The Thirst Within

by Johi Jenkins

  His cool hand is suddenly on my face, his thumb like rich velvet on my cheekbone, brushing the tear away. His hand lingers for a second on my cheek and I close my eyes as a violent burst of desire assaults me under his touch. My chest rises as if drawn to him, and I hope and pray his lips close over mine; I only don’t leap forward because I’ve frozen, and can’t move to seek them myself.

  But his hand is abruptly gone. I open my eyes and I see him fifteen feet away by the door. “Good night, Tori.” he says, and does that little bow of his head that’s so old fashioned. Then he leaves me, closing the door behind him.

  I turn out the light, and lie in the darkness with my sullen thoughts.

  20. Interview with the Vampire

  I stay in bed until the sun rises, and white light slowly trickles in the room. The new day harbors a small fraction of hope. There is snow accumulation against the basement windows that makes me smile ruefully; it makes me feel strangely homesick. It reminds me of the home where I grew up, and the park where Grandpa would take me sledding. I want to go outside and make a snow angel. I want to leave. I need to clear my head.

  But my head does not wish to be cleared. The improper thoughts running through my head have the stamina of a hundred wild horses. And right now they’re set to full sulking mode.

  Bad luck seems to have always followed me. I haven’t had the chance to enjoy happiness for long when I have to screw it up like this. Just when I’m starting to convince myself that my time with Thierry is real, that he loves me, I have to throw it all away.

  I can’t explain my feelings for Corben, but they are still there in the morning, although thankfully subdued. I check the weather forecast and it shows a little sun later in the day, which could mean that I may be able to fly home today. Finally some good news. I don’t like being here, forcing Corben to babysit me. He’s the strangest vampire I’ve ever met (okay, I’ve only met two vampires. But still). And we’re stuck in this ridiculously huge and empty house. I’d rather be in the middle of nowhere snowed in with my Aunt Marie as I should have been; and you can throw in June and Fiona, too, a hurricane flooding the house, and aliens at the door.

  But I’m not complaining because I’m having the worst possible time with Corben. No, my problem is that I’m having the worst possible time remembering that I’m with Thierry.

  My heart beats erratically when I’m around Corben. I told myself at first that it was because I was scared of him, but now I’m embarrassed to admit I feel a profound attraction to him. It pulls me, it draws me in, this magnetism. When I’m alone I think of him. I think of what would it be like if I kissed him. Then I get flushed all over as I remember that he can probably hear my heartbeat. And he supposedly feels my feelings—although since he can’t read my mind this doesn’t bother me much. He can’t know for sure that when I feel desire I’m thinking of him.

  I sigh. I need to stop thinking.

  I throw the covers angrily aside and get out of bed. I stretch and my body responds grouchily, since I slept in not the most comfortable clothes. I need a shower.

  Damn it. I’m the type of person who always asks if it’s okay to use the restroom in someone else’s house, but as the night creature he is, Corben should be sleeping. At least two levels up, or perhaps even three. Hmm. The thought that he’s separated from me by two floors relaxes me into moving around his basement and using his bathroom without asking. Before I go in, just in case, I open the other bedroom in the basement to make sure he’s not sleeping here. I find nothing.

  Good. I didn’t want him sleeping in the room next to me.

  After taking an unnecessarily long hot shower I change into comfortable workout clothes that I plan to wear all day to make up for sleeping in my bra and jeans. I put on warm socks and decide to face the day. When I leave the bathroom a lone basket catches my eye on the otherwise bare countertop of the lower level kitchen. I didn’t notice it when I first left my room. I approach the countertop looking at the basket suspiciously. It’s covered by a white cloth napkin. Ah. There’s bread inside, and while it’s not warm, I can tell it’s still quite fresh by the looks of it.

  I realize I’m hungry, and I wonder if there’s any butter around here. It’s likely that this kitchen serves more like a wet bar than a real kitchen, since it’s right next to the recreational room. However, it looks like a kitchen, fully equipped. I open the fridge and find the butter along with a few bottles of water, and remember Corben bringing me water last night. It makes my stomach muscles clench in ways that they’re not used to.

  Shush, I order my body.

  I find a plate and some utensils. I butter the bread and eat it all. It’s delicious; definitely fresh from a bakery. After I’ve finished I don’t bother to clean what I’ve dirtied.

  Now that I’m fully awake, curiosity awakens too like an old friend, compelling me to go upstairs to investigate Corben’s lair. I take the staircase up to the main entrance vestibule. In the light of day, the details of this house come alive, making me feel like I’m in a fairy tale. I want to see it all.

  I search the main level and find the main kitchen. It’s enormous, and jaw-dropping in its elegance. I look through some of the cabinets, expecting them to be empty, but there are a few items here; mostly canned goods, or dry items like rice and pasta.

