Sinning Forever

by Heidi Lowe

  The middle cubicle looked the cleanest, so I took that and sat on the toilet seat. How long would it take for Jean to miss me? Would she? Clara's words rang through my head. She was here now, Jean had no use for me. My blood was no good for her, I had these inexplicable mood swings that caused me to be verbally and physically abusive, and I didn't match her intellectually. There were so many reasons for her to get rid of me. That was why Clara's words hurt so much.

  The restroom door opened. "Lissa?" It was Robyn. "Are you really hiding out in here? Jesus, you're more pathetic than I thought."

  When she pushed open the middle cubicle door, she shook her head at me sitting there feeling sorry for myself.

  "Leave me alone."

  "You know, I never thought I would ever meet someone more irritating than you. What is it about Jean that attracts that?"

  "She didn't attract Clara, she gave birth to her. It's a little different," I said miserably.

  "So you're just going to sit in here and wait until she comes looking for you?"

  "She won't. She's only interested in her poisonous offspring. God, I hate her!" I slammed my fist against the cubicle wall, then immediately regretted it when a crack formed in the wood. "You wouldn't believe the crap she says to me when Jean isn't around."

  "Oh, I would. She's not fooling me."

  "I wish...I wish she wasn't her daughter, just some imposter looking to get rich."

  "She checks out. Don't you think our lawyers wouldn't have done a thorough vetting of anyone making that claim? She stands to inherit everything."

  I frowned. "But how? We don't die."

  "Inheritance law is different for vampires. She could very possibly inherit before Jean dies."

  This made the hairs on my body stand up. "Do you think Clara knows this?"

  Robyn shrugged. "Probably. If she's after her money, then yes, she would know. She's not stupid."

  "Why are you so calm about this?" I said, now furious. She'd always been so fiercely protective of Jean's business and her heart. So why was she unfazed by the possibility of her losing both?

  "I'm good at my job, Lissa," she answered, so casually, so self-assured that it reassured me. "And you need to be good at yours. You never let me win, so why would you let her?"

  "She's her flesh and blood! That's why. I can't compete with that." Hopeless, defeated and feeble. I hated the sound of my own voice.

  Robyn rolled her eyes and tutted. "Exactly. And you, for some unknown reason, are her girlfriend. Start acting like it, for God's sake."

  Those were her final words before she left. It took me a minute to comprehend the meaning. And another minute to hatch a plan.

  Head held high, I strutted back into the restaurant and pulled Nadine to one side.

  "Do you have Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing here by any chance?" I whispered.

  She smiled, taken aback. "I do, actually. On my iPhone. I can hook it up to the sound system if you want?"

  "Thank you."

  The reggae music died away, and moments later, the intro to Sexual Healing began. I motioned for Nadine to up the volume.

  "Would you dance with me?" I said, offering Jean my hand.

  An adorable blush filled her cheeks, and she let out a nervous laugh, looking around at everyone. "Dance? Right now? In front of everyone?"

  My eyes were serious. "Just you and me."

  Without another word, or another blush, she took my hand and I led her to an unobstructed spot. She looked at me with all the love in the world as I held her in my arms, and we gently rocked to the music. There could have been a million people in that room with us, and we wouldn't have seen them. We only had eyes for each other. It was as though the music, or the moment, had put us under a spell.

  We pressed our foreheads together as we danced, and I saw that contented smile appear on her lips. I could still make her smile like that – from her soul.

  "I love you so much," she whispered.

  Behind her, a little way in the distance, Clara's scowl could have scorched my skin.

  I smiled for her benefit, and whispered back, making my lips easily readable. "I love you, too."

  THIRTY-TWO

  We had a song! The concept of couples having a song had always seemed absurd to me, and in the past I'd scoffed at the idea. That was before Jean, before our night at the restaurant. Sexual healing, indeed.

