Dead as Dead Can Be

She's gone.
He knows that she's gone.
It's been nearly five years since she died.

Nearly five years since he killed her.

He shouldn't still be this angry. He shouldn't still feel the rage building in the pit of his belly until it feels like it's going to explode. He hates this. He hates her. Nearly five years and he still hates her. Louis didn't think he could hate someone this much -- at least, he didn't when he was human. It would've been an alien proposition to him. Louis knew hate, he knew hating people but...

Louis never would've believed that hate was an emotion that could swallow up your entire being and leave you empty and hollow but also full of poison and bitterness and venom. But he was wrong about that.

Amelia taught him that any emotion could swallow him whole... But most of all, she taught him that hate could. He didn't start out hating her -- no. He loved her. With every fiber of his being -- she was a dark sun and he was the lonely planet that orbited her brilliance. Small, unimportant, unnecessary. But when she chose to shine her line on him, it made him feel so full, so wonderfully seen.

And then she dragged him out of the light and into a darkness that had lasted these past twenty four years...

At first, Louis had believed her -- it was a car accident. He had been hurt, he had been dying. She had to save him.. But over the years, bit by bit, the memories surfaced from that strange, scarlet fog that obscured them. If it had been an accident -- really and truly -- why the fuck had Camille been there with them? Why had Camille laughed and held him down as Amelia poured blood into his mouth from a fucking thermos... If it had been an accident, if she hadn't planned it, if she hadn't wanted it to happen -- then why is it that she and Camille already had their blood prepared to make him their newly born child of night?

The answer, of course, was simple. It wasn't an accident. He didn't know how they manufactured that accident, how they got the bike to veer off the road into oncoming traffic, maybe Camille had planted the thought into his head, maybe she had programmed it into him without him realizing it. It didn't matter.

It doesn't matter.

Except that it does.

It matters so fucking much. Because now he's like this. Now he's trapped in this life he didn't want and didn't ask for. Some idiot goth part of him thought, once upon a time, that being a vampire would be cool. He knows better now. Maybe he wouldn't hate it so much if he weren't trapped with Camille and her wife and that asshole. Amelia's original child, that stupid self-absorbed, narcissistic fucking prick.

Louis can't tell if he hates Adam or Amelia more.

No, wait. He knows. Amelia.

If it weren't for Amelia, he wouldn't have ever met Adam.

Louis sighs deeply, running his fingers through his hair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Twenty four years. He's been a vampire now almost as long as he'd been a human. Two more years. And after that? He doesn't like that thought. His eyes look back at him from dark circles, looking almost haunted.

He wishes he could tell her how he feels. That she could hear him, that he could just get her to see and to understand how angry he is and how much he hates her. How much he resents her for what she did.

But she can't.

She's dead.

Dead as dead can be.

The anger is bubbling up again, a soft simmer deep in his gut that's slowly building into a rolling boil. That's boiling over. That's covering the stove and filling the room with smoke and steam. Before he knows what he's done, the mirror is flung across the room -- slamming into the far wall and shattering into a thousand tiny, glimmering pieces. A thousand faces with luminous, haunted blue eyes staring back at him.

That fucking bitch.

That stupid fucking bitch.

Why the hell did this happen? Why did she do this to him? Why had she taken everything away from him? His life, his brother, his freedom. All of it, gone. All of it gone because of her.

The room is a whirlwind. Furniture breaks, wood splinters. Everything is stained scarlet, the world is painted a lurid crimson. Everything returns to that color in the end. Everything returns to blood.

He sinks to the floor, trying to hold back the bitter tears and keep them from falling.

She's dead.

She's been dead for five years.

So why does it feel like she's still there?