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Despite having a therapist, a damn good one at that, there were some things Renfield was more comfortable talking about to his friends rather than him. Since they did know the full story and he could go into much better detail. Like how Dracula would kill him and bring him back to life multiple as a punishment, or how he learned, after decades of being too ashamed to look it up, that he had many grandchildren and great grandchildren. Things which made no sense to anyone but those who helped him break free from his master.
Yet, even still, there was a single thing he hadn't breathed a word about to a single soul. A topic, a thought, that was strictly off-limits.
He missed his master.
He knew how crazy this sounded. He missed the old bastard? The monster who verbally, emotionally, and physically abused him for 90 years? The beast who tore him open just for suggesting they try to keep a low profile? The . . . the animal tried taking away everyone he had ever loved? All for the crime of knowing him, and liking his company? That same one?
Yes. That same one.
Look, not every moment shared with him was bad. Far from it. They shared some great times together. Travelling around the world, talking about the literature they enjoyed, and just silently enjoying the others company. These were real, tangible memories he clung to for decades. He had to for his survival. He still looked back at them with a fondness. A bittersweet ache in his heart for those lost moments he wishes he could get back. Wishes he could've done something, anything, to make his master treat him better. That he could've been better.
It was maddening.
It was inane.
But not at all uncommon, he learned.
If he knew Dracula's true self back then, of course he would have never joined him. No one starts a relationship like that. Bit by bit, the monster came out. And then, it was far too late. His claws were sunk into his body, mind, and soul. Once removed, they left deep, bloody marks in their wake. Ones that were impossible for him not to notice.
Renfield would find himself still looking at people as if he was assessing them for potential feeding. He almost choked up when he heard one of the counts favorite classical pieces being played on a radio station. He stopped introducing himself by his full name, and merely used his surname, as his master did. Little habits most people wouldn't notice or care about but spoke to a life he once had. A person he still couldn't escape.