Fic: Hypovolaemic (The Vampire Diaries, Rebekah, PG)
Hypovolaemic The Vampire Diaries. PG, violence implied. Rebekah knows the difference between stalking and apologising. Hunger and guilt.
[This is not what I intended, but only posting as it's the last chance to get the last word in before S4. Imperfect and incomplete. No spoilers for S4, only S3.]
All relevant disclaimers apply. Feedback welcomed.
Rebekah stalks the night. The air is wet, cold against the bare skin of her arms. She wonders briefly if she should be wearing a jacket in order to keep up appearances,but there is no one out. The street is empty and silent, but for loud human sounds inside houses.
She blocks out their noise.
There's a light on in the upstairs window of the Donovan house and the curtains haven't been pulled all the way closed. She can't see in, but shillouettes and shadows form against the light.
Rebekah sucks in her bottom lip, lets her teeth skate against it, sharp points against smooth skin. She breathes in, shakes her hair out and exhales. Dull flat edges press against her tongue.
The Gilbert house next door is dark.
.
Rebekah drowns out the noise of The Grill, ignoring the scrape of knives and forks against ceramic plates and the gurgle of soda running empty. She stills as 'Steve'
curls his hand around her hip, his presence warm against her back. His breath is hot against her ear and she squashes down on her sense of anticipation. His heartbeat is fast, but she is not finished here yet.
"Like this?" she asks and moves her legs hip width apart, raisng her arm, bending at the elbow, and aluminum dart loose in her fingertips. Steve's fingertips feel rough as they close around her wrist and the stubble of his beard brushes briefly against her cheek. He is much too close and he knows it.
"Old, don't cha think, Becky?"
Rebekah clenches her jaw at Damon Salvatore's voice. Steve has moved away from her. The bar table and stools a barrier between them. "Whoa, I was just teaching her how to play."
Rebekah faces Damon, her hunger welling up. Damon has the decency to look momentarily taken aback by the look on her face before his features settle in to an amused grin. Rebekah tightens her grip on the dart in her fingers.
"Since when was this your business?" she asks.
Damon merely keeps his grins and flutters his eyes and Rebekah grinds her molars, grip tightening on the dart still in her fingers.
Steve has his jacket on and and he glances at her once then at Damon before tossing some bills on the bar table.
Rebekah beats him outside. She's being careless, she knows, by rushing out, pushing past Damon and Matt Donovan knocking his bus box out of his hands and pushing through the door as dirty dishes tumble out smashing on the floor, but she is not finished here yet.
.
The fresh blood is a relief, warm, slick and vital, thick across her tongue. Rebekah listens carefully. Steve's heartbeat is too fast. She licks her lips, and lets the points
of her teeth indent on her lips. She smiles as she drops him to the ground.
The sick feeling in her gut remains.
.
Rebekah turns her head to the left, raising her chin with the motion and lowering it. She meets Elena Gilbert's gaze with a dead stare. The other girl flinches as their eyes meet and Rebekah smiles.
"Sloppy," she says. Her eyes not leaving Elena's face. "Making all that noise."
Elena's eyes narrow and Rebkah watches confusion flicker across her face. Elena stands straight, steps closer. "Why are you watching my house?"
Rebekah glances back across the road. The Gilbert house is there with no lights on. She lifts the open bottle of bourbon in her hand to her mouth and sips. The alcohol burns pleasantly on the way down. She takes the neck of the bottle in her left hand and holds her arm, straight out to Elena and shrugs.
Elena looks at Rebkah, then her house. She takes the bourbon from Rebekah's hand. "So. Why are you watching my house again?"
Rebekah flares her nostrils. She can smell Stefan, not just on Elena but in the cool fall air. He's nearby. Rebekah wonders just how many things he hasn't told Elena. She snatchs the bottle from Elena's hands.
"You don't have to breathe anymore," Rebekah offers before she leaves. "It's quieter if you don't. Helps with the stalking."
.
She enjoys the force, the push and the resounding crack that comes from breaking Stefan's neck on Matt Donovan's porch. It is most satisfactory. The look on Matt's face when she looks up, is not. Rebekah looks down at Stefan's body and then at Matt's face. She frowns.
