The Touch Of A Vampire

Daylen slept on the cold floor with little to no clothes on. He shivered from the cold of the night, and he twisted and turned his head around from the nightmares that haunted his sleep.

Sweat trickled down his face.

His tired weak hands were clenched into fists. Trying to resist the pain from breaking him down. It was the only thing he could do to aid his helpless situation.

He opened his eyes and woke up from his sleep when icy cold water was poured on him. He trembled in fear, the cold of the night running its thy hands down her spine.

Daylen raised his gaze and locked it by the door where the water came from. His body shuddered from the torture that the opened door promised to him.

He grabbed the hems of his shirt and held it with the weak strength he had left. Clinging to the little pieces left of what used to be a shirt to keep him strong.

His hands and feet were chained in silver. With every little movement that he made, the chains weakened him even more.

He blinked his eyes, his vision was blurry, his lips were dry, and had a bruise. His reality was harsher than the nightmares when he closed his eyes.

"What an ugly bitch," a man in a black leather jacket let out while entering the room.

At the sound of his voice, Daylen involuntarily found his body clinging to the little energy he had left to get away from him. He crawled back biting his lower lip to endure the pain of the chains.

"How pathetic. Not only do you look horrible but aren't even worth putting any effort into," he uttered and kicked Daylen roughly in the stomach.

"Arghh," Daylen screamed softly. He had no strength to raise his voice higher. He coughed and panted for breath on the ground.

He rested his head on the floor, tears threatening to flow down his cheeks. His eyes were red, they hurt too much from all the crying that fate forced on his eyes. But helplessness impelled him to keep enduring.

"Disgusting," the man uttered in disdain and kicked him in the face.

Daylen's weak body rolled over. The chains pulled tighter at his hands worsening his pain. He parted his lips and let out a breath, it was futile to scream or cry. His tears and screams were in vain.

No matter how hard he cried no one ever came to help him. No one heard him crying or cares to wipe his tears, that had been the case for so long that he had lost hope of change.

The man walked over to the wall and took the chains in his hands, he pulled at the chains. "Ahhh," Daylen whined being forced to get on his bloodied feet, the wounds on his feet were still fresh and they hurt like crazy.

He tried to keep his eyes open but the pain was getting the better of him. He had not eaten in a long while, and his captors had drained him of blood repeatedly.

Daylen's mind was drifting off while he struggled not to stand on his wounds. He tiptoed trying hard not to fall unconscious.

The man stopped pulling once he had stood up straight. He hooked the chain back to the wall and slowly made his way toward him. The sounds of his footsteps were all that Daylen could hear that told him of how close he was to him.

PAP!

Daylen's cheeks burnt harshly from the rough slap that he received from the man. "How dare you sleep in my presence?" The man inquired from him.

He forced his eyes open and stared at the devil. The face that haunts him each time he closes his eyes, his lips trembled as his teeth clattered together from the close view of the devil.

"Much better," the man spoke out pulling his hair back. Daylen gasped, he was so tired that he could have sworn he saw the bright light.

Death would be better than the repeated torture that he was forced to endure. The man leaned his head to kiss the nape of his neck, his free hand ripped at Daylen's shirt.

'Please no...not this,' his mind struggled to fight but his body was too weak.

They had done everything to him, tortured him, verbally abused him, drained him of blood, and poisoned him with a substance that keeps his werewolf side dormant. For as long as he remembered they had kept him, prisoner.

But not once had he ever been touched intimately. He was glad in his heart that at least he would get to leave the cursed world pure but that too was turning into a wishful dream.

The man left him with nothing on, and he reached his hand to touch him. He was in the least attracted to his body but the fact that he was untouched allured him, it provoked him to put Daylen out of his misery.

"Don't look too sad. I am helping you out, how else will you ever know what it means to be touched?" he said in a mocking tone.

Daylen closed his eyes. Tears of despair flowed down his eyes, he had given up. The beast could do as he pleased, he only wished death would come for him before the devil gets his way with him.

His life had never been his from the beginning. He knew not his origins of where he came from or if he had any family that would miss him. 

Daylen fades out of consciousness giving his mind the rest he badly needed. His thoughts wondered about his life, he was hopeless that anyone would mourn his death, and no one would cry over his dead body or speak of the life he led.

There was no life to speak of. Perhaps the people who cared for his blood would miss their human blood bag, but he doubted they even knew his name.

Daylen is a werewolf who can't transform. One whose blood was valuable to someone out there. That was all he knew of himself. Other than that, he too had no information about his life, no last name, no hometown, no friends, no family, and no home.

He was alone.