"MERDE!! Merde, merde, merde!" Pierre slammed his fists into the bathroom sink, causing a chunk of the solid marble to splinter and crumble over his feet. The water overflowed the sink and spilled over onto his feet and he hissed at himself in the mirror.

"Espèce d'idiot! Tu aurais pu le tuer! I could have killed him!"

"Mon cheri, do not be afraid."

The boy drew in an ugly, shuddered breath at the woman's voice. A memory he preferred to shove deep into the recesses of his mind.
So he punched the mirror, shattering the glass to rid himself of the reflection.

Some vile, disgusting beast made in a worse monster's image. He hated it, loathed it.

Pierre panted, sloppily smearing Robert's blood off his lips in attempt to gather his thoughts back and reign in his rage. She did this. She made me this way. Fucking bitch.

His eyes flickered up, resting on the spare glass that multiplied his reflection  and made him want to scream at what a thing he was. So he drug his claws into the pane and ripped it from the wall, tossing it across the master bath and letting it shatter until nothing could be seen in those wretched pieces of glass.

"Ah!" Pierre gasped, clapping his hand over his stinging scar as he stomped and kicked and ignored sound of Callum banging on the door.

"Stay away!" He spat, digging his nails around the thin sliver of silver that had managed to wedge itself deep in the slow healing wound. It burned when he touched it, when he moved. A constant reminder that the foul woman who had made him had infected every last part of him with her disgusting poison.

"It will only hurt for a little while." LIES! you filthy liar!

Pierre tore into his skin in attempt to claw out the point of the silver emblem, only pressing the burning piece further in and burying it in the pool of blood that broke and trickled from the wound in his desperation.

***

"Ne pleure pas, mon amour," the woman stood in a dimly lit doorway, the flicker of the oil lamps washing the grimy cellar in a hollow orange glow. "I don't want to hurt you...or your friend."

Pierre scrambled back into the shadows, wincing at the sting of rusted iron rubbing against his sore and raw wrists. How long had it been? Since they took them? Stole them off the street like they were nothing more than stray dogs.

"Où est— où est Cosette?" He choked put the question, drawing further back as the woman who called herself Cornelia stepped through the threshold. "What did you do with her?!"

"It is so filthy in here," she said, ignoring the question as he pressed her finger into the dusty wine case and made a face of disgust. "No wonder you smell so horrid."

"Where did you take her?!" Pierre barked, trying and failing to lunge at the pristinely clean woman. She bent over, pulling an oil lamp from the bottom of the case and lighting it. The flash of the match lit up the dirty cellar and Pierre squinted from the sudden brightness.

"She is being bathed, taken care of. There's no reason you need to worry." Cornelia gave a gentle smile and before the boy could react, she crouched over him, holding his face in her hands as her glowing red eyed searched his face.

"St—stop." He tried to pull back but she was strong, unbelievably strong.

"Hmmm...I wouldn't have expected them to be blue," she whispered, tightening her grip when he jerked and drew in a staggered breath. Pierre blinked and clenched his eyes shut, spitting in the woman's face to make her let go.

"Get off of me!" He kicked at her, lashing and screaming until the woman yanked on the chains around his ankle and threw him against the wall.

Cornelia giggled softly, "I like you, you're feisty."

The boy sputtered and coughed, heaving precious air back into his lungs in effort to corall himself in the shit-stained hay in the corner.
The vampiress stepped toward him, forcing him to fold in on his vulnerable self in meager protection.

"Don't touch me!" He hissed, despite how much he shook from the way she looked at him, as if he were a meal. She moved ever close though, dropping down and easily pinning him to the ground under her weight.

"You will make a beautiful addition to the family," she breathed, catching his wild eyes in her gaze. It was mesmerizing, a crimson glow that shined in the light of the flickering lamp.

The woman's fingers glided over Pierre's cheeks, soft and deceptive. He drew in a soft gasp and before he could even comprehend her intentions, her long nails sliced into his eyes.

"STOP!!" He shrieked, kicking and clawing at her in wild and desperate effort to rip her off of him. But she wouldn't stop, and the horrific burn of her nails tearing into his skin, breaking and digging, and mutilating the tendons and nerves until Pierre's mouth filled with the awful taste of the blood that poured down his cheeks.

He raised his hands, digging his nails into the woman's skin and feeling no break. He couldn't see, and the pressure in his skull built and built, a horrific pain and ache that set his limbs on fire and made the terrified child screech and beg for her to let go. And then, as if that terrible burn couldn't worsen— he felt it finally give way.

Pierre's desperate tearing slowed and an awful noise broke from his lips as he dropped and felt the dirt and hay shift under him. The scent of blood filled the room, he could feel it trickle into his ears, muffling the woman's words as she spoke.

"Ne pleure pas, mon amour, it'll only hurt for a little while."