He closes the door, but she manages, just barely with the threshold pushing against her, to keep the door ajar. Her foot is in the corner, the door open as the house itself tries to push her out. Matt holds open the door, and she stumbles backwards, falling against he bannister and tripping over her now empty bottle.
Matt closes the door. Inside, she can hear his rapid pulse as he calls Bonnie Bennet's number on his cell.
.
She takes four steps from the entrance way to the parlour and pauses to throw the limp squirrel carcass at Kol, sprawled on the sofa with his head rolled back. There's a girl, small and young, passed out at his feet. The girl's heartbeat is too fast.
Kol squawks. He has caught the cold furry body. "Oh, Rebekah" he says, each syllable of her name sound out. He tossies back at her. She looks at Kol, at the dead squirrel's arc of motion through the air, she steps back. The squirrel's skull thuds against the floor as it lands.
"I've had it," Rebekah says carefully with her eyes resting on the girl, only half on the floor rug with her knees splayed. Rebekah's chest feel tight.
She doesn't wait for his reply and turns away, leaving the squirrel on the floor. Steady dilberate steps take her upstairs to her room, where she wipes back tears and listens as the small and young girl's heart beats it last.
.
"I'm not good at this."
Matt has the pointy end of a stake directed at her, his fist is tight around it, knuckles white-red and Rebekah watches him carefully. His eyes are bright, wide, and terrified and Rebekah feels her gut turn in a wretched twist and tangle and she hates it.
She steps in quickly, one hand wraps around his arm holding the stake and the other curls into the fabric of his shirt lifting him up, and pressing him against the white-painted brick wall.
"I am trying to apologise."
The back of his head knocks against the wall, and the fear in his eyes is gradually replaced by confusion and Rebekah lowers him to the ground. She doesn't let him go, tightening her fist in the cotton of his shirt. She wonders how much force it would take to tear the fabric with her fingernails.
"Apologise?"
Rebekah watches Matt's face. He looks ragged. Rebekah lets go of her grip on him entirely.
"Yes." She turns and leaves.
[This is not what I intended, but only posting as it's the last chance to get the last word in before S4. Imperfect and incomplete. No spoilers for S4, only S3.]
All relevant disclaimers apply. Feedback welcomed.
Rebekah stalks the night. The air is wet, cold against the bare skin of her arms. She wonders briefly if she should be wearing a jacket in order to keep up appearances,but there is no one out. The street is empty and silent, but for loud human sounds inside houses.
She blocks out their noise.
There's a light on in the upstairs window of the Donovan house and the curtains haven't been pulled all the way closed. She can't see in, but shillouettes and shadows form against the light.
Rebekah sucks in her bottom lip, lets her teeth skate against it, sharp points against smooth skin. She breathes in, shakes her hair out and exhales. Dull flat edges press against her tongue.
The Gilbert house next door is dark.
.
Rebekah drowns out the noise of The Grill, ignoring the scrape of knives and forks against ceramic plates and the gurgle of soda running empty. She stills as 'Steve'
curls his hand around her hip, his presence warm against her back. His breath is hot against her ear and she squashes down on her sense of anticipation. His heartbeat is fast, but she is not finished here yet.
"Like this?" she asks and moves her legs hip width apart, raisng her arm, bending at the elbow, and aluminum dart loose in her fingertips. Steve's fingertips feel rough as they close around her wrist and the stubble of his beard brushes briefly against her cheek. He is much too close and he knows it.
"Old, don't cha think, Becky?"
Rebekah clenches her jaw at Damon Salvatore's voice. Steve has moved away from her. The bar table and stools a barrier between them. "Whoa, I was just teaching her how to play."
Rebekah faces Damon, her hunger welling up. Damon has the decency to look momentarily taken aback by the look on her face before his features settle in to an amused grin. Rebekah tightens her grip on the dart in her fingers.
"Since when was this your business?" she asks.
Damon merely keeps his grins and flutters his eyes and Rebekah grinds her molars, grip tightening on the dart still in her fingers.
