I ran out of the house.

Dad was drunk again. I know he missed mom but so did I. That didn't give him the right to cuss at me. So, the crying mess that I was, I ran.

I reached our town's graveyard where my mother lay. And there he was sitting by my mother's grave, as he always did.

I ran to him and he pulled me into a hug, for he knew I required the warmth, even if it was just metaphorical, for he was ice cold. For that instant I held onto him as though my life depended on him, contrary to the reality.

I knew that he required the warm liquid flowing through my veins, even though he kept his cravings at bay as he cradled me in his arms.

I urged him forward, just for him to bury his face into the crook of my neck. As his fangs sank in and my blood filling him with zest, I found the warmth I needed in his arms.