him.

    "Why do you keep pushing me away so hard? You act repulsed by the idea of anything between us," I point out, waving my hand at the distance now separating us. 

    "You don't get it," He shakes his head, looking up to the corner of the room and anywhere else but me.

    "Then, please, enlighten me," I remark, feeling myself getting angry. It feels like he's accepting of everything I want except when it comes to him. Sometimes it feels like he's trying to punish himself by keeping me at an arms distance like he's not worthy of anything at all

    "I could kill you if I lower my guard too much, Michaela," He quietly exclaims, still aware of the others sleeping in the house. His brows knit together, his eyes conveying a bucket of sadness that only keeps filling

    "I don't believe that," I state, stepping closer to him which only makes him straighten up as if pushing himself further away from me. It's like I can physically see him putting that guard up, "You only lost control because the blood was right there-"

    "Your blood is always right there for me, Mic. You don't know how differently we perceive everything," He responds, pushing loose strands of hair out of his face.

   "And yet you're not attacking me now, are you?" I point out, watching how he swallows and looks away from me.

   I don't believe Thomas is capable of hurting me or anyone. At least, not anymore. He cares too much about everything to become an animalistic version of himself. Even when he did lose control, he found the strength to pull back almost immediately. Yet, no one is punishing him for that mistake more than himself.

    "I'm lying to you, Mic," He admits, dropping his gaze to me with a straight face and clicked jaw, "About everything, every day,"

    "I know and I don't care," I say, shaking my head up at him, "Compulsion isn't the same as lying,"

    "It's pretty close," He protests.

    "Not close enough," I finalise, taking another step closer to him. This time, he doesn't move a muscle. I stare up at him, my eyes almost narrowing at the slight annoyance and frustration bubbling under my skin, "So why don't you fucking man up and-"

    I don't get to finish my sentence before I feel his hand grab the back of my neck, the chill of his skin snuffling out the warmth of mine as he cranes his neck and lands his lips onto mine like a solid attack. Despite my surprise, I move in sync with him almost immediately.

   I feel him reach behind me once more, his free hand latching onto the dryer as he laces his fingertips through my ponytail with the other hand. Every movement feels like we're trying to breathe each other's air, a grasp for closeness and intimacy that moves beyond anything physical, yet, physical is all we have.

   My hand reaches to grip the material of his shirt once more, my other extending to hold his face closer to mine. An ache spreads through my body, an indescribable need to be closer than humanly possible. 

   Almost as if reading my mind, he detaches from my lips, moving down to where my neck meets my shoulders and planting soft kisses there.

   I move my hand to the back of his head, lacing my fingers there as if to silently tell him it's okay. Giving him more confirmation, I nod my head, rugged breaths escaping me.

   The points of his teeth graze my skin, running along the vein pumping blood throughout my body. He stays there for a moment, feeling each beat of my heat underneath the skin of his lips, basking in it. After what feels like an eternity, the sharp fangs pierce my skin, drawing blood from my body and replacing it with a warm and tingly feeling.

   I let out a long, hard breath, my eyes pinching shut at the slight piercing sensation, my hands fist his shirt and hair harder at the feeling of sparks travelling throughout my bloodstream.

   His hand drops from my neck, his arm wrapping around the underneath of my legs as he pulls my feet off of the ground and places me on top of the dryer, pushing himself between my knees.

   He doesn't stay at my neck for long, almost as if he's afraid to go too far. He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine as my blood paints his lips in a soft shade of red. With my fingers still laced in his hair, I pull his ruby-coloured mouth back down to mine. 

   "If you want to stop, tell me now," He whispers onto my lips, transferring the metallic taste of blood over to me

    "Never," I say. Not for anything.