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How many years was it?  How many times must this scene be repeated?  The only thoughts into his mind as he drifted into the seas of regret, guilt, and ecstasy.  The scene, long ago, but he can account for the exact time as it was just yesterday.  His hands bloodied red, nails dripping in a crimson liquid, the odor of which became overwhelming, odor that made his blood boil for more.  An instinct.  An instinct that took him over in an instant.  His sense of morals, honor, and emotions blurred, tossed to the side as a scrap of paper.  All there was, hunger, pleasure, rage.  A consuming voice incomprehensible, yet so clear that it was controlling his own thoughts.

Within moments his tongue cleaned off a few fingers of the crimson liquid, and his mind melted in the taste of his prey's blood.  Moving closer he saw the source of this delicious red nectar.  Her eyes open wide, bleeding down her cheeks, staring at him in horror.   They pleaded at him to stop, to control himself, to wake up.  No, those eyes did nothing to dissuade him, only drown him in more excitement, and awaken another longing within.  She couldn't move.  Her eyes fixed upon him widen more when she saw what he planned from her next.  What his body desired.  Her flesh with his.

All she could do was look away, trying not to cry, not in front of him.  A sharp pain as he penetrated her, it was rough and dry, but her own body betrayed her.  Was it what she wanted she thought over and over again?  Why else would her body betray her as such?  Eyes swelling, she wanted to scream, to let the tears flow, but she cannot.  All she had was her pride in not giving into her fear, not to show her fear.

The one she raised, as a brother, as a son.  All he knew and admire about her would be shattered if she show her fear to him.  Clouds parted ways as a cold wind blew, showing the moon full.  The odor from her spilled blood, the wound slowly closing up.  The blood dried upon their exposed bodies.  And scent from his violation of her body for primal lust.  All of it filled their nostrils.  Etched forever in her mind.  Carved in regret in his.  It wasn't until dawn until the madding voice ended.  But it was too late to save her.

His instincts, his hands, took her away from him.  He took her way.  He cried out holding her, barely warm still.  Her scent no longer sweet and comforting.  A sharp pain to his back and he looked to her, eyes glowing black with spite and rage.  Her lips weaved into his mind, "I will live with your death, my murder."

Gasping for breath he woke up, sweating.  Squinting he shielded his eyes from the bright sun.  "Not again." Overhearing his gasp another walked to him and he looked away, her face bright and familiar, but not one he wished to see after such a nightmare memory repeating itself.  Walking up behind him she wrapped her arms around and pressed her ample bosom against his back, her cheek nuzzling against his neck.  "There there, it was that time again wasn't it?"  He placed his hand on her, barely even grasping it.  "It was the nightmare of it."  He sighed looking to the ground, "It haunts me as much as the actual memory."

She whispered, "At least this haunting isn't out to kill you." She chimed into his ear. "Only thing this haunting wants is a good morning kiss."  Not waiting for a reply the woman kissed his lips playfully before backing away.

"I do not deserve such pleasantries."  He sighed.  "Not for what I've done."

Rolling her eyes she moved in front of him and locked her gaze into his.  "But you're getting them anyways.  I swear, you're the only man who regrets being loved by anyone."

"And you would have to be the only woman who cant regret anything."

With a sharp smack to the back of his head she stared him down, "There are some secrets little boy, so don't assume I haven't regret you."

He looked down depressed more than when he awakened.  She smirked before pushing him down on his back and kissed his lips again. "But that makes me want to stay with you all the more."

Description
How many years was it?  How many times must this scene be repeated?  The only thoughts into his mind as he drifted into the seas of regret, guilt, and ecstasy.  The scene, long ago, but he can account for the exact time as it was just yesterday.  His hands bloodied red, nails dripping in a crimson liquid, the odor of which became overwhelming, odor that made his blood boil for more.  An instinct.  An instinct that took him over in an instant.  His sense of morals, honor, and emotions blurred, tossed to the side as a scrap of paper.  All there was, hunger, pleasure, rage.  A consuming voice incomprehensible, yet so clear that it was controlling his own thoughts.

Within moments his tongue cleaned off a few fingers of the crimson liquid, and his mind melted in the taste of his prey's blood.  Moving closer he saw the source of this delicious red nectar.  Her eyes open wide, bleeding down her cheeks, staring at him in horror.   They pleaded at him to stop, to control himself, to wake up.  No, those eyes did nothing to dissuade him, only drown him in more excitement, and awaken another longing within.  She couldn't move.  Her eyes fixed upon him widen more when she saw what he planned from her next.  What his body desired.  Her flesh with his.

All she could do was look away, trying not to cry, not in front of him.  A sharp pain as he penetrated her, it was rough and dry, but her own body betrayed her.  Was it what she wanted she thought over and over again?  Why else would her body betray her as such?  Eyes swelling, she wanted to scream, to let the tears flow, but she cannot.  All she had was her pride in not giving into her fear, not to show her fear.

The one she raised, as a brother, as a son.  All he knew and admire about her would be shattered if she show her fear to him.  Clouds parted ways as a cold wind blew, showing the moon full.  The odor from her spilled blood, the wound slowly closing up.  The blood dried upon their exposed bodies.  And scent from his violation of her body for primal lust.  All of it filled their nostrils.  Etched forever in her mind.  Carved in regret in his.  It wasn't until dawn until the madding voice ended.  But it was too late to save her.

His instincts, his hands, took her away from him.  He took her way.  He cried out holding her, barely warm still.  Her scent no longer sweet and comforting.  A sharp pain to his back and he looked to her, eyes glowing black with spite and rage.  Her lips weaved into his mind, "I will live with your death, my murder."

Gasping for breath he woke up, sweating.  Squinting he shielded his eyes from the bright sun.  "Not again." Overhearing his gasp another walked to him and he looked away, her face bright and familiar, but not one he wished to see after such a nightmare memory repeating itself.  Walking up behind him she wrapped her arms around and pressed her ample bosom against his back, her cheek nuzzling against his neck.  "There there, it was that time again wasn't it?"  He placed his hand on her, barely even grasping it.  "It was the nightmare of it."  He sighed looking to the ground, "It haunts me as much as the actual memory."

She whispered, "At least this haunting isn't out to kill you." She chimed into his ear. "Only thing this haunting wants is a good morning kiss."  Not waiting for a reply the woman kissed his lips playfully before backing away.

"I do not deserve such pleasantries."  He sighed.  "Not for what I've done."

Rolling her eyes she moved in front of him and locked her gaze into his.  "But you're getting them anyways.  I swear, you're the only man who regrets being loved by anyone."

"And you would have to be the only woman who cant regret anything."

With a sharp smack to the back of his head she stared him down, "There are some secrets little boy, so don't assume I haven't regret you."

He looked down depressed more than when he awakened.  She smirked before pushing him down on his back and kissed his lips again. "But that makes me want to stay with you all the more."