Malek Ackerman

You're my water. You're my wine.

He wanted to hurl. The scent of blood was washing down his nostrils, he couldn't get away from it. Malek had hardly even returned home to wash that blood from his body, the splatter of the liquid lingering on his face like freckles. The darkness hides his blood stained hands, his hair shadowing his face from onlookers, truly, he looked nothing more than a staggering drunk man headed home for the evening. And by the gods, he should be heading home, but he knew what awaited him there. A bottle of alcohol as he attempted to cage that beast that threatens to overwhelm him, even know he can feel him clawing at his insides, threatening, demanding he be released. He had gotten a taste of the outside world for the first time in decades and he wanted to paint the town red with blood.

Stopping, those grey eyes tilt up as he takes in the familiar building. Malek wasn't entirely sure why he was here, and yet, he could think of no other place to go. He merely didn't want to be alone in his struggle although, he wouldn't tell her what was wrong. He should just disappear down the street, the two of them hadn't ended on great terms the last time he had seen her. The woman promptly gathering her clothes and leaving, Malek hardly having a chance to explain. Perhaps he had been too pushy, or at least, he had taken advantage of the situation. The vampire knowing that Chizue wasn't in the right state of mind, and yet, he couldn't resist her. The thoughts are fleeting though, that other side of him hardly caring in this moment that she might despise him for what he had done.

Malek stands there for a moment, his long hair draping around his face as he contemplates. He was a coward and he was selfish. Climbing those steps, he reaches the door before long, his hand raising shakily as he rings the doorbell, the man grateful he wasn't entirely covered in blood, the pedestrians behind him barely noticing him. Though, the tips of his hair are dyed with that blood, red liquid coating his hands and of course, that splatter across his face, he looked... rather gruesome... like he had killed multiple people rather than the one he left to die in the alleyway. And still, Malek can't remember if he had left her alive, or had he killed her? God, he could never remember when the demon took over. Although, he distinctly remembers a woman who had tricked him into eating that poor lady at the bar. But my god, she tasted delicious!

Reaching his hands up, he grasps his head between his two palms, shaking his head vigorously. No. She had not tasted delicious. She was human and he did not feed off of humans. It was a chant that continued on repeat in his mind, as he grips his hair to the point he might rip it out. Squeezing his eyes closed, he's so very close to falling to his knees, to giving up and letting that monster out. How he wanted to give up the control. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, the sound of the door opening has his grey eyes snapping open as he takes in the petite Asian woman, "Chizue," he croaks out, "I am a very, very bad person," he groans, his lightly accented words filled with pain.

You're my whiskey. From time to time.