Therapy

She had not been entirely sure why she came. Had she wanted to scare him, freak him out, talk to him, hurt him, or just have someone familiar hold her hand? Maybe it was a little bit of each. Since she had put Julie on a plane back to Paris, a feeling of complete nothingness had overcome her more and more often. A sense of pointlessness had grown in her chest, a feeling of her true nature had started to take hold, a slow death of the soul. Feelings not even a series of drug fueled one-night stands, brutal feedings or all-night manic research sessions had been able to shake it.
A short reprieve had been given from the few phone calls they had managed to share. It was funny how her current situation had made the time difference between Chicago and Paris turn into an advantage. Tonight Julie had not answered, she probably had a class, or was with somebody else, some French scrawny poet. The thought had been enough to summon her fangs and for her nails to dig into the kitchen table. She had to find another distraction, so she had found herself here, the last place she would ever thought she would return.
The smell of the yellowed curtains carrying years of cigarette smoke, the grime on the stove and that one piece of wallpaper in the kitchen, where you could still see the faint traces of her blood she had not been able to scrub away. It all washed over her, bringing back memories of years of a relationship that had defined her so completely. The memories fleeting, almost as if dreamed, had not affected her, had simply not been able to break through the veil of indifference that shrouded her unbeating heart.
Sebastian had recovered surprisingly fast from the shock of her walking into the hallway, the stench of whiskey on his breath no doubt helping him rationalize her presence. Shock turned to awe and as always with him, quickly to anger. She didn't even remember what he had shouted, instead focused on the feeling of each little droplet of spittle hitting her face, his warm breath hitting her nostrils and overwhelming her senses. She was not even entirely sure what she had answered him, but it had had the intended effect.
Years of alcoholism and drug use had done nothing to weaken him and the well practiced impact of his closed fist threw her to the floor. The pain of her broken lip and the taste of blood in her mouth, gave a glimpse, a heartbeat of emotion.
This was why, this is why she came. With her hair tightly balled into his fist, her face pressed into the filthy carpet and the sound of him fumbling with his belt echoing in her head she felt… something again.