by Amanda Long
Looking into Megan's innocent face, he concluded the “why” of his confession. “I realized then that you and I could not be. Because of what I am, I can't be your friend.” He felt sure with how strongly he felt about her already that their relationship would quickly evolve into even more than friends. “So I stood you up. I observed your reaction from the cover of night and it saddened me deeply, but not nearly as much as your discussion of me with your friend in the coffee shop.”
She held up her hand like a school girl. “Sorry to interrupt, but you weren't in the coffee shop. I would have definitely noticed,” she insisted, lowering her hand.
“You're correct. I was on the sidewalk utilizing a broken a street lamp to remain hidden.”
“Then how could you possibly know I was talking about you?” She asked, her curiosity not allowing her to remain quiet.
“I have enhanced hearing, along with other enhancements which aren't important, but are more reason for there to not be an “us”. Back to my story, if you are done interrupting.” After receiving a nod, Dorian continued. “After I heard and saw how distraught you were because of the bad decisions I made, I decided something should be done. So I confessed, hoping you would see the fault was mine, not yours. There is nothing wrong with you, except maybe your illogical lack of fear. By the way, confessing wasn't the only solution I thought of. The thought of simply walking away and forgetting about you crossed my mind, AND,” He bent down, grabbed her forearms tightly and barred his fangs. His blood red eyes seared into hers as he spat his words, “murdering you! The easiest most natural solution for my kind would be to drain you dry.” Releasing her with a shove, he hoped his words and actions finally instilled some much needed fear. “But no, that's not the solution I chose.” Dorian spoke more to himself than Megan. “I chose the hardest, because for some reason, I still give a fuck. Not even Thomas' depravity has changed me completely, much to his bedevilment.” Dorian stalked toward the door, frantically pounding his temples to quite the conflicting voices.
The shock from his actions and the revelation of contemplating her murder wore off fast, replaced by the fear of him leaving.
Why does that thought scare me more than my own death?
Shaking her head, she jumped from the couch, barely reaching the door in time.
Not registering her presence in front of him, he halfway turned around to tell her, “I need to leave,” when he realized where she now stood. Looking down at her tiny frame anxiously blocking his escape, Dorian changed his mood. “I'm sorry I grabbed you. I came here tonight to scare you, but only with my words not with physical harm.”
She looked into his sad blue eyes and pleaded. “Don't leave, please! You said what you came here to say. Now let me talk. You can even interrupt, I won't mind. Just don't leave, not yet.”
“Fine.” he sighed, ignoring his better judgment again.
“Let's sit back down,” she suggested, walking him farther away from the exit.
As soon as they were once again occupying their respective ends of her small couch, she commenced her speech. “I lied earlier. I'm not afraid of you, not even a little. Do I understand completely why that is? No. I am a reasonable person, far from what any would consider a risk taker. Common sense tells me I should be afraid of you even without your unusual confession. You've admitted to stalking me. You've convinced me you're a creature I didn't know existed, whom I assume has been at least partially portrayed correctly in literature and cinema. That being said, you're obviously not good for my health.” She swallowed to keep down the inappropriate giggle making its way up her throat. “However, against my better judgment, I am far more scared for you than of you. So you can continue to attempt to scare me with more words or physical harm, but it's not going to give you the results you're expecting. You're not going to scare me away.” She crossed her arms defiantly across her chest.
He rubbed his temple to soothe the aching. “How has this gone so far from the way I planned? You were supposed to be frightened or disgusted.”
“Disgusted?” She questioned. Disgusting would never be a word she would use to describe her feelings for him.
“Yes,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “I am a monster, a parasite. Like a leech to survive, I must take drink blood from others. Not only that, I crave it, enjoy it.”
Undeterred by his tone, she countered his reply, “You could say the same thing about those who eat meat. People kill millions of animals every day to satisfy their hunger. I had a hamburger for lunch, so I guess I'm a parasitic monster too.”
