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Renfield sits on his sofa, carefully poking a threading needle through one of his old blazers. He Is tightening up one of the old stitchings on the pocket, one that he had to replace many years ago and was now becoming loose again.
The movement of the needle Is methodical, soothing him Into a trance as he follows the edges of the tear, pinching It together with his other fingers as he continues pulling the thread through.
When he goes to pierce the needle back Into the fabric once again he stabs It Into his finger by mistake. He winces In pain, but pulls It out with ease and carefully puts his work next to him, slipping his thumb Into his mouth to hold the blood back with his tongue.
He gets up from the sofa and walks through the kitchen, tip toeing across the cold tile as he finds himself sucking on his thumb unconsciously, licking up the little dribbles of blood as he walks Into his bathroom.
He reaches up to the cabinet behind his mirror, grabbing a plaster from his organised tub and tearing open the packaging. He slips his thumb out of his mouth and lays the plaster over the small cut, wrapping It around the tip of his finger.
Once he’s done, he picks the leftover pieces up and turns to leave, but Is frozen In place when he notices something In the corner of his vision.
A fly sits on the edge of the sink, rubbing Its feet together.
His body goes still, and his heart pounds In his chest as he watches It. A strange urge enters him, and his mouth automatically salivates when he considers the rush of power he will get from eating It.
He tries to snap himself out of It, he knows Dracula Is dead. He knows he hates the taste of bugs, but his mind Is quickly slipping from his grasp, dragging him back to the years when he would eat the tiny lives willingly. Panic rises In his chest as he tries to hold himself back, reminding himself that he’s better than this.
The last time he felt like this In the asylum… when he had nothing to turn to but the thought that his Master would come back for him. His mind was twisted and contorted In ways that he fears now, but felt sane and normal to him back then. The bugs were delicious to him, or maybe It was just the Idea that they would give him life that made him consume them so often.
He should just squish It and throw It In the bin. He should trap It under a glass and bring It to the window.
These thoughts are thrusted to the back of his mind as he reaches for the fly, hand trembling as he tries to fight It.
How can he waste such a precious piece of life? He has to sustain himself, the bug Is for him.
It’s not supposed to be here. His house Is clean from top to bottom. He removed every last piece of rot and grout from the rooms. He did everything to ensure that no dirt would enter his home.
Get out of my home.
He tries to scream at It, but It doesn’t understand. It doesn’t even move when his hand Is only Inches away from It, as If they both know what must be done.
He couldn’t even scream when Dracula was here. Couldn’t remove him like a pest, because In that situation he became the pest once more. He doesn’t belong here.
The last bit of control over himself has rotted away, and he finally snatches up the fly, stuffing It Into his mouth before he can stop himself.
It buzzes around Inside of him, and he quickly squishes It between his teeth to silence It.
Bile rises In his throat, but he swallows It down with the fly.
His heart pounds In his chest, and the tears quickly pool In the corners of his eyes. What has he done?
He leans over the sink and grips onto the sides of It with both hands, digging his nails Into It as he tries to force himself to vomit, heaving up nothing as the fly becomes part of him.
Renfield sobs as he bends over the sink, trying to hack up anything.
The terror overtakes him, and he begins panting heavily, his mouth open wide to exhale Into the sink with erratic breaths. It makes him feel lightheaded, and he slumps his head against the wall, folding his hands under his forehead as he hyperventilates.
WhathaveIdonewhathaveIdonewhathaveIdone?
The thought races through his mind like a broken record, spinning forever and ever with no way of stopping It.
He was getting better. He wasn’t even biting his nails. He kept his apartment clean. He wasn’t having as many nightmares. WHY DID HE DO THAT?
Rebecca kept reassuring him that he was doing well, she even praised him when he showed her his unchewed nails with a proud smile.
His heart sinks when he realises how disappointed she’ll be In him.
He brings his fingers to his mouth, and begins gnawing on the edge of his nails.
What’s the point? She’ll be mad either way.
This mantra has been stuck with him for years, like a reassurance. People will be mad with him no matter what, so why bother making them proud?
When Rebecca finds out what he's done he’ll finally stop trying like he did with Dracula. Unlike last time, he won’t spend years attempting to please her.
Renfield rips at the chunks of nail with his teeth and spits them Into the sink, biting down and down until he has nothing to bite down on. He moves on to the next hand, nibbling at them until the tips of his fingers are bloody and torn.