  It wasn't a one off. Almost every night after that we danced together, sometimes to anything, ending the session with our song, which oftentimes became the catalyst for our love-making. Then the song would play over and over, sometimes for hours, and we never got sick of it, just as we never got sick of each other.

  We'd just finished making love. The duvet sat in a pile on the floor, where it had fallen while we were ravaging each other's bodies. She lay on her stomach, butt naked, her head resting on her arms, a contented, lazy smile on her face.

  I kissed a trail along her shoulders, then down her back, making her giggle. I kissed her butt, and she laughed harder.

  "Just what exactly are you doing down there?"

  "Ass-kissing, what else?"

  She chuckled. "You're silly. That's why I love you."

  I came up to her level again, resting my naked frame on hers. "So that's why you love me, for my silliness? Good to know it has nothing to do with my charm, or my wit, or my sexual prowess." I kissed her face.

  If she was anything like me, she loved the feel of my breasts pressed against her back while the nipples hardened.

  "I love everything about you," she said.

  I'd lost count of which round we were on. That was how it went sometimes: hours and hours of sex, no time in between for anything else. If it had been up to me, we would have spent every evening in bed. If she was mine alone, that is.

  I lay on top of her saying nothing, my body rising and falling with hers, my breathing in tune with hers. I'd never felt closer to her than I did now. When we were like this, one body, nothing could hurt me; nothing mattered but us. Not even her bitch of a daughter.

  I jumped up suddenly, causing her to twist around to see what was wrong.

  "Oh my God, I want to paint." My smile must have looked maniacal to her.

  She laughed uncertainly. "What, right now?"

  I nodded. "I don't know why but I feel the urge to paint. Stay right there, like that," I said, pulling on my dressing gown and nothing else. "I'll be right back."

  "Okay," she chuckled.

  The desire to paint had abandoned me even before my transformation. I'd made little sketches, sure, but only on scraps of paper. Nothing worthwhile. And although this might not have been the optimal time, the muse decided when it was ready, and I couldn't miss this opportunity.

  With hyper speed, the journey down to the studio to collect my easel and paints took no time at all.

  The easel tucked under one arm, the paints and brushes case tucked under the other, I left the studio and headed for the stairs. I spotted Clara coming out of the kitchen. She had a packet of potato chips in her hand, and the most miserable look on her face. Before she even opened her mouth, I knew she was about to spew venom.

  "What is this now? Painting?" she said, eying the easel with scorn. "Your relationship gets more sordid by the minute."

  Don't let her get to you. Don't let her ruin what has thus far been a wonderful night. That was easier said than done. Her bitterness always had a way of seeping into me, no matter how many words of encouragement I gave myself.

  "There's nothing sordid about our relationship. We don't think so."

  Her laugh was spiteful. "But everyone else does. It's...how do you say? Creepy. What would your mother say? Huh?"

  A ball formed in my throat. I tried to swallow it away but it wouldn't budge.

  Drop everything, Lissa, and break her neck! my inner serial killer screamed. Didn't she know she was playing with her life?

  I hadn't had the heart to tell Jean about the things she'd said to me. The night at the restaurant ha
d been so beautiful, we'd reconnected, and I didn't want to spoil it. I didn't want to destroy her image of the perfect family. So I'd kept it to myself and ignored Clara's disparaging remarks. How? By focusing on what made our relationship work.

  I swallowed again, studied the heinous glint in her eye, then it hit me. Why she was up, why she was saying these things to me.

  I burst into a laugh. "You heard us, didn't you? Heard me making love to your mother all night, and it's driving you nuts. Did you hear her screaming my name as well? What about the breathless 'I love yous'? That must have stung."

  "You can have as much sex as you want, it won't make you any less replaceable. It won't bring you any closer to her."

  "Like you are, you mean? Here's the thing," I said, squaring up to her, so close I could see the faint little hairs on her face, "she chose to give you up. And instead of going back for you, she spent years taking care of me, another woman's child. So now who's replaceable?"