He shook his head at her ridiculous comparison of the two of them. “Humans have a choice, I don't.”
She smiled, pleased he had proved her point. “Then that makes you better than them, me even. Dorian, why do you insist on convincing yourself and others that you're something you're not?”
“Ugh!” He forced his hands to remain stationary in his lap instead of shaking some much needed sense into his host. He grew more and more frustrated by her reluctance to see him for what he truly was. “You should stop trying to convince me I'm not as horrible as I think I am.”
Ignoring his suggestion, she continued her attempt by digging deeper. “Have you killed anyone?”
“No,” He reluctantly answered, knowing his answer only fueled her argument.
“Have you ever wanted to?” she asked, holding back a triumphant smile.
“No,” He answered truthfully again. “It's difficult to resist though.” He added, hoping to translate the seriousness of his condition.
“There are plenty of humans who can't say that,” she chimed.
“Maybe I'm not a murderer, not yet anyway,” He relented before bowing his head. “But I am still a monster. I've seen things; allowed things to happen in my presence; grotesque heinous acts of violence and torture and I did nothing. I've enjoyed the spoils of so many deaths.” Shaking his head, he held back his tears, not wanting to display his weakness in front of her.
“Dorian, you're right, what you allowed to happen is horrible, but realizing that and feeling remorse means you are not a lost cause.” She caressed the golden cross hanging around her neck, sensing God's handiwork in her conviction. “I've been placed in your path because of that. Somehow...I'm meant to save you.”
“I cannot be saved. Trust me.” He thought back to begging his Heavenly Father in the forest to save him after he tasted his first blood. If He wouldn't save him then, how could she do it now? “Besides, you barely know anything about me and what you do know should have you calling the authorities, not trying to preach my worthiness for redemption.”
“Faith,” she insisted.
“What?” He croaked.
“Faith,” she repeated wholeheartedly. “It's why I can barely know you but also know I'm meant to save you.”
“I have no faith. It's completely useless,” he whispered.
“That's fine. I have enough faith for both of us,” she assured, her voice full of her conviction.
His head pounded. Her reaction to his confession had spiraled in the wrong direction. Every attempt to scare her had failed. The only option he had left was to be cruel. Raising his head, he looked into her sincere green eyes. “Let's back up just a moment so that I can make sure I'm understanding this whole situation correctly. I tell you I'm a vampire and instead of being scared, you somehow feel like you can fix me because of faith. Wait, I know. You're a nurse, that must be it. You've been placed in my path because all along, all I needed was a nurse,” he snapped, his voice laced with enough venom and conceit to revel her conviction.
She choked back tears threatening to break free due to his mocking tone, but she wasn't going to let his words or lack of faith keep her from doing what she felt deep down to her core. “Maybe that's exactly what you need – a good nurse. No, scratch that, a great nurse. I have saved dozens of lives in my hospital. I've even been able to bring a few back from death. Surely I can handle your infection or whatever you call it.”
Seeing her choke back tears softened his demeanor. He was clueless about how she had so much power over him. “I have no doubt you are remarkably good at what you do, but there is no bringing me back from death. There's no cure for me. You can't vaccinate against what I am. It's not a wound you can bandage.”
“Maybe there is, maybe I'm your cure,” she replied barely above a whisper. “However I can see that we have come to a stalemate. You keep trying to convince me you're an incurable abomination and I keep trying to convince you that you're not.” Reaching under her red mane, she unfastened the gold chain from around her neck. “You need this more than I do at the moment.” The gold cross glinted in the lamp light as she held it up for its new owner.
He accepted the necklace without hesitation, having admired it from the moment she began caressing it, longing for the comfort, the cross, and what it stood for provided.
“I realize, once you walk out that door, I may never see you again. However, I hope that's not the case. You're not a monster. I hope you can find some peace and find the truth in my words,” she pleaded with a weak smile as she rose from the couch. Turning toward her living room window she added, “The rain has stopped.”