Steve has his jacket on and and he glances at her once then at Damon before tossing some bills on the bar table.
Rebekah beats him outside. She's being careless, she knows, by rushing out, pushing past Damon and Matt Donovan knocking his bus box out of his hands and pushing through the door as dirty dishes tumble out smashing on the floor, but she is not finished here yet.
.
The fresh blood is a relief, warm, slick and vital, thick across her tongue. Rebekah listens carefully. Steve's heartbeat is too fast. She licks her lips, and lets the points
of her teeth indent on her lips. She smiles as she drops him to the ground.
The sick feeling in her gut remains.
.
Rebekah turns her head to the left, raising her chin with the motion and lowering it. She meets Elena Gilbert's gaze with a dead stare. The other girl flinches as their eyes meet and Rebekah smiles.
"Sloppy," she says. Her eyes not leaving Elena's face. "Making all that noise."
Elena's eyes narrow and Rebkah watches confusion flicker across her face. Elena stands straight, steps closer. "Why are you watching my house?"
Rebekah glances back across the road. The Gilbert house is there with no lights on. She lifts the open bottle of bourbon in her hand to her mouth and sips. The alcohol burns pleasantly on the way down. She takes the neck of the bottle in her left hand and holds her arm, straight out to Elena and shrugs.
Elena looks at Rebkah, then her house. She takes the bourbon from Rebekah's hand. "So. Why are you watching my house again?"
Rebekah flares her nostrils. She can smell Stefan, not just on Elena but in the cool fall air. He's nearby. Rebekah wonders just how many things he hasn't told Elena. She snatchs the bottle from Elena's hands.
"You don't have to breathe anymore," Rebekah offers before she leaves. "It's quieter if you don't. Helps with the stalking."
.
She enjoys the force, the push and the resounding crack that comes from breaking Stefan's neck on Matt Donovan's porch. It is most satisfactory. The look on Matt's face when she looks up, is not. Rebekah looks down at Stefan's body and then at Matt's face. She frowns.
He closes the door, but she manages, just barely with the threshold pushing against her, to keep the door ajar. Her foot is in the corner, the door open as the house itself tries to push her out. Matt holds open the door, and she stumbles backwards, falling against he bannister and tripping over her now empty bottle.
Matt closes the door. Inside, she can hear his rapid pulse as he calls Bonnie Bennet's number on his cell.
.
She takes four steps from the entrance way to the parlour and pauses to throw the limp squirrel carcass at Kol, sprawled on the sofa with his head rolled back. There's a girl, small and young, passed out at his feet. The girl's heartbeat is too fast.
Kol squawks. He has caught the cold furry body. "Oh, Rebekah" he says, each syllable of her name sound out. He tossies back at her. She looks at Kol, at the dead squirrel's arc of motion through the air, she steps back. The squirrel's skull thuds against the floor as it lands.
"I've had it," Rebekah says carefully with her eyes resting on the girl, only half on the floor rug with her knees splayed. Rebekah's chest feel tight.
She doesn't wait for his reply and turns away, leaving the squirrel on the floor. Steady dilberate steps take her upstairs to her room, where she wipes back tears and listens as the small and young girl's heart beats it last.
.
"I'm not good at this."
Matt has the pointy end of a stake directed at her, his fist is tight around it, knuckles white-red and Rebekah watches him carefully. His eyes are bright, wide, and terrified and Rebekah feels her gut turn in a wretched twist and tangle and she hates it.
She steps in quickly, one hand wraps around his arm holding the stake and the other curls into the fabric of his shirt lifting him up, and pressing him against the white-painted brick wall.
"I am trying to apologise."
The back of his head knocks against the wall, and the fear in his eyes is gradually replaced by confusion and Rebekah lowers him to the ground. She doesn't let him go, tightening her fist in the cotton of his shirt. She wonders how much force it would take to tear the fabric with her fingernails.
"Apologise?"
Rebekah watches Matt's face. He looks ragged. Rebekah lets go of her grip on him entirely.
"Yes." She turns and leaves.