Addiction

The struggle was something she handled alone.  Family was nice... family,
she admitted to herself, had become necessary.  She could not imagine her
life anymore without Nicholas and Constance.  The constant presence of
people who loved her gave her more than she had ever thought possible.  But
they had been through too much already.  She knew that watching Constance
come apart under her need for Bastian's vitae had hurt Nicholas more than he
would admit.  She knew that the suffering Constance had undergone had
damaged her perhaps beyond recovery.  She did not want to inflict more of
that on either of them; she had to protect them.  She had to protect them
and her child, and that was the most important thing in her life.

Except need.  She needed... it was an alive thing in her.  Cravings
uncontrollable, unmentionable, she could neither speak of them nor think of
them, yet they absorbed every moment into a vast cavern of emptiness.  Mason
felt that she no longer knew how to be happy.  She could remember, she could
grasp the edges of it as though clinging to the edge of a cliff, but her
fingers were numb, and she did not even know if she would feel it when she
let go, not until she hit the bottom and became a casualty of the depths of
her need.

Lucille... her blood... her cool smoothness and the cold fire of the
vitae... Lyness... oh Lyness... ancient fires and waters in them... she had
to throw herself at Lucille's feet and beg forgiveness for this foolish
attempt to give up her addiction, even temporarily... she knew Lucille would
forgive... would grant her what she could not go on without... knowing that
made it even harder to deny herself.

The days were safer.  In the days, there was only the cold vitae in the lab
calling to her, and she'd given the keys to Nicholas, she no longer trusted
herself with them.  In the days she could work, she could find minutes at a
time to think of something other than her need, she could focus on her
priorities, on her family.  She could remember why she was doing this to
herself.  She could forgive herself, in the daytimes.  The sun shone
brightly into her heart and gave her some small consoling warmth.

Nights were worse.  More nights than she could remember, now, she had spent
locked into her room, the key pushed under the door, unable to get out.  She
had to call Nick or Constance on her phone when she was ready to leave the
room.  That way she'd never get out alone... in a way it felt safe.  But she
hated having to let them see how hard her struggle was getting.  There had
been other nights where she would close her door, lock it, but not push the
key under it, instead hiding it atop a picture frame where she'd have to
push a chair over to reach it again.  Then she'd lie on the bed and cry
until she felt washed clean, or bite at her wrist until it bled, or
masturbate until she could no longer feel anything but the spasming... the
need would vanish then, for a little while, and she would fall asleep,
exhausted.

Her visits to the obstetrician were always a struggle.  She tried to stay
her calmest and most agreeable at those times; they always took her blood
pressure and though they told her it was within normal range, she felt their
concern.  The stress of pregnancy was nothing, though, compared to the
stress of withdrawal.  Mason knew that and focused herself on the pregnancy
as much as she could.  When she listened to the swift heartbeat of her
embryo child, she felt peaceful... a rare and sacred gift.  The doctor
spread cool jelly on her abdomen, and a microphone held to the jelly let the
tiny kerthump, kerthump, kerthump echo through the examining room, the most
beautiful music she had ever heard.

"I promise you," she said silently to her child as she lay listening to its
heart beating, "you will always be loved.  You will always have a family.  I
promise."  She imagined she heard its heart beat just a little faster in
answer.  Yes.  Hard as this was... she would never surrender... never.
Mason softly smiled, and though she did not see it her doctor did also at
the emotions she read on her patient's face.  This one, she thought, would
be a wonderful mother.