by Heidi Lowe
Her body felt soft and wonderful against mine. Her nipples hardened upon the slightest graze of my own nipples as I pressed down on her, kissing her.
Her tongue danced to its own rhythm, claiming mine hungrily. Between my legs my sex screamed for hers. Screamed like it never had before. So close to its soulmate, to its partner in crime. I didn't want to deny their reunion any longer than I already had. My body trembled with trepidation, but also with fear. Would I be able to perform the way she expected, the way we both needed? Would I still be too sensitive to last?
None of that mattered as I lifted her thigh and slotted myself between her legs. I kept that pale, soft thigh pressed against my stomach and began a slow, steady motion as our sexes connected.
Dread took over when I realized my endurance would fail. The collision, her gentle moans as I ground against her sex, it was all too much. My whimpers drowned hers out.
"No, no," I cried, when I felt myself coming undone.
"It's okay," she said, pressing a hand to my stomach. "Keep going."
But I couldn't, and within a minute of starting it was all over. Once again, I'd failed.
"Fuck!" I screamed, the aftershocks of the orgasm still coursing through my body.
"Lissa, it's all right. Look at me," she said, desperately trying to calm me down. She reached out a hand to stroke my face, but I roughly dismounted before she could, and screamed in frustration again.
I grabbed the duvet and covered myself with it, hiding my shame, hiding my tears.
"It's not all right. You said I would be less sensitive with time, but I'm not."
"Honey, you need to practice. You need to build up your resistance." Her arm draped around me, and her voice tickled my ear. She kissed me multiple times while I wept.
"I have been practicing...in the shower, in bed, everywhere. But it isn't getting better. I can't please you anymore."
She hadn't been aware of my self-pleasuring sessions. She didn't know that waking up beside her prompted said sessions. The longest I'd ever managed to endure working on myself was two minutes, and I'd had to think about the most boring thing I could imagine in order to stave off the orgasm.
"You need to practice with me," she said. "You'll get better. You just have to give it time. Don't try so hard."
There wasn't a doctor I could go to for help, nor a pill I could take to last longer. And if I was broken forever, not a woman alive would stick around. Not even if she loved me...
And just as it had previously, my embarrassment took over, manifesting itself in rage; rage, unfortunately, that I aimed at the only person present.
"Get off me!" I said, shaking her off.
"No!" This time she wouldn't let me go that easily. I'd turned on her too often. She knew I didn't mean it. "Stop pushing me away. It's not what you want, I know that. You're angry, and hurt, and embarrassed. But I don't care if you can't perform. I don't care if we never have sex again. I love you regardless. Why can't you see that?"
I glared at her with hate and tears in my eyes, clutching the duvet to my naked body. "Now who's being dishonest? You didn't want me to stop, I heard you. You can't survive without it. Well, I'm never letting you touch me again, so you might as well find someone who will."
She swallowed and just stared at me, frowning. Then finally she said slowly, "If that's really what you want, Lissa, for me to find someone else, I will. Tell me that's what you want."
I couldn't utter those words, and she knew I'd never manage to. How could I ever cosign something like that when just the mere thought of another person even befriending her made my blood boil?
So I said nothing, simply lay down, pulling the duvet over myself.
"Stop suggesting it," she said eventually, agitation in her voice. She had her answer; my omission spoke volumes.
I heard her putting on her clothes, then she left without another word.
THIRTEEN
Robyn dropped a stack of papers on Jean's desk, her face more stoic than usual. Jean looked up from her laptop screen, looked at the papers, then at Robyn, questioningly.
"Am I supposed to know what this is?" she asked.
"Have a look. It wasn't easy to find. Most people think the guy had a couple of screws loose. But it's a solid study."
Jean picked up the papers, looked at the first page, read the headline, and froze. When she peered up at her assistant again, there was fire in her eyes.
"Are you crazy bringing this here?" she said menacingly. "Close the door."
Robyn did as she was told. "I told you it was a possibility," she said, returning to the desk.
"What, just because some demented pseudo-scientist says so?"
"Read it before you knock the study. It makes sense."
Jean turned the papers over so the words were no longer visible. Even with the door closed and Lissa out of the house, the words were dangerous to keep around. Even if only one study had ever been done, and no one put merit in it, the fact that she had that study spoke to her guilt.
"She's angry because of her condition, nothing more. What you're suggesting is absurd. Impossible."
Robyn remained patient. She'd been prepared for her research to be met with scorn, and that Jean would refuse to consider the possibility. It would alter her whole world if what the study said was true.
"Yes, her condition. Maybe she doesn't just have one condition, Jean, that's what I'm trying to say."
Jean held up a hand to silence her. "Enough!"
Robyn flipped the pile over again, dabbed a finger at the first paragraph. "Look, he spent years studying people who had been bitten by werewolves prior to their vampire bite. It's rare, very rare, but not impossible for them to still carry some of the werewolf blood. He breaks it down. The body's in a constant battle with itself."