With those words, she walked into her bedroom, leaving him to show himself out. Exhausted from the work of pleading with a near stranger that he wasn't the monster he thought he was, or at least he didn't have to be, she collapsed still dressed in scrubs, across her bed. Scooping up Blaze, she prayed for Dorian before her eyes shut. “Heavenly Father, please allow Dorian to find the truth of my words. He seems so lost. I know You have placed me on his path to save him. Please guide me, Father. Amen.”
Dorian stood in Megan's living room, clutching her necklace tightly, his head spinning. He couldn't comprehend how wrong his confession had turned out. His intent had been mostly selfish. He needed to ease his conscious for the trauma he caused her with his ill decision to get close. That was supposed to be the end of their relationship. Now he stood motionless in her home, unable to make his feet work. His mind raced with her words, while she prayed softly for him in her bedroom. Forcing his thoughts to settle enough for him to gain control of his feet, he exited her apartment.
He wandered around in a trance, unable to calm himself. Even the cool crisp air of early dawn swirling about him couldn't alleviate his overheating mind. Passing the park of their first meeting, in a brief moment of clarity, he decided to sit on their bench in an attempt to collect his thoughts.
Before he could stop himself, he fell down onto his knees – a position he had long since abandoned. Staring up at the still black sky full of twinkling stars, he spoke the name he swore to never speak to again. “God.” The name barely more than a croak, forced from a throat dry from thirst. Swallowing hard, he spoke once more, “Father. I know it's been a while since I requested an audience with You. I was angry. I still am. I'm just not sure who this rage should be directed at anymore. I want to believe that Megan was placed in my path to save me and that You had Your Hand in it. I have my doubts. Now, when I have become content with the life You allowed, I am tempted with the possibility of salvation. Is she a trick? A carrot dangling in front of me that I have no hope of reaching?” He paused in his speech, searching the sky for any sign His Father was listening. “Answer me! Why do You continue to keep Your Back to me? Speak to me. Show me a sign. Anything. Please.”
God’s Hand hovered just inches from His Child, containing the potential to ease his suffering. Just one touch and Dorian would understand all that had occurred since that tragic night in his church. Although Dorian's suffering saddened God immensely, it was an unfortunate side effect, a growing pain for him to explore one of God's greatest Blessing, free will. A sign or word from Him at this critical point in his journey would render that ideal pointless. So God remained silent, withdrawing back into the Heavens to once again observe from a distance.
Tears streamed down Dorian's cheek after receiving neither a word nor a sign from above. “Fine,” he retorted, wiping away his tears. “I have managed to exist without You since the forest and I can continue to do so. Just don't be disappointed when my existence isn't pleasing to You, since You have refused to guide me along this fucked up path You're allowing me to stumble. AMEN!”
Standing up angrily, he brushed the leaves from his jeans, evidence of his brief return to faith. Still clutching Megan's necklace in his hand, he shoved it in his pocket, hiding the symbol of faith rather than tossing it across the park as he had wanted.
It's not her fault God has forsaken me.
He left the park then and returned to Thomas, weakening the seed of hope Megan had planted inside him.
Chapter 11
Decision
The slamming of a door saved Dorian from the arduous task of rereading the same sentence for the third time. Reading “The Portrait of Dorian Gray” especially, proved to be an unsuccessful way of occupying his time. Thus far, he had been unable to become invested in the characters portrayed in this gift from Thomas; a gift meant to signify his rebirth as a new being with a new identity. One supposedly resembling the title character and his namesake, Dorian Gray.
Will I ever become what Thomas wants? Can I shed myself of all humanity and morality? Can I be molded by Thomas' vile influence? Or...
A crash in the hallway pulled him away from his thoughts and out of the study to investigate. He found Thomas sprawled out on the floor amongst shattered pieces of porcelain, nearly in tears.