He doesn’t stop there, and continues to bite himself until pieces of skin are peeled from him, caught In his teeth along with the blood.
His breathing picks up again, and he Is forced to stop biting himself when his lungs can’t expand enough. He pushes himself back and slumps against the wall behind him, sliding down to the floor as he fights for air.
It feels like Invisible hands are wrapped around him, holding him up to the wall as they drain the life from him.
He knows they aren’t real, he can move, but his body refuses to. The phantom feeling drags him back to those horrible nights with his Master, appearing like a movie on the back of his eyelids, projected from his mind.
Why did Dracula ever bother punishing him? He never learned his lessons. He barely remembers the mistakes he made, only the pain.
Those years of his undead life were nothing but a haze of misery and pain, wrapped up tightly In a neat little bow. There was no escape, even In those moments where Dracula pretended to love him he was still tormented.
He wishes he could remember the ‘I love you’s’ from his Master, but those moments may as well not exist. They probably don’t. Maybe all along he was lying to himself, and Dracula was never good to him.
Maybe he was just that sick In the head, staying with a monster who gave him nothing but pain.
He liked the pain, didn’t he?
No. No. Nononono-
These thoughts aren’t his own. They’re lies. Stop lying.
He presses his hands against his head and pushes Into his skull until It hurts, tangling his fingers Into his hair and twisting It Into knots.
Nothing feels real. Everything around him Is a lie. He can’t trust anything.
His chest heaves as he fights to control his breathing, gasping painfully as his lungs are squeezed Inside of him, shriveling up despite his attempts at gathering oxygen.
Can’t even breathe correctly. Why can’t you do anything right?
Renfield sobs as he shuffles away from the wall, falling onto the hard floor with hiccups and whimpers escaping between his pained breaths.
Why does everything hurt? Why can’t he be like Rebecca?
He envies her simple life, the serenity of knowing your thoughts are your own and the ability to stand up for yourself. He envies her happiness. He envies her grief.
She only lost her father. He lost everything.
He doesn’t want to be selfish. Please, why can’t he stop being selfish?
Why, why, why? That’s the only thing he can say. Nothing makes sense.
His life Is a maze, a tangled and convoluted mess that he can never escape. Everyone else knows where the exit Is but him. They watch him from the outskirts, laughing as he walks down the same Incorrect path over and over again. They can see over the edges, but the bushes tower over him, turning him Into an ant when surrounded by them.
The reminder of bugs brings him back Into reality, and he gags once again, desperately fighting to get the fly out of him – though It has undoubtedly been melted In his stomach already.
His body finally grows exhausted of trying to kill him, and the Invisible force lets go of his throat.
Renfield curls up Into a ball as he slumps his head against the floor, resting his cheek on the cold tile as the tears create a puddle below him while he tries to calm his racing heart.
After a few minutes of letting the tears trickle down his cheeks, he finally wipes his eyes and gets up. He sways side to side slightly as he sits for a moment, watching the world blur and unblur each time he blinks, fighting to stay awake despite his exhaustion.
He slowly places a hand on the wall, pushing himself up to his feet and sighing as he turns around to leave the room. His entire body trembles as he walks back through the kitchen and sits on the sofa once more.
Though he wants to try and pretend like nothing happened, he can’t push the thought of the fly away. Nothing can distract him from the horrible feeling of the legs on his tongue.
He shuffles to the corner of the sofa and pulls his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible by hugging himself tightly.
For a brief moment he closes his eyes, Imagining that someone else Is holding him as he rests his head against his knees, rubbing his cheeks against the fabric and dampening It with his tears. When was the last time someone hugged him like this?
Did anybody ever hug him like this?
Master would sometimes hold him In his arms, but It was far from comforting. They weren’t even hugs, he was held like an object and dragged around like a doll. Some part of him misses It. He wants to be wrapped up In Master’s cape and suffocated again and again until his Master grows bored of reviving him and finally kills him for good.
Father never looked at him, let alone hugged him. Even when he would hit, he would strike Renfield without sparing him even a glance. He can’t blame him.
Mother never hugged him, though she would sometimes pat his head or brush the tears from his cheeks. Even when he grazed his knee on the pavement at the age of three, she had turned him away and Ignored his cries that lasted for hours. He only shut up when his father got home from work, knowing that If he expressed a shred of emotion that he would suffer worse pain than his skin being ripped off by the ground.