  With that, I turned on my heel and dashed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time, not stopping to listen to her comeback. This way she couldn't see how much she'd unsettled me, how close I'd come to tears.

  Jean wasn't in the position I'd left her, though thankfully she was still naked. I gave her the longest kiss, and put the encounter with Clara out of my mind.

  "Please tell me I'm not the subject of this painting," she said, watching me set up.

  I grinned. "Would that be so bad?"

  She grimaced, ran her fingers through her hair. "Oh, Lissa, can't you paint something less...me?"

  I laughed, admiring perfection in human form. She sat at the end of the bed, resting on her hands, comfortable in her nudity. Her flesh still had that post-sex glow and hue to it, making her look less pallid than usual. Her black hair fell past her breasts, cloaking one of them entirely.

  "That's it," I said, brimming with enthusiasm. "Don't move. That's how I want you."

  "How long will I have to sit like this?"

  "Not too long. I'll sketch the outline, then fill it in after."

  "I must say, this wasn't how I imagined spending the night with you," she said with a laugh. "I'll only agree to this if you promise not to put this in the gallery. I don't want all and sundry staring at my lady parts."

  "I want everyone to admire and desire the beautiful, mysterious woman in the picture, while I get to go home to the real thing. I want to be the envy of the whole town."

  She would never understand what it meant for me to be with her, to the exclusion of all others. At my core, I was still that envious girl from Lox Ridge salivating over the woman I couldn't have. Thanks to my memory, I got to relive that feeling of being an outsider, being locked out of her world. Even now that she was mine, I made a point of bringing that memory to the fore, as a reminder of how privileged I was.

  Her smile was warm, her eyes gentle when she looked at me. "Okay, whatever you want, my love." Maybe she did understand.

  "Have you ever posed for anyone before?" I asked, as I sketched the outline. It was difficult to tear my eyes away from her and focus on the work. What crazy person would choose painting over love-making when something so divine sat only a few feet away?

  "Once, not nude though. A family portrait. It was horrible! Hours and hours of sitting still, you can imagine how difficult that was for a pre-teen. The pompous, eccentric Austrian artist kept hitting me on the arm because I couldn't hold my position."

  I laughed, trying to picture it. Before Clara got here, she'd never spoken much about her upbringing, her family, her old friends. If nothing else, Clara's arrival had made her open up. Who knew how many more years it would have taken for me to get it out of her?

  "Lady Jean Posey... I still can't wrap my head around it," I said after some time had passed, and she'd moved on to talking about her parents. "So, if you were to get married, would that make your wife a lady too?"

  She grinned knowingly. "Is that all you're with me for, my title?"

  "Yeah, pretty much," I teased. A silly little smile crept to my lips as I considered it. "Lady Lissa Posey... I kind of like the sound of that."

  "Me too. You know, you don't have to wait until we're able to marry to take my name... Just saying."

  My smile vanished. I felt my heart slamming against my chest as a rage storm built up inside of me. Where had it come from and what did it want?

  The wooden brush in my hand snapped in two. I turned a fiery glare at her. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Love every trace of my parents gone from me, so you can forget what you did to them, you evil bitch!"

  "Lissa, calm down," she said, voice and face anxious. "It's okay, just relax. That's not what I meant. I don't want you to lose your name–"

  "Shut up!" I said, teeth clenched. I looked at the sketch, the outline of the monster on the bed, and couldn't believe I'd been drawing her, that this image had come from me.

  I growled in fury, tore the A3 sheet from the easel, then ripped it up ferociously before pushing over the easel.

  "Lissa, stop," Jean yelled.

  Why was I so angry all of a sudden? Why did I want to be as far away from her as possible? Didn't I love her? No, I couldn't love her. She was a monster, like all the others.

  "Lissa, please," she pleaded behind me as I pulled on some clothes. I paid no attention to style, I just had to get out of there.

  When she touched my back, I shoved her away. I wanted to do more to her, wanted to harm her, but...something stopped me. Oh, how I wanted to hurt her. Why couldn't I? Didn't she deserve it? But didn't I love her?

  My mind was a mess, a million contrasting thoughts running through it at the same time. Leaving was the only solution.

  I ran from the room, from the house, barefoot, into the warm night, no idea where I was going or when I would stop. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I stepped in broken glass, but I kept on running. My foot would heal. Only the rest of me would stay broken.

  THIRTY-THREE

  She tugged on the trousers she'd worn earlier that evening, without underwear, and seized her crumpled T-shirt off the floor. The bra was neglected too. There was no time to waste.

  Both Clara and Sandra were in the corridor, wearing the same grim, frightened looks. Their faces were questioning.

  "It's okay, guys. Lissa's just upset. I'm going out to look for her," she said, flustered. She didn't know how much of the bust up they'd heard, and there wasn't time to explain now. An angry, confused hybrid was out there alone; she needed to find her.

  "I can come with you," Clara offered, a suggestion that appeared to come from a well-meaning place. Jean had no reason to believe otherwise.

  "Thank you, but that won't be necessary," she said, then hurried away.

  Lissa could have been anywhere, doing anything, even with just a head start of five minutes. Vampirism provided speed. And who knew what, besides her hatred for the race, she'd inherited from the Were side of her? Images of Lissa with her hand around her throat sprang to mind, and she urgently pressed her foot on the gas.

  All roads on the dark streets were the same to her – Lissa could have been down any of them. She drove aimlessly, directionless, eyes searching frantically this way and that. Past the closed shops, the homeless men huddled together on public benches, a stray cat or two wandering the streets looking for their next meal. Ten minutes weaving down different roads, until by some miracle, she spotted her. Barefoot, hair wild from their prior love-making, she looked every bit the mental ward escapee. Her languid walk and the way her shoulders sagged told Jean the wolf had deserted her once more, had left her alone in the wild.

  She wound down the window as she brought the car to a crawling pace, moving alongside her.

  "Lissa," she called out. This whole scene looked suspiciously like a john picking up a hooker.

  Lissa stopped walking, peered into the car. As soon as she saw the familiar face, she hurried over, yanked the door open and climbed in.

  Jean cut the engine. As she turned to look at her, Lissa
threw her arms around her, then erupted into tears. Most of her words were apologies, but incomprehensible because of her crying. Jean simply squeezed her tight, rubbed her back. When they got home, although Lissa's feet had already healed, she carried her upstairs and told her that everything would be all right. She assured her of this every time, because it was all she could do. She couldn't tell her that this was how it would be forever.

  There were some things she would never share with Clara. The story about Lissa's mother, and what she'd done to her, that was one thing. Explaining why Lissa was prone to violent outbursts was quite another. So when Clara came to see her the following evening, inquiring about what had transpired the previous night, she had no choice but to lie.

  "Is she always like this?"

  They were in the living-room, alone in the house. Lissa had left for the gallery already.

  Jean sighed. "Not exactly. The change is still quite fresh. She's still adjusting."

  "Perhaps being here is too hard for her. Somewhere else might make it easier to adjust..."

  Jean regarded Clara curiously. "This is her home. And I'm here. This is the only place she needs to be," she said firmly. Violent mood swings or not, she wasn't about to send her away. To where? No place would be completely suitable for a hybrid: nor the wilderness with the rest of the wolves, nor right by her side. She was destined to be at odds with both races. A more punishing life Jean could scarcely imagine. And this was all her doing.

  "Then maybe I should move back into the motel."

  "I won't hear of it," Jean said, seemingly outraged that Clara would even suggest such a thing. "You're not in any danger, I can assure you. You're not the one she has a problem with."

  It was only when Clara frowned, her curiosity now piqued, that Jean realized she'd said too much.

  "Please stay," she added, trying to move the subject along. "I want to spend as much time with you as I can before you return to France. And as your mother I forbid you staying in that dump."