Goddamn, I do not want to be here right now.

Blood sat there, at his desk. The sound of his pen scratching against the paper was the only noise to be heard inside the room. I continued to lay in bed and do my best to pretend that he wasn't glancing over at me occasionally.

What did he want?

Was he waiting for a, oh, thank you for jumping in and saving me from your emotionally unstable gate-guards!? Because if he was, he wasn't getting it anytime soon. Or ever, for that matter.

I coughed awkwardly as I decided that sitting around in bed- his bed, a bed, a bed in the Hatter mansion, was not my cup of tea (get it? Tea? Hatter Mansion? Blood loves tea-- Alex stop making awful puns) and I certainly did not want to be in his presence any longer.

We made eye contact as I shifted myself up and sat forwards.

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

Smoothly, he raised an eyebrow.

"I- It's not like I'm not thankful for your hospitality, really, I am, but uh, I'm alright now."

The look he gave me made me unsure on whether I should laugh at myself or cry. He looked at me like I was the stupidest thing in the world. Which is probably because he thought I was. Blood scoffed at me before returning to his paperwork.

"You will not be leaving. You're in no condition to move."

Frowning, I tutted; I didn't like being told what to do. Especially by people who looked like assholes-- assholes who basically aided in the death of my older sister. "You're a mafia boss, but you ain't my boss. I don't need to take orders from you, and you have no right to command me to do anything." 

 Now, I don't remember standing up, nor do I remember Blood also getting up and standing in front of me, but it must've happened because here he was, staring down at me. 

"Alex."

"No."

"Alex."

"No."

We were staring at eachother now -- I refused to blink. There was no way I was going to lose a staring contest to Blood Dupre. As a matter of fact, I had won it. Blood let out a sigh and turned his head and muttered something under his breath. I made my way to the door, held my hand on the door knob, when suddenly--

"Alexander."

I stopped in my tracks.

Did he just first name me? He did, right? How the hell does he know my first name? Well, my full first name. When we met, I introduced myself as Alex, didn't I? Didn't I?

"Alexander." Blood repeated in that stupid silky smooth voice of his. Unknowingly, I must've spent a while when frozen there, bombarding myself with questions. Well, long enough for Blood to silently creep up behind me. Slowly, I watched his hand emerge from the side and Blood places his fingers on top of mine, almost prying them off of the door handle. The pressure of his lips against my ear informed me that he was indeed smirking, like I thought, and I couldn't help but gulp when he whispered "Go back to bed."

Denying Blood the pleasure of my obedience would be so much easier if he wasn't so attractive.

He did look like that guy-- they had the same face. But at the same time, it was so different. He and that man had polar opposite personalities: He would smile kindly and was overly humble, but Blood was haughty and laid back and he smirked all of the goddamn time-- he was a procrastinator who drunk too much tea and loved to get into the pants of the girls whom he employed. Blood was so... so different, so new and it was exciting. He was completely heterogeneous to the man whose face he had stole.

Scoffing, I turned my head ever so slightly to face the mafia boss. "You want me in your bed that badly?"

"I want you to let your shoulder heal."

"And then some?"

"Naturally." Goddamn, I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.

"And if I said no?"

This time, it was Blood who scoffed. I retreated back to the bed-- confirmed to be his bed while he went back to work.

I wasn't entirely sure on as to what just occured. The scene confused me. I admitted Blood was hot (to myself), went against my gut feeling of 'get the fuck out of the house/mansion' and even -- Lord knows why -- went back to the warmth that was his bed? Why? Why the hell would I do that? What the fuck is wrong with me? Shit like this will make me sleep with the enemy-- or in this case, a guy with the enemy's face and is totally rocking that shit.

Snuggling into the blanket, I let out a yawn.

I'll just let Boris rescue me.