He learned not to cry around anyone after that, but that lesson was quickly stripped away from him when Dracula hurt him for the first time. Master kept hitting him, but he couldn’t stop crying like he did when his father punished him.
He never knew true pain until he met Dracula.
How Innocent he was, thinking that his father slapping his cheek was the worst pain he would experience In his life.
When he met Miriam he thought things would be different, and that the marks and bruises on his skin would fade. He was so Innocent and foolish, believing that their marriage could be good and they could figure everything out, when In reality It only got worse over time.
Then he met Dracula, and the last flicker of hope he had managed to protect from the wind was pinched between Dracula’s fingers and extinguished forever.
Not even being free from his Master could relight the candle, not even Rebecca or the support group could.
At least now the cycle can’t continue, and he won’t be hurt again by getting his hopes up.
He knows Mark and Rebecca will lose hope In him, too. They’re the only people who truly know him, and they can tell that he’s growing tired of the constant dog race that his life has become.
By some miracle – or curse. Definitely a curse. – his phone begins ringing, and he finally lifts his head up off of his knees, weakly gazing at the screen and seeing that It’s Rebecca.
Perhaps she has become a vampire and read his mind.
He reaches over to grab his phone, considering It for a moment as It buzzes In his hand. No noise comes from It, – after years of being tormented with sudden noises he was relieved to find out that he could silence the ringtone – so he sits quietly for a few seconds, staring at her contact photo.
Taking a deep breath, he presses the answer button and brings the phone up to his ear, resting It against the side of his head as he closes his eyes.
“Rob, you okay?”
He hums Into the microphone, trying to sound as cheerful as he can despite the pit In his stomach.
“I tried to call you earlier but you didn’t answer. What happened?”
Some part of him feels happy that she was worried about him, but that feeling Is pushed down by the guilt that begins gnawing at his brain, chewing through him like a parasite.
Why does she care about him? Why won’t she let him rot In this horrible apartment?
“I left my phone on the sofa while I was tidying the bathroom, so I must’ve not heard It.”
He can hear the lie In his own voice. Everyone always told him he's a terrible liar.
“We don’t have to talk about It, but can I come over to distract you?”
Renfield quickly wipes the drying tears from his cheeks with his sleeve.
Though he knows Rebecca Is giving him a choice, he doesn’t feel like he has the right to make the decision. After decades of being forced Into every part of his life, he still can’t let go of his desire to please others.
“Of course.” He cheerfully responds, though his heart sinks and he feels the overwhelming urge to cry again.
Rebecca responds, but he hangs up before he can make out the words, giving her a quick ‘bye’ before he places his phone back on the side table.
His smile fades Immediately as he realises It’ll be Impossible not to spill the truth to Rebecca when she arrives.
Maybe he should run away before she gets here. Yes. He should leave the door unlocked and let her find no one Inside.
Something holds him back, though, and he stays In place on the sofa. She’ll track him down and force the answer out of him either way, so he should wait for his punishment like Dracula trained him to do.
Though he knows that she won’t hurt him, the paranoia races through him and makes him doubt his rationality. How can he trust Rebecca? Everyone else has hurt him, It’s only a matter of time before she does too.
More tears force their way out of his exhausted eyes, and he sobs Into his hands. Why can’t he be normal?
He still doesn’t know why his father hit him, why his wife despised him, why Dracula tormented him. He just wants to know why.
He tried to be everything they wanted, and It wasn’t enough. He needs to be better. He’ll be better for Rebecca. He’ll wait for Rebecca.
Renfield sniffles and rubs his eyes, pressing his palms Into the sockets until patterns appear on the back of his eyelids, having to pull away to stop himself from losing himself In the pain.
After he manages to get himself under control and wipe the tears away, he rises from his place on the sofa and quietly walks over to the door, unlocking the handle and pulling It slightly open. He peers out of the gap and considers escaping once again, but decides to sit next to the door Instead.
He feels like a reverse vampire, can’t leave his house unless Invited. It makes him chuckle to himself as he wraps his arms around his shoulders and tries to stop himself from hyperventilating again.
He Isn’t sure how much time passes before the door Is pushed further open and Rebecca peers Into his apartment. She looks down at him with a pitying stare, and Renfield wants to die then and there.
Stop looking at me like that. He begs In his mind, though he smiles when she does.
