by Gilmore, RM
See. I told yah. “So…please enlighten me. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”
Playing nonchalant made my skin tingle with the need to know all he had to tell. Honestly, after beheading two vampy boys, I’d kind of washed my hands of all things vampire – with the exception of sending flowers to Cyrus while he recovered from a gunshot wound. Over the last few months, my interest grew – every conversation I had with Tatum, when I got one, formed more questions than they answered. Her new lifestyle with her vampire boy toy kept her from me quite a bit, but our times together, were filled with tales of sex, blood, and weird industrial rock and roll – and funky costumes and rituals and not near enough insider information to satiate my vast curiosity. By the time I was offered an all-expense paid trip to New Orleans and the annual vampire soiree, I couldn’t refuse. Tatum’s coaxing really twisted my arm, so to speak. Could you blame me? What other chance was I going to get to really get dirty – or bloody, to be more appropriate – and uncover Sanguinarian secrets. The internet really did have its limits despite popular belief.
“What do you want to know?”
Tatum’s coaxing was at the behest of Cyrus himself – so I’d start there. Then we could move into the heavy shit.
“Why did you ask Tatum to drag me to the vampire ball?” There, the easy part was underway.
“I like you,” he said. I blushed. Okay, maybe that wasn’t the easy part.
“Uh, okay, different question.” I turned my face away from him so he couldn’t see my flushed cheeks and ridiculously girly expression. Even in times of danger, there was a real girl living inside me. I ate her up a long time ago, but she just wouldn’t die.
“Why? Not the answer you were looking for?” I wasn’t looking in his direction, but I could hear his stupid grin through his words.
I shrugged, as indifferently as I could be.
“It’s not a lie. I like you. I loath attending those things. Full of ritual and ceremony. Wall-to-wall arrogance and flamboyancy. All so theatrical and unnecessary. I couldn’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend that miserable time with than you.”
“Oh, thanks, drag me to hell along with you. “
“Your cynicism was my saving grace. I wanted your crude attitude to get me through without wanting to cut out my own tongue.” I scoffed. “Your chunky ass is just a bonus.”
My head whipped to look at him. I’m sure the look on my face was awful and full of shock, in a very unattractive manner. “Say what?”
“You heard me. I like your ass”
“A: where is this language coming from? And B: since when is a big, fat ass attractive?”
“Since…always. I’m not sure why this century has shifted the spectrum of beauty and disfigurement – atrociously skewed tastes if you ask me.” He talked as if it was no big deal.
Sexy McSexyman had just proclaimed his love for a nice, fat ass, which I had, and a cynical wit, which I also had. He’d never actually straight out said, ‘I like you’ before, maybe if he had, I might have been more willing to give it a shot. But in the back of my head, I always wondered when the gag camera was going to pop out of a houseplant, and a crowd of people were going to start laughing at the fatty and her gullible sensibilities. If it weren’t for some horrid bitch trying to snatch my soul, or my head, or whatever the fuck she was trying to do, I’d have him stripped to nothing but those fancy panties he paraded around Los Angeles in by now. Just for that, I was gonna kill her twice. You know what I mean.
“Where the fuck did they manufacture you, and are there anymore?” I asked, still astonished by his most recent disclosure. In the grand scheme of things, Cyrus’s liking fat asses was not the biggest revelation on the horizon of this conversation, but this fat girl could have her fifteen minutes dammit.
He chuckled but cut it flat, “That’s not what you wanted to know about really? Is it?” He paused long enough for my face to switch from astonished to confused. “You want to know about vampires.”
Well, now that you mentioned it. It was the only fucking thing that had driven my miniature obsession with these assholes for half a year. I thought this loudly and with vigor, but I didn’t say it. I still wasn’t completely comfortable admitting that I really did want to know. Because wanting to know more implied that I thought for a second there were actually real living, or not so living, breathing, or whatever they did, vampires walking around like you and me.
Instead, I said, “Do you have something I might want to know?” Spill it!
“Don’t pretend with me, Dylan Hart. I know your skin is itching with anticipation.” The words slipped through his lips with a hint of sexual tension.