  Past the kitchen I find a sunroom in a corner on the back of the house, facing the rear and the side street. It’s almost in the shape of a turret; like an oversized, circular bay window surrounded by glass, and lined with a cushioned, wooden bench. Here the floor is not hardwood but a magnificent white marble with black tiles forming an elaborate pattern. There’s a big chair within the circle with a throw made of some super soft material folded over its arm. The chair faces the sidewalk outside, a half story below. The whole scene is absolutely inviting.

  While the house is made of masonry, giving it the feel of a fortress, this bay window is all light. It’s cold outside, but in here I can enjoy the sunlight. I move towards the big chair and see a small round table on the other side, next to it, on top of which is the book I was reading at the airport.

  Oh….

  I interpret the gesture as Corben making me feel welcome to his home while he sleeps, by placing my book in possibly the coziest spot in the universe. That, and the bread. Corben…. My mission to explore the rest of the mansion is dissolved in an instant, and I sink in the soft folds of the swiveling, reclining chair. Ah. This is how Care Bears must have felt in their little cloud cars. I cover my legs with the throw and read my book, looking out the window at intervals.

  But after about half an hour I’m no longer interested in the book, since my brain keeps reminding me that Corben is around. I realize I’ve read the same sentence three times before I give up and close the book, lay it on the side table, and stare out the window.

  Then I hear footsteps behind me. He probably doesn’t have to make a noise, but it’s his way of letting me know he’s here.

  I swivel in the reclining chair and face him.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  “Tori,” he says, and bows his head slightly. He’s dressed in jeans and a printed shirt, looking for all the world like a regular human guy. Well, an incredibly gorgeous young guy standing there in the shadows.

  “Thank you for the bread,” I say. “I’m assuming it was for me, that is. Since you’re a vampire and all.”

  “It was for you,” he allows. “Are you comfortable?”

  He’s not; I can tell. I don’t know exactly how. His expression is unreadable. But I say, “I am; thank you. How about you? Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, since you’re a vampire and all,” I repeat practically the same words I said a moment ago.

  His expression softens slightly. “Your self-possession with this whole issue is almost frightening,” he says more to himself than me.

  “Because I say the word vampire?”

  “Amongst other things. To answ
er your question, while I would normally be sleeping at this time, today I don’t think I should.”

  “You can just sleep whenever you want?” I’ve never asked Thierry about his sleeping patterns.

  “Yes. Just like you can. When you have things to do, sometimes you stay up all night, don’t you?”

  Oh. And vampires stay up all day. “Yeah, I guess,” I answer. But what does he mean, things to do? Is he talking about babysitting me? I feel so awkward. I want to apologize for being a baby last night and crying, but that would require bringing the incident back up, and I told myself I would pretend it never happened.

  He takes a step towards me. I look up automatically, but his green gaze intimidates me and I quickly look down at his shoes. He’s wearing black Converse that look surreal on him, the who-knows-how-old vampire.

  “I called the airline and rescheduled your flight back to New Orleans for tonight at six,” he says. “Thierry will pick you up there.”

  Thierry. Something pulls at my chest in different directions when I hear Corben say Thierry’s name. “Oh, thanks,” I manage to say. I don’t ask him how he got my flight information or how he managed to do it when it was reserved by someone else. I’m still intimidated by him, and my stupid heart alerting him is not helping.

  “Is there anything you would like to do in the meantime?” He asks me.

  I look up, and wonder if it’s my imagination that I see concern in his expression. He said he’d explain things to me, about how he detects my feelings, but now I’m not sure I want to know. “I…. Maybe I’ll go outside and get some lunch later.”

  “Of course. And I understand that the food selection is respectable in the city. Tell me what you want and I’ll find it for you.”

  “Um. Thanks,” I say carefully. Is he implying I can’t go outside, or is he just offering to go for me? “I wanted to go myself though, so that I could go to the park afterwards and see it covered in snow.”

  He pauses for a moment as if debating. “Alright,” he finally says, as though I’m a child and I’ve been good so I deserve to go outside and play. “But make sure you wear appropriate clothing.”

  Thanks, Dad. Jeez. “Of course,” I say, frowning a bit.

  He looks down and smiles sadly. “Sorry. I’m just afraid you’ll catch a cold,” he explains, and the fact that he cares about my health blankets my heart with a warm happy glow. “I haven’t been around people in a while; I think you are all so vulnerable. It’s because the older I get, the less I remember what it was like.”

  Oh. The age issue. I’m feeling brave from his voiced concern about my health, so I say, “Thierry wouldn’t tell me your age.”

  “Did you ask him?” He asks a bit coolly. Maybe it’s my imagination; I can’t tell. Shit! My stupid mouth.

  “Yeah,” I say, and I’m a little embarrassed.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. Thierry gives you anything you want.”

  Ouch. Corben’s words remind me of how wrong my current feelings are. He’s right; Thierry gives me everything I ask. When I think of Thierry a part of my heart feels hollow: the part of me that is normally full of him is now void. I miss him.