“Do you want to get up?”
Renfield shakes his head. She turns and takes off her boots, putting them on the shoe rack before she steps Inside and closes the door behind her.
A wave of relief washes over him when he sees her remove her shoes, smiling as he realises just how considerate she Is of him. He had explained his anxiety about filth to her after a breakdown one night, and she promised to help him give his apartment a deep clean that very night after seeing just how panicked he was.
Don’t get hopeful. Don’t trust her.
“Do you want a hug? Or do you want me to sit on the sofa and wait for you to calm down?”
Renfield can’t hold back the tears now, and buries his face In his hands, sobbing Into them for a few minutes before he can look back up at Rebecca.
“Just…. Sit next to me?” He murmurs softly, folding his arms over his chest as he stares at the floor, a few droplets flicking off of his eyelashes when he blinks.
Rebecca slowly slides down and crosses her legs, sitting a few Inches away from him.
Why won’t you hit me? Why won’t you yell at me for crying? Why won’t you throw me against the wall until my spine snaps In half?
He doesn’t deserve this. She’s being too kind to him. He Isn’t allowed to be cared for, so why does she care about him?
“Why?”
She turns to look at him In confusion, her eyebrows scrunched together In confusion. He doesn’t look directly at her, just glimpses her face In the corner of his vision as he gazes off Into the distance.
“Why what?”
Everything.
“Why do you care about me?”
Though he can tell she wants to laugh, she Instead looks at him seriously, considering the question.
“You’re a good person, and you’ve been through a lot. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
He still wants to ask why, but he holds his tongue and nods In understanding. He’s never known why people care about each other In a mutual way. He cared for so many people, but they never cared for him back, making him wonder why people do so now.
It’s a miracle he didn’t meet someone horrible again, and he finally turns to smile at Rebecca, wiping a few tears from his lashes.
The memory of the fly suddenly enters his mind again, and his face softens Into a slight frown as he tries to force the memory away. In his attempt at trying to think of different memories, he Is reminded of when Mark told him that talking about his bad days would be good, so he takes a deep breath and looks down at the floor again as he confesses his sin.
“I ate a fly.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, digging his fingers Into his upper arms and running them along the fabric of his jumper, chewing on his lip anxiously.
“I’m not mad at you.” It feels like a lie, but Renfield desperately wants It to be true. He clenches his teeth together and braces himself for Impact, but It never comes.
“You’re still doing so well. Relapses are bound to happen, but you’re strong for talking about It and letting me know.” How can he be strong when he gave In to his urges? “I’m not good at talking about all this… therapy stuff. But you don’t have to let this ruin your progress, It’s okay to have bad days.”
He clings to every word desperately, trying with all his might to Ignore his self doubt and focus on her voice, hugging his arms to his chest as tight as he can.
Though he desperately wants to lean Into her and hug her, every molecule In his body refuses to move, like he has been frozen from head to toe.
His eyes slowly flutter open, and he blinks at Rebecca slowly, tilting his head slightly towards her.
“Thank you for being here for me.”
The words come out as a whisper, feeling like they’re grating his own ears as he tenses up, knowing that she’s growing more and more annoyed each time he speaks.
“Of course, I’ll keep being here for you whenever you need me.”
She suddenly gets up, pushing herself up onto her knees before she then stands, offering her hand to him. “Come on, being sappy all night won’t cheer you up.”
Renfield hesitantly reaches for her hand, feeling her grip him firmly and allow him to pull himself up. He’s amazed at her strength, and almost falls over In surprise when she tugs him to his feet with ease.
He then follows her to the sofa, sitting at the opposite corner to her as she reaches under the coffee table and rummages around, grabbing the box of VHS tapes Renfield had managed to keep from the 80s.
They had managed to get Renfield a TV a couple of months ago, and Rebecca helped to hook It up to a VHS player that he had saved from his Master’s destruction.
She picks up one of the tapes and shows the label to Renfield. He reads It and smiles. “Footloose? Really?” Rebecca chuckles, about to place It back Into the box.
“It’s a good movie!” He bursts out defensively, reaching out for the tape. Rebecca rolls her eyes and gives It to him, tucking the box back under the coffee table and laying back against the sofa as Renfield loads the tape Into the player.
The fly fades Into the back of his mind as the movie begins playing, and he curls up under a blanket while he watches the screen with a smile plastered on his face.