I shrugged sheepishly and pursed my lips a bit to prove my nonchalance.
Another deep chuckle rolled through his chest before he continued, “You act as though your life over the last handful of months hasn’t been consumed by vampires. Why else would you have agreed to attend Masque de Sang? The last run-in with those types of people nearly cost you your freedom. Hell, your life. But you didn’t stop, not even when it meant your life.”
“I had to help Tatum. Those blood-crazed asshats broke into her house and took her in the middle of the night. Don’t you remember?” I defended quickly.
“That brings me to another point that’s been on my mind. Something I don’t think you’ve put in that head space of yours yet.” He took a breath. “Would she have risked her life to save you?” Low blow to the gut from the sexy guy in the driver’s seat.
I didn’t answer. I opened my mouth to sass him more than once, but nothing sounded logical. I could say yes. Shit, a year I ago, I’d have said yes and known it down in my gut, but now, I wasn’t sure. My brain could hardly handle my current minute-by-minute manic depressive, emotionally jaded mental state let alone make judgments on the potential loyalty of a friend who was currently being pretty fucking douchey.
I finally decided to say, “That Tatum would have. My Tatum. Before she was his Tatum.”
“My dear, she was his Tatum much longer than you were aware.”
“Then why is she so much different now? Why did we go from zero to sixty in a matter of months?” I sounded whiny and pathetic, two things I was never okay with.
“I can only assume she was hiding it from you, for whatever reason she had, and once the cat was out of the bag, she didn’t have to hide anymore. She was free to be with Malcolm as often as she chooses.”
The sound of his name brought a sneer to my face. I hated Malcolm McTavish with the fiery passion of Satan’s asshole. I hated him for taking Tatum away from me. For taking her away from herself.
Talking of ginger vampires and fair-weather friends delivered Tatum on a silver platter to the forefront of my mind. Wanting nothing more than to just have something normal happen, I pulled my phone from the depths of my messenger bag and checked for missed calls. Nothing. Not even Mike, which surprised me.
My inner Dylan screamed things in my head like ‘you’re a fucking idiot’ and ‘see what you got yourself into now, you stupid cunt!’ Inner Dylan is a bitch. Then again, so is outer Dylan.
“I can’t believe we haven’t heard from Malcolm or Tatum. I left Marienne’s house in the middle of New Orleans suburbs running for my life, so I didn’t really get a chance to tell Tatum, who was across town, I was leaving. You’d think she would have called me by now.” I talked over inner Dylan hollering in my noggin.
I’d have called her. I scowled and pouted to myself lost in thought about things that really weren’t worth worrying over. Bigger fish and all that.
“Malcolm is Primus. He can take care of himself and his concubine.” Cyrus reached across the center console and held the top of my hand. “You worry about saving your own ass. Tatum is in no danger at the House of Porte. Marienne and her cabal will keep Azelie at bay.” He let out a quick scoff, “Besides, she only wants to kill you. I think the rest of us are safe.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. I laughed so fucking hard a little pee c
ame out. It wasn’t funny. It was terrifying. I should have been huddled in a ball in a dark corner sucking my thumb, but that’s not really my style. Not yet anyway. The day was young. Shit, by my current standards, it was practically a crying, shitting infant.
“Maybe you shouldn’t be driving Ms. Pushing Daisies through the middle of cropsie-ville. You might become a casualty of war,” I quipped after my laughter had wound down. Cyrus didn’t respond before I said, “Well, I guess you’ve already been there. Cyrus got himself zombiefied and left poor ol’ Dylan to fight her own battles,” I chuckled again, but he still said nothing. “All right, what the fuck did I do now?”
“Nothing. I’m just driving,” he replied, his voice monotone and his expression stone.
Well, if bullshit could walk and talk, it’d be named Cyrus Atossa.