Jean shot to her feet, slammed a hand down on her desk, causing things to fly off. "I said enough!" she yelled, her temple throbbing. "You won't convince me that my girlfriend, even after I stopped it, is part Were. I would know. Just the sight of her would repulse me."
"Not necessarily. Only the subject feels the difference. And I know it's perfectly normal for her to be angry, but you have to admit it's deeper than that."
Jean slunk back into her chair and let the tormenting thought wash over her. Lissa a hybrid? Could fate have been so cruel? She'd been so optimistic about an eventual reconciliation between them. But what if it would never come?
She shook her head, a distant, lost look in her eyes. "I got to her in time, I must have. There have been two full moons since the transformation, and nothing happened."
"She's obviously more vampire than Were, that's all that means."
"Oh God!" Jean covered her face with her hands. "Does that mean she'll always feel resentment towards me?"
"He died before he could finish the study. I don't know."
"What am I supposed to do now?"
Robyn didn't know that either, but decided against saying so. Never bring a problem to her without first having a solution, those had been Jean's words the first week on the job. She'd excelled at her job simply because she followed this rule religiously.
"I don't see hate in her eyes when she looks at me, I see the love she had before the change. It's still there," Jean went on, still shaking her head in disbelief. It wasn't like her to blindly believe something on the word of another without doing her own research or reading. But Robyn was thorough, and she trusted her. If Robyn had cause to worry, then she did, too.
"It will always be there, but she's going to be battling between love and hate...if what he said is accurate. Who knows how long that will last?"
The foundation on which their entire relationship was built was rotten, plagued with secrets and misery. There would always be a reason for Lissa to hate her.
"If it's not the death of her mother, it's the truth behind her transformation. And if not that, now she might have a natural inclination towards despising me." She sighed.
"Are you going to tell h
er?"
Jean looked at Robyn like her assistant had gone completely mad. "Of course not. I haven't changed my mind about that. It's still just conjecture at this point."
She collected up the papers, turned on the shredder, and began feeding the papers in a few at a time. The noise drowned out whatever admonishment Robyn was giving her.
"She has a right to know, Jean," Robyn shouted, just as the noise died out.
"And what good would that do now? She's depressed enough as it is; this would only make things worse."
There at least, Jean was right. Though Robyn suspected her reason for not telling Lissa had less to do with Lissa's current mood and more to do with Jean's fear of losing her forever.
"So what happens now? You just continue as normal, letting her suffer and not telling her why?"
"I'm going to show her how much I love her so that if she really is what you say she is, her love for me will prevail over her instinct to hate me."
"How?" The pessimism rang in Robyn's tone. Her boss's every move since inviting Lissa into her bed, and even long before that, had been dedicated to this seemingly hopeless task. What would be different this time around?
Jean opened the top drawer of her desk and took out a stack of papers and a small bunch of keys attached to a keyring of Van Gogh's Sunflowers painting.
"With this. I'll take her there tonight when she gets back."
If she gets back, Robyn thought but kept to herself. Stealing what little hope her boss had left just didn't seem like a wise thing to do.
Jean had labored long and hard over sending the text. Tapped out a thousand words and replaced them with a thousand more, never able to get the right combination, or tone. Until finally, when she'd had enough, she threw caution to the wind and said exactly what she wanted to say:
Can you come home now? It's important.
Utterly convinced that her text would be ignored, she retired to the living-room to read in front of the fireplace. There was always tomorrow. Or the day after. Or every day for the rest of eternity.
When she heard the key twist in the door around eleven p.m., her face lit up. She cast her book aside and hurried into the hall to greet her.
Lissa stood by the door, hands tucked into her jeans, waistcoat unbuttoned to her cleavage, all attitude. The glower that she gave Jean made her blood run cold. Lissa had glowered many times in their short relationship, but the knowledge that there was more to it than mere annoyance made it all the more chilling.
"Hi," Jean said with an uncertain smile.
Lissa didn't return the smile, just sighed impatiently. "I'm here. What was so important that I had to drop what I was doing?"
What the hell were you doing that was so important? Or who? Jean thought, but held her tongue.
"I'd like to show you something. Will you come with me? It's not too far."
Lissa regarded her suspiciously, eyes narrowed. "I'm not going anywhere with you until you tell me what this is about. I might not come back alive!"
"For God's sake, Lissa. What do you think I'm going to do to you that I couldn't do here?"
Lissa considered this, and when she had decided that Jean wasn't a threat, she said with a reluctant air, "Fine."
Jean could hardly contain her elation. She hadn't expected her to give in so quickly, without putting up a fight. It gave her hope.
Lissa didn't speak on the drive over, just looked out the window for most of the journey, every now and then shooting Jean a curious look, and turning away before she was caught.
The town center was dead at this time of night; very few cars populated the roads. A Chinese takeout shop a few shops down was the only business still open, but with no customers.
Jean parked her SUV on the side of the road and switched off the engine. She looked at Lissa. "We're here."
Lissa peered out of the window, read the words above the shopfront: The Lotus Room.
"What is this place?"