“Fuck! That was my mom's antique vase from the Ming Dynasty,” Thomas cried, attempting to make a few random pieces fit together. “Thank goodness she's dead.” He laughed, smiling up at his dumbstruck friend.
“What happened?” Dorian asked, taking in both the destruction and his mood swings.
“Well, what the fuck does it look like? Geez. I stumbled and knocked over an irreplaceable, priceless vase!” Thomas screamed while trying to stand, but lacking the ability to place his feet solidly underneath himself. “Would you stop eyeballing me and give me a fucking hand? My legs don't seem to be working properly,” he admitted, peering solemnly up at Dorian.
Dorian witnessed one final, failed attempt to stand before assisting him, enjoying Thomas' lack of coordination immensely.
“Enjoy the show?” Thomas sneered as he accepted his outstretched hand.
Dorian smiled in response before yanking him from the floor. The maneuver sent both vampires staggering back into the wall. Using it for support, he managed to grasp him firmly under the arms before Thomas' legs gave way again.
Grateful for the assistance, Thomas lovingly patted Dorian on the cheek. “Thanks, Dorian...my Dorian,” he breathed softly into his face.
The smell of strong alcohol lacing Thomas' breath assaulted Dorian's nostrils. “Thomas, are you drunk?” He asked in awe, believing it couldn't be possible.
“Why yes...yes I am,” Thomas announced, gazing longingly up at Dorian as if they were lovers. “Isn't it glorious?!” He shouted as he tried to outstretch his arms in what looked like the beginnings of a celebratory twirl.
“Hhhow?” Dorian stammered, struggling to hold the wet noodle that was Thomas.
“Oh, now that's a story,” Thomas beamed before abruptly switching gears again. “Dear Dorian, I would love to lie down. Would you be so kind as to take me to my room? And hurry please, this wonderful intoxication won't last long and I wish to enjoy the last of its lingering effects in comfort.”
“Sure,” Dorian huffed. Apparently pressed for time, staggering up the stairs with him wasn't the best solution, so instead, he grabbed Thomas beneath his shoulders and knees and carried him like a new bride.
“How romantic.” Thomas joshed, draping his arm around Dorian's shoulder as he cradled him. “Don't forget, you're not my type.” Bringing his mouth to his ear, he whispered seductively. “But I'm drunk, at least for a few more minutes. Who knows what might happen in my boudoir. If you're quick enough, you could get lucky.
“Ow!” Thomas' b
ackside hit his bed before he was able to add a proper nibble to his teasing. “No love for you, mister,” he insisted, rubbing his ass. “Unless...you're wanting to be rough, which I would totally be into,” Thomas added, his eyebrows raised.
“What the hell?!” Dorian yelled, ignoring Thomas' comments as he reached up to wipe the blood from his ear. “Did you just try to bite me?”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “Geez, Dorian, calm down. It was just a love bite. Besides, not so long ago, you desired my mouth,” he reminisced, seductively tracing the outline of his lips.
“Fuck you!” Dorian seethed.
“Yes! That's what I've been alluding to, not so subtly, for the past five minutes. Now, get that uptight ass of yours over here, so I can steal your virginity.” Thomas smiled invitingly, lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. He enjoyed watching Dorian backpedal away from the bed, undoubtedly fearful of losing his virtue. “Yes! A good fuck is exactly what your ass needs.”
“You know that's never going to happen,” Dorian assured both himself and Thomas. “And you promised to forget that night,” he sighed, backing toward the door.
“Dorian!” He exhaled as he flopped onto his back. “Why must you always be so serious? I'm just having a little fun while I'm still slightly drunk. In fact, you should be cutting me some slack. I have no control over what I'm even saying or doing at the moment.” Back up on his elbow, he winked at him, and then added pleadingly, “Would it be so terrible to play along and let me have my fun?”
“Yes, besides I didn't think I was your type,” Dorian retorted with a slight smile.