“Yeah, and I’m just fucking peachy,” I pointed out, as sarcastically as I could muster. “Do I need to point out that my inner turmoil is very nearly boiling up past its limit? I can hardly believe I’m not locked up on the third floor at Community Hospital after the shootout at the O.K. Corral broke out in my living room, let alone why I’m just not flat out dead right now. Oh, let’s not forget the fact that there is a serious part of me that still cannot truly comprehend there is some kind of wacked-out voodoo curse on my head.” I raised my arms and let them flap against my thighs. “I mean, come on now, magic? Real honest to goodness curses? How in the fuck is that possible? This isn’t the dark ages here! This is the twenty-first Goddamned century. What? I’m just supposed to fall to my knees, groveling and praying to God to relieve me of my demons?” I slapped the palms of my hands against the dashboard. “You tell me, eh, you tell me how in the fuck I’m supposed to handle all of that? My best fucking friend has basically left me to rot for you and your fucking fang-tarded vampire shit-streaks, and what the fuck do I get for it? Hours in the car with Cryptic McAssholeton and his fancy-pancy curses and dead things!” My breaths came in and puffed out in short huffs. The weight of my situation played hell on my nerves and made it harder and harder to hold it all in. “I’m nutting the fuck up now! If you can’t fucking tell!” I screamed, spat, and cursed at the perfect profile of Cyrus Atossa. He listened quietly. “What in the fuck am I supposed to do? Tell me!” I begged him, so pathetic and desperate I would have been proud if he just smacked me across the face right then and there. “Tell me, please, because right now, I’ve got nothing but you! You’re it. You’re the guy. Don’t fuck it up now.” I finished in a huff, my chest heaving from exertion.
Without a word, Cyrus slowed the car and pulled onto the dirt shoulder. The likely expensive tires on his shiny white SUV kicked up dust and pebbles as we screeched to a halt. He didn’t so much as lift his foot from the brake and his belt was off. I didn’t have time to register his movements before he and I were nose to nose. My breaths were panting from my lips, shoving my chest up and down. A second later, his hands grabbed the back of my head and shoved his mouth against mine.
The manic streak had hit me and it hit hard. Being thrust into perilous situations can take a toll on a bitch. In true manic outbursts, inhibitions are nonexistent and impulses run rampant. Unfortunately, for this highly volatile deviant, that meant displaying a long awaited sexual experience in front of a butt load of passersby on Highway 99.
The center console separated our bodies, but our upper halves were smushed together like they’d been sent back in time to junior year of high school. It didn’t take more than a minute before the sweat started to soak the hairs at the base of my neck under his warm, strong hand. Kissing someone new was exciting and nerve wracking, all wrapped up in one fantastic bundle of sex and embarrassment. Thoughts of Azelie and her dead things faded into the recesses as images of naked romps burst through in flashing erotic pangs. Sex in the middle of the day, along the shoulder of a highly traveled highway, made my fat ass tremble with insecurities. Beefy thighs and improperly placed lumps and bumps trying to fill the luxurious leather seats with another body would not be easy or attractive.
His heavy hands moved from my neck, traveling down and toward the point of no return. Extended periods of time between sexual encounters was never a positive thing. Especially when one was being courted by the likes of a vampire boy who frequently showcased man undies. I felt like a sixteen-year-old boy in the backseat of my dad’s car, with a raging boner and the prom queen in my lap. If something didn’t happen soon, it just might bust out like the fucking Incredible Hulk. Just not green. Or mad. Maybe a little mad.
He squeezed my thick thigh and adjusted his body as if he was preparing to crawl over the center console. In preparation, I gave myself a pep talk. You know, just in case.
Listen up, fat or not, you’re about to get laid on the side of the road. You have two choices, either go for it and face the consequences later, or tell him to fuck off and be forced to deal with reality and all that entails. Fuck reality. Sex is better.
Before I could act on my decision, the cliché, but still outrageously embarrassing, tap-tap-tap on the window jarred us from our snog session. After a hard swallow, I looked from the corner of my eye to see a fairly amused Highway Patrol officer peering into the not yet steamy passenger’s window. Cyrus lifted his hand from my thigh and pushed the button to lower the window. Without thinking, I burst into laughter. The mania continues.
“Sir,” Cyrus nodded.
I felt my face flush a hideous shade of red. The officer watched my reaction, very obviously trying to hold back his own laughter.
