Her eyes open. She finds herself in her own bed with no recollection of ever going to sleep. She remembers bits and pieces of information, minute details of what must have happened. The coldness of the air in the dining room. The sound of shattering glass, the weakness her body contained.

Raphael's warm touch. Everywhere.

Must have really worn me out, she thinks to herself, feeling the bruises on and inbetween her thighs. She gets out of bed, stumbling, and finds her way to the bathroom. With groggy eyes she reaches her toothbrush and spreads the paste on it. She grins into the mirror before brushing, rubbing her eyes when she thinks she sees something that isn't there.

Fangs. A closer look, and she notices her eyes match the color of the blood she needs to feast on from this point on. She smiles as she pokes the left fang, and then the right, admiring them after so long of missing them.

She drops her toothbrush when Raphael startles her, entering her bedroom without permission.

"Amy, go back to bed," he instructs her, and when she stands there disobediently, he forces her into the bed, not angrily or roughly but by picking her up and gently laying her back down.

"I'm not tired," she complains, sitting up.

"You will be. Don't you remember what it was like the first time?" he pushes her back down and reminds her of what the first couple weeks would be like for her. "Here, I got you something that should help." He pulls out a bag containing several bottles of blood that look so familiar to her.

"How did you find that?" she demands to know, having not told him what she did with her blood she kept for him.

"I found this," he answers, handing her a note she had written explaining her actions to Raphael, although she had never handed it to him.

"Oh," she realizes.

"Drink up," he insists, handing her a container of her own blood from her recent mortal life.

"What? No! That's yours!" she argues. She certainly wasn't going to drink her own blood. It seemed not right, and in an odd sense, a bit narcissistic.

"You need it. It will help you recover quickly," he tries to sway the stubborn young vampire, but she refuses to listen.

"No. I didn't keep that in storage for myself," she argues.

"Let's not do this the hard way, Amy," he warns, sounding a bit eager to make her do something against her will.

"Let's not do this at all," she competes, gripping onto her blanket and tossing over. "I'll be fine."

He rolls her back over and pulls her up, resting her against the wall, refusing to take no for an answer. He uncaps the container and puts it to her mouth. "Drink it." She looks away from Raphael, keeping her mouth closed tightly. As if giving up trying to force her, he sighs and absently plays with her hair until she looks back in his direction. He smiles sweetly but subtly at her, caressing the side of her face, leaning in to kiss the stubborn girl. Her lips return the kiss, and she soon tastes the blood she refuses to drink coming from Raphael's mouth. He quickly pulls away as soon as he transfers it to her, forcing her mouth shut with one hand and plugging her nose with the other. "Drink it," he repeats. She swallows.

"You tricked me," she says in disgust.

Raphael smiles in triumph, satisfied to have won this round with her. And he was prepared to do it as many times as it took for her to learn to do it herself until they could find more blood. He couldn't possibly face losing her. "Only because I love you."

She smiles sweetly back at him. "I love you too."