***

"Are you feeling better?" Callum asked softly, returning from the kitchen with extra towels in case his shotty bandage job didn't work.
Robert nodded, but he still fidgeted and jerked, glancing every few moments toward the staircase in search of Pierre.

"I'm...I'm not gonna, you know—"
He cut himself off, catching the look of worry that flashed over the boy's face at the unfinished question.

"I'm sorry..." Callum whimpered, plopping down in the seat across from him. "I'm really...really sorry."

"It's fine," Robert forced an optimistic smile, "I'm sure he's a lot more sorry— besides...I've always been ready to try something new." It's not like he meant to do it— I probably provoked him. I shouldn't have yelled like that, he's still just a kid. A kid who's been through a lot.

"I should check on him..." he said after a moment, moving his gaze from the staircase to his aching hand. He clenched his fist with a small wince, making sure he could still move it decently well.
He moved to stand but Callum was up before him, gesturing for the man to stay put.

"I think— maybe I should talk to him first?" He suggested lightly, waiting for Robert to give his agreement.

Robert gave a reluctant sigh and shrugged, sitting back down. "Tell him I'm not mad and— he'll have to show me how to vampire from now on."

Callum nodded and sprinted off, taking a shortcut to the second floor with a single leap, followed by a few scrambles to hoist himself over the railing.

"Pyr?" He knocked on the door softly, apprehensive from the last time he tried to get his attention. No answer.

The boy jiggled the knob a bit before he realized it wasn't locked. "Pyr? Mister Dupont told me to tell you he isn't mad."

Callum ventured into the room, getting smacked in the face with the rotten scent of his friend's blood. He turned toward the source, noticing the water on the floor that leaked out into the hardwood floor of the room.

"Pyr, everything okay?" He crept to the door, finding the kid slumped up against the sink cabinets, surrounded by shattered glass with water pouring over his head.
Pierre didn't answer him, or even look up. His eyes stayed trained on the glass in his hand, his fingers clenched tight around it in futile effort to make himself bleed.
He stared at his reflection with empty, hollow eyes.

Callum turned off the sink and crouched down next to him, trying to figure out what he was thinking, being so quiet like that.

"Everything alright?" He asked once more, tilting forward a bit to try and garner the boy's attention. "Pyr?"

Pierre shifted, a very small movement that indicated he heard him, but he still didn't remove his gaze from the reflection of his blood-red eyes in the glass.

"He won't turn," he said after a solid minute of continued silence. Callum made a quiet little noise but nodded, allowing him to keep talking if he wanted.

"He won't turn into a vampire, if that's what you were worried about," Pierre repeated softly, pulling himself to his feet and sloshing some of the water put of his shoes. "I know that's the first thing you wanted to know."

"I also wanna know if you're okay." Callum stood up with him, blocking the door before Pierre could evade him. "You wrecked the whole bathroom."

"What does it matter?" The way he said it made Callum hesitated. He didn't want to talk.

"He's right," Callum ventured softly. "You know..."

Pierre flashed a glare at him that quickly dissapated with exhaustion. He didn't make the effort to get past him— if he wanted to he could have jumped put the window, but Callum kept talking.

"You told me that they'll kill you if they find you, right? So going back in over and over again is just asking for that to happen."

"I won't get caught," Pierre argued quietly, unable to find the rage that fueled him previously. "I doubt The Family is even looking for me. They don't care."

"Then how come you keep going back? Do you want them to catch you?"

Pierre dropped his gaze. "Of course I don't. They are monsters."

Callum took a small step back, allowing his friend the opportunity to push past him if he wish. "He's just worried about you, you know. He's just trying to help—"

"I don't need his help!" Pierre shot, causing the boy to take another step away from him. It hurt when he did it, and reminded him which of the two of them were more dangerous. He softened himself, drawing back in attempt to make himself look less like what he was. "Our relationship is nothing more than dictated in the contract. He is the one who thinks it is more than that."

"Cause you're still a kid," Callum murmured, knowing full well how the boy would take the comment. He prepared himself for Pierre's biting reply, but it didn't come.

"I've been a kid for over two hundred years, Callum," he said instead, the words sounding broken and tired when they fell from his lips. "That's never going to change."

Pierre moved, pressing past his friend toward his bed as his eyes flickered up to the slit of fading sunlight between the curtains. "Tell Mister Dupont my mind hasn't changed and if he has any qualms with my decision to enter the auction as a product...he can opt out of attending."

"I'll let him know." Callum dipped his head in gentle understanding and moved toward the door. He paused briefly, hesitant to let him alone. "Did you— did you still wanna watch a movie?"

Pierre sat down on his bed, facing away from Callum and the boy drew in a soft breath at the trail of blood down the back of the vampire's neck, staining his clothes an ugly deep red.

"No," he answered softly, gliding his palm across the velvet duvet, more engrossed in his own thoughts that Callum's question. "Perhaps another time...when Mister Dupont is fully healed...I imagine."