“You guys all right?” The officer asked, the corners of his mouth turned up trying to mask a smirk. But his jaw was set tight, not fully succumbing to the hilarity he had just encountered. Cyrus and I were two adults partaking in consensual sex. It just happened to be in public and the middle of the afternoon.
I still laughed. I’m sure the officer thought I was stoned or something. Cyrus kindly remained calm for the two of us. What was he going to say? ‘I’m sorry officer. You see, my friend here is an idiot and got herself a hex put on her. She was freaking out so I decided to pull over on the side of a busy highway to put my dick in her. I thought it’d shut her up.’ Probably not the best idea. I allowed my laughter to slow to a low rumble and glanced at the cop to my right. The look on his face told me the explanation I had drudged up in my head might actually result in a high five and beer on his tab, but I kept my theory to myself.
“We’re fine. Sorry, sir. We’ll be on our way.” Cyrus had his stoic voice on.
The officer openly smirked, “Just get to where ever it is you two are headed, and get there safe.”
Cyrus nodded and I smiled, and the officer gave us one last up and down before he walked away. For all he knew, we were husband and wife, young love, fresh and still full of heat and passion. His age suggested that perhaps he yearned for that heat between him and his own wife. Maybe he’d go home and try it out for himself. Lord only knew, I was just trying to think of anything other than Cyrus and his nudity. Oh, and Azelie and her zombie girls. The simplicity of Mike and his promises of white picket fences might have been a much better life choice than where my actual decisions had gotten me. I was a full-fledged moron.
My face was red and I had dry mouth from laughing like an idiot. I rubbed the back of my hand across my mouth, rubbing away the tingling Cyrus had left behind on my lips. My heart skipped back and forth a few times, reminding me of the anxiety doing cartwheels in my butt cheeks. A part of me wished the cop would come back to my window and arrest me for being drunk in public, or under the influence of drugs or something equally untrue. Maybe a set of heavily barred doors could protect me from the danger of headless dead things I thought were real and out for me.
I refused to look directly at Cyrus, choosing instead to watch the officer walk away in the side view mirror. I could feel him breathing on the side of my face, but I didn’t turn to meet his eyes. The embarrassment of post-non-sex, or whatever you’d call it when sex didn’t actually happen, was
thick and slapping me in the face. Fuck, it was practically a mushroom stamp on my damn forehead. I wanted out of the car, out of my own skin. Shit, I’d have settled for out of my damn mind at that point. Regardless of the situation, that cop was right. We needed to stop fucking around and get our asses in gear. We had a little Mexican boy to track down. Up, up, and away!
I watched as the cop got into his cruiser. He didn’t start the engine. He didn’t buckle-up. He just sat there, staring at us. Cyrus stared at me, from inches away. I stared at the officer. And the officer stared us both down. Of the three, Cyrus felt the most intimidating. The idea of having to come face to face with him so immediately after such an intimate moment, made my palms sweat. It was pretty bad when dealing with men was more terrifying than being arrested for lewd acts in public. Not that I knew what that is or anything.
When the cop didn’t budge, I decided to bring it to the attention of the man now nuzzling my cheek.
I cleared my throat, “All right, hot stuff, I think he’s waiting for us to move on.”
As am I.
Cyrus let out what I can only describe as a growl, practically panting in my ear.
“Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your hotness or anything, but this really isn’t the time.” I waited for him to get pissed and call me a bitch, or a cunt, or something worse, something cruel and irreversible, but he didn’t. He said nothing. Instead of shutting up, I chose to continue to sputter on. “The last thing I need is more confusion. Sorry.” I felt like a real grown up saying those words. It was important to keep life in perspective, to prioritize and take care of business before getting involved in shenanigans. Under all that pride, I felt like an asshole for turning down someone like Cyrus Atossa. When else in my fat little existence would I ever get the chance to nail sex on a stick? Never, that’s when. Never.
He cleared his throat softly, moved away from me and back into his seat. I didn’t dare look at him full on, just sly glances from the corner of my eye or in the reflection of my now rolled up window. I pressed my lips together tightly between my teeth, trying to make the sensation of his lips stop lingering on mine.