Anya looked down at the knife she was clutching. She remembered that night. The night she killed her father, if you could even call him that, she like to call him monster. Her fingers ran patterns across the blade. She remembered how he bled, he bled like she had so many times when he beat her. Her finger stopped at the tip of the knife. She pricked her finger and watched the droplet of blood run down her finger. We may all be different, but we all bleed the same. A sharp pain hit her head. Great more headaches. She began to see the faces that haunted her dreams, they came whispering to her, telling her lies. She shook her head and tried to clear it with no sucess. She regularly had these inner wars in her head. Her rational and logical side arguing with the demons. Most of the time her rational side won, she looked over at Eric yet again, except when it comes to Eric. Logic flies out the window whenever she's around him, and that's a dangerous thing. She always must remain in control or else her demons will take over. It is not a good thing for her to let her guard down, for that is when she looses control and does things, like kill her father. she sighed and looked away from Eric. Her relationship with Eric wasn't healthy for her, but it's too late now. She cares for him too much to leave him. She loves him so that she would rather die than give him up. She tilted her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Right now she should be focusing on keeping herself alive, but all she can think about is keeping him alive. Of course she meets one of the first people she's ever cared about locked up in some psychopath's twisted game. Oh irony is a bitch.