"I'll show you." Jean stepped out of the car, keys in her hand, and waited for Lissa to follow her. The shutter was down, so it wasn't immediately obvious what lay behind it.
She located the smallest key on her bunch and unlocked the padlock on the shutter, then pushed it up. The metal rattling seemed amplified in the quiet night.
Once she'd unlocked the door, an alarm sounded its preliminary warning beeps. She quickly keyed in the code at the front of the shop, and the beeping ceased. Light flooded the space instantly.
Lissa stepped inside, looked around slowly, taking in the paintings adorning the walls, and the empty spots with square outlines where paintings once were. She ambled around the open space with her hands tucked in her jeans, the tapping of her boots causing echoes.
Jean watched her for a moment, and said finally, "What do you think? Do you like it?"
"Am I supposed to?"
"I hope so. It's yours. The sale was finalized yesterday. I got two of the staff members to stay on. You'll be able to source art from all across the world, even display some of your own. It should be fun."
When Lissa faced her, Jean's smile and enthusiasm vanished. The look on Lissa's face was anything but impressed.
"You bought me a gallery?"
"Yes, you've always wanted one. I thought–"
"What? What did you think?" Lissa demanded. "That I would suddenly forget that you turned me into a monster? What is this, compensation for taking my life? I kill you, but here's a fucking gallery to make you feel better!"
That piercing sensation she felt in her heart was like a hundred platinum daggers ripping into her body. A thousand sunrises scorching her skin. Dying a million deaths. It hurt so badly that she was stunned into silence, the tears rolling down her face like a waterfall.
She stared at the person who had caused the pain, and couldn't believe she had ever loved Lissa. Couldn't believe she still did, still could.
She wanted to ask her how she could say such hurtful things, but when she opened her mouth to speak, no words came out. She tasted her own tears on her lips.
She hurled the gallery keys against one of the paintings, damaging it in the process, then dashed out of the shop.
With tears blurring her vision, having cried the whole drive home, it was no small miracle that she reached the house in one piece, without causing an accident on the road.
She tore open the closet, all the drawers, and began frantically removing every item of clothing she owned. They hardly spent time together in their bedroom, but she needed to do something. She had to get away from her.
Moving out of her own bedroom, in her own home, was the only recourse she had short of kicking the ungrateful little cow out for good. And she could never do that, no matter how much Lissa hurt her. She would never do it. But one thing was certain: they were through. If this was the werewolf in her acting out, it would always be like this between them, and she simply couldn't take this much pain.
She was sitting on the bed, all cried out, and unable to pick herself up again to move her things to another room, when she heard someone at the entrance. Footsteps pounded the stairs as Lissa hurried up them.
She burst into the room, looked at the black bags filled with clothes, and the open closet and drawers, then at Jean, whose clothes were covered in blood tears.
"W–what are you doing?" she asked, terror penetrating her features.
"They're not your clothes, they're mine," Jean said dully, sniffling.
"Take them out of the bags," Lissa demanded.
Jean scrutinized her, utterly perplexed, not sure what was happening.
"Why are they in bags?" Lissa said, and proceeded to stuff as much as she could back into the drawers, wherever she could fit them.
"I'm doing what I should have done a long time ago. That should make you happy. It's clear this isn't working."
"Don't say that."
And before her eyes, the girl burst into tears. She dropped onto the bed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean those things I said."
"Yes
, you did," Jean said, snatching her hand away when Lissa tried to hold it. "You meant every word."
Lissa shook her head, red droplets trickling onto the duvet. "No, I didn't. I don't know why I said them. Please don't leave me."
Jean regarded her and her confusion only deepened. "I'm moving into one of the spare rooms, and I'll ask Sandra to get you your own box. That's what you want, isn't it?" She wasn't so sure now, looking at how distraught the girl was all of a sudden.
Lissa shook her head and tried to say no, but it got choked up in her throat. She bowed her head and reached for Jean's hand again. This time Jean didn't steal it back.
"I've been so horrible to you, since the beginning. I've been a terrible girlfriend. I don't deserve you, and I never have. Everyone knows it. But at least when I was human, at least I had something to offer. At least you could feed, at least we could make love. Now...now I can't give you anything. And I know you don't love me the way you did before...before I changed."
"Lissa, look at me," Jean said, taking her hand and raising the girl's head. "Is that what this was all about? You were worried that I stopped loving you because you're not human?"
Lissa bawled harder and couldn't answer immediately. When she caught her breath, she said, "I keep thinking, today's the day she realizes I'm not good enough for her, that I can't give her anything. Today's the day she throws me out. I've lost everything good in my life, and you're the only thing I have left. I know I'll lose you, too."
And just like that, every ounce of anger vanished from Jean, and she laughed in disbelief, in relief.
"So you thought, if it's going to happen anyway, you would speed it up?" she said. It all made sense now, well, sort of. In Lissa's crazy mind her fears were justified.
Lissa nodded. "I've always been insecure about being with you. And with this condition, it's like everything is a hundred times worse."
"What am I going to do with you?" she said. She wiped her own tears, then reached out and did the same with Lissa's, which made more fall.