  I don’t have anything to say. I don’t reply to Corben, because he ignored my indirect age question, and I’m afraid he’s upset.

  “But I can see why he didn’t tell you my age,” he evades an answer again.

  He has my full attention.

  “Why? Is it bad? Are you like… super old?” According to Thierry, a few centuries old isn’t bad. Only really old, like multiple millennia, is bad. That’s when some of them have died. Supposedly. He didn’t know for sure; it’s not like there’s a genealogy of all ancient vampires on the Internet for everyone to see.

  Corben laughs shortly. “No. Maybe he thought it was my story to tell.”

  Ouch, Corben. Again.

  I quickly stutter some sort of apology. “Sorry—I didn’t mean—”

  “No, that came out wrong,” he says quickly. “I meant that maybe he didn’t want to tell you my age, not that you couldn’t ask about me. You can ask Thierry anything, Tori. You can ask me anything. And you can tell me anything.”

  My heart swells. Is he finally warming up to me? Allowing Thierry and me to be together?

  “Thanks,” I say, and I feel my cheeks reddening. I steal another glance at him briefly. I think he means it. “Things have been so weird recently.”

  His feet shift and I look up to see him looking down. Bashful! He knows I’m talking about last night, and he’s as embarrassed as I am.

  “Tell me about your dream,” he requests unexpectedly.

  What? No. I shake my head. How embarrassing. I can’t tell him I’ve had dreams of loving him. Me, his brother’s girlfriend. Girlfriendish. And especially not after last night’s episode, when he touched my cheekbone and lit my whole body on fire. In fact, I think about it now and I flush. I look down to hide it, but of course he can hear my heart racing.

  He takes another step closer, and his feet touch the tile. He’s now in the sunlight, very close to me.

  “Please,” he says, and his voice is melodious. “I need to know.”

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “I need to know, to confirm…. I’ve been having dreams, too.” At this, I look up. He meets my eyes for a second, then looks away. After a second he adds, “And you’re in them.”

  “Me?” Oh my God.

  “Yes, you.”

  “Oh.” He’s been having dreams about me, like I’ve been having dreams about him. Not similar, I hope. The thought of Corben wanting me like I wanted him last night is more than I can bear at the moment.

  “Please tell me,” he entreats again. “If you’ve been having similar dreams, that could mean….” He doesn’t finish.

  “What could it mean?”

  “That it’s more relevant than I think. Maybe it’s something important.”

  Oh God. I’m torn. On the one hand, I’d like to tell him; not only to have him explain the mystery, but also to talk to him. His plea draws me in, and my heart begs me to answer. But on the other hand….

  “I can’t. It’s….”

  “Too intimate?”

  No! I mean, yes, it is; but I don’t want to admit that it’s intimate. Last night’s dream flashes before my eyes. We were definitely naked.

  “It’s just… hard to narrate with a straight face,” I say.

  He shifts where he stands. “I’ll tell you my dreams. Do you mind hearing?”

  If his dreams are anything like mine, and in them he has… feelings for me… well, for sure I’d like to know; I just don’t want to be in the same room when he says it. But I say, “No, I don’t mind.”

  He takes a deep breath, and moves over to the window. He sits on the cushioned bench and rests his forearms on his knees. He bows his head and his longish hair falls over his forehead. The sunlight brings out dark brown highlights. Sitting there he looks a little vulnerable. Human.

  “Every day I dream of a girl I once knew,” he begins.

  Oh. Thierry’s story about why Corben was so weird around me comes to mind. My sort of doppelgänger, perhaps?

  He sighs. “My wife.”

  Wife? That’s kind of ridiculous, seeing as he looks only a few years older than me. He appraises my face, as if looking for something. Surprise, maybe? Whatever it is and whether he finds it, I don’t know, but he narrows his eyes slightly at me. “Do you know anything about her?”

  “No,” I say almost honestly. Thierry said Corben loved a girl, but he didn’t specifically say she was Corben’s wife.

  Could’ve given me a warning, or something. Jeez.

  “Her name was Charlotte,” Corben says. “She was—she is—the only woman I ever loved.”

  Ugh. The words trigger a small pin prick of stupid jealousy somewhere in my chest, which I shun quickly lest he notices and thinks that it’s because I like him, or something. Which I’m absolutely denying that I do. Love whomever you want
, Corben. I maintain my eyes fixed on him, and don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

  “I think of her every day,” he says defiantly; defying what, I’m not sure. His emerald eyes sparkle as he speaks of his beloved; his whole complexion brightens as though lit by the fire of her memory. “I’ve never loved, never felt any interest in any other woman since she died.” He pauses and looks down. “And I was perfectly fine… until you came along.”

  I jolt back slightly into the fluffy chair. “Me? What did I do?”

  He shakes his head. “