01 - Forgive Me - Amerika
Author's Note: I am not a dark and scary person, and I am not, in any way whatsoever, a vampire. I do not want to hear anyone - that includes Hanson themselves - tell me about vampires and what I've forgotten or interpreted wrong: my purpose in writing those was to discount any pretenses about "vampires" that people may have. THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS VAMPIRES. Thank you.
I kept telling him from the start that I wouldn't do it. I didn't expect him to listen - what boy would? I knew it was wrong, he knew it was wrong, but it was like anything a child is forbidden: once he knows he can't have it, he only wants it that much more.
For weeks I wouldn't go out or answer the phone, afraid it would be him; what he might ask and what I might have to reply. But he was my best friend, and I did love him, so like all things, my silent treatment didn't last. He finally came to see me one evening, when the sun was safely sunk.
I opened the front door with a shaking hand, praying it would be a UPS man or even a Jehovah's Witness. But it was Taylor, tall and lovely, with a posy of lavender and sweet pea - my favourite.
"Can I come in?" he asked. You know it's yes, said his eyes. I sighed, my leaden heart sinking further into its pit.
"Yeah," I whispered, and he kissed my cheek and stepped in, laying the
flowers in my arm.
"You haven't checked your messages in two weeks," Taylor observed as he
poured steaming tea into a cup for me, then for himself. He was skillfully avoiding talking about It.
"I've been sick," I said feebly. The smell of honey and chamomile was
turning my stomach.
"I bet," he shook his head and set the teakettle back on the burner.
"You do look a little pale."
"Mm." It was probably the worry. I honestly didn't feel so good, so the excuse wasn't too far off the mark.
"How long's it been since you've eaten?" he asked. I knew what he was asking behind the question, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
"I had a peach when I got up," I lied. It was a good lie - there was no evidence against it.
"You're killing yourself, Euphrosene," he said worriedly.
"Please don't call me that," I whispered and pinched the bridge of my nose to direct the pain away from my temples.
"I'm sorry." I didn't have to look at him to know his expression: his lips were pursed, and the worry line between his perfect eyebrows was puckered. I heard him set his cup down on the kitchen table where I sat, and I looked up.
"Do you love me, Taylor?" I asked weakly.
"Of course."
"Then don't ask me to do it."
"Effie..."
"No," I winced and stood, turning to the window where the light was still warm enough to feel. Taylor put his cool, dry hand on my bare arm, but I was rigid.
"It's the only thing I've ever asked of you," he said.
"That doesn't make it okay." My hands were shaking.
"*Look* at you, Eff, you need it. You're starving yourself!" he argued. "You need it and I want it, so what makes it wrong?"
"You have no idea what you're asking for," I shook my head. God, I was
dizzy.
"You've told me everything. I'm willing."
Taylor's hand was warm on my shoulder now. I could feel that warmth in him, coursing through him. Alive, not like me. He was right: I needed
it.
"Come on," Taylor took my hand. "We'll go to the bedroom."
My house was dark and tinted blue. This was how I always saw it, with
moonlight flooding in the windows, that is, when the curtains weren't drawn. My potted vines crept along the walls of my quiet kitchen, and everything was always so very silent.
In my bedroom, Taylor laid me on the black silk sheets of my bed, and
brought me my tea, though I wasn't weak, just tired. He made me drink, and brought me cantaloupe and made me eat it. It tasted so good, and after it I managed to wake up a little more. He was preparing me, because I had indeed made the mistake of telling him everything.
"Now, Effie," he said when I was done.
"No," I said. I didn't want to, but I knew he would make me.
"Yes. Do it." I looked into his eyes expecting to see stern pitilessness, but they were gentle and pleading. That was worse than anything.
"It's gonna hurt," I said, trying to sway him, but knowing it wouldn't do any good.
"I don't care," he shook his head.
"You might get sick," I warned. No good.
"I've got medicine," he shrugged. I searched his eyes, trying hopelessly to think of something, anything. But there was nothing.
"Go on," Taylor said. His eyes were so beautiful - I could drown in them. How wonderful would it feel to just take him? But how could I live with myself after marring this purity and beauty of him? He was the most precious thing in my life...
He touched my lips with his, and I shivered at their softness. He'd never kissed me before, and I never dreamed it would be so sweet, so perfect. He tilted his head slightly and slid his soft, warm tongue into my mouth, running it over my teeth and the points of my canines. In this gesture he was reminding me that I couldn't back out - he wouldn't let me.
He kissed me so much deeper than I ever remembered being kissed before,
and in this also was significant, which he never failed to include. He broke the kiss and touched the corners of my mouth with his fingertips. I was speechless.
"Now, Euphrosene," he said.
"Please don't call me that," I breathed.
"I'm sorry."
He situated himself on the bed beside me, and bent his throat to my lips. With a trembling hand, I threaded my fingers through his lucid blonde tendrils and held the back of his head. I kissed the point of his heartbeat, and whispered into the round seashell of his ear:
"Forgive me."
I felt his heartbeat quicken as my teeth made contact with the tender flesh of his neck, and fought tears when a curt cry escaped his lips. The muscles in his neck tensed against the china and peach skin as he clenched his teeth.
I felt Taylor's hot blood, sweet and thick, on my tongue. How long had it been since I last fed? I couldn't remember. I swallowed, feeling the exquisite rush of it in my throat and staining my lips. He tasted so good, and he'd been right - I knew it was good for me. But I wasn't thinking about me.
I felt Taylor's grip on my sleeve weaken slightly, and I pulled out. He had just enough in him to complete his portion of the process.
I gingerly wiped the delicate smear of red form his neck, and he lifted his head, waiting. I sighed and winced, brought my wrist to my mouth, and bit. When the puncture was made, I licked my lips and laid back on my bed.
"God save us, Taylor," I moaned weakly, and closed my eyes as he took my wrist and closed his lips over the wound.
Next
Previous
Archives