Nikolai came to about forty-five minutes after Judas stepped into the basin of the tub and sat down on the floor under the spray. His skin was swelling, pruning, and the water had long since ran cold, pounding against his immortal skin as if it were trying to erode him. His muscles were tense and his knees were cramped from being pulled into his chest for who knew how long. His nose had begun to heal with the blood of a homeless junkie that Judas had found on his way back into the city, a memory that Nikolai almost remembered. The memory of his Sire fucking him dry in a Venom-induced haze, had left him squeezing his head until either he exploded from the pressure or the memory slipped out.
Unfortunately, neither had happened, and Nikolai could remember almost everything.
Judas' memories made in Nikolai's skin were dreamlike this time around, watercolors bleeding into one another, bodies blending and bending together as they fucked. He could still feel Mitch's pull in his chest, an annoying clench and ache for him that moved his thoughts to prioritize him.
Fuck Mitchelletto.
It was a few minutes before he realized that his skin was tender and painful from the water, his ass sore from the savage friction and lack of care that Judas had prompted. He saw his hand extend and grasp Mitch's cock, felt the soft skins as he stroked him into hardness. Nikolai wanted to take a knife to the palm of his hand and peel off the first layer of skin as if it would rid him of the sensation. He stood slowly, turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, ignoring the alarms and pulses in his head that warned him of an oncoming migraine. The shadows that Laurent had planted in him stirred and slithered up to just within his ears, interested now in the darkening thoughts and the regretful return of Nikolai.
The elation that the heroin would have brought on was well gone now, his high spent stiffened like a corpse in the bottom of the tub.
The face in the mirror looked haggard, swollen with water like a bloated corpse, and crooked. Something black inside of him laughed. The suffocating waves of humiliation and remorse rocked his chest and he looked away from himself, sick at last of what he had allowed himself to become.
Junkie, the shadows whispered and made his stomach churn with withdrawal. Whore. Plaything. Slave. There was a pulling in his groin from the inside that made him grimace while the shadows laughed in his ear, pulling his face upwards and forcing him to look in the mirror again. Coward. Princess. Tar bubbled in his chest and the nausea came on in a flash, forcing his head by down into the sink as a spray of dark blood spattered the porcelain sink with a wracking cough. Somewhere, Laurent was laughing.
"I'm going to break your nose. Laurent might get wary if you exit on camera unharmed."
Nikolai grasped the edges of the sink and wrenched it sideways as hard as he could with as much fury as he could muster. The porcelain yielded to him and fell a few feet away with a loud grinding thunk, torn clean of some thin metal and plastic piping. The excitement and satisfaction that he wanted was missing, leaving him with a scorching rage aimed at his sire and his captor. Water burst from the exposed neck of the sink and sprayed out like a fountain all across the bathroom, soaking Nikolai again. Barefooted, he tried again to satisfy that rage with a swift kick to the pipe, the metal groaning and grunting with each kick that landed. He dented the wall next to where the sink was, his heel striking the plaster with enough force to damage the stud. One his last attempt, after managing to close off the mouth of the pipe so the water wasn't spewing forth, he missed and sliced open the side of his calf on the jagged piece of metal.
He went down instantly, his weight faltering and the pain riding sharp up his leg, catching himself, naked and ungracefully, on his knee, hip, and elbow of the opposite side, his weight forcing his body to sprawl out on the wet bathroom floor with a grunt. He lay there with his leg bleeding profusely and watched silently as the water on the floor ran red in gentle swirls. Again, Laurent's shadows watched and shook with glee. Perfect entertainment for a perfect evening.
He couldn't tell how much time had passed before he finally got up and examined the wound and he didn't care. It had stopped bleeding and remained as just two flaps of open meat waiting for something to synch them together. But the instant he put pressure on that leg there was a white flash of pain and something dripped down to his foot. More laughing accompanied by stomach cramps and little green men that licked the droplets of blood off the floor in his wake.
Nikolai reclined on the bed, ignoring the intense gaze of Her right next to him. Just another thing that didn't really exist. He flipped open his pack of cigarettes and smoked the rest of the pack while staring at the ceiling.
"Odessa Turkevich has been sighted in two places: Sticks and Stakes Pool Hall and the home of Damien Evans."
He thought of the nights he spent waiting in the surf to see Her again. How many nights? How many hours? He hated that he wondered about the truth behind Laurent's words, hated that he wanted to see Her again as badly as he did, hated that he needed to disappoint himself again, to spend one more night on that beach before he could let it all go.
All of it.
The wound closed finally - or enough so that he could ignore it amongst all the other tiring clashes and sensations in his head - and Nikolai had decided that it was time. There was no reason to stay anymore. He walked once around his condo coldly. There was no attachment to anything anymore - not even his artwork or coke. Let the cops find it all.
There were three hours to sunrise and it was a half hour drive across the city. From his closet, he pulled out an outfit to die for, one that complimented his form. Habit placed his phone and wallet into his two back pockets and the vampire snatched his keys from the counter. Nikolai Armani looked back once over the condo as he left, knowing it would be the last time he saw it, a weary expression lining his features and a migraine booming in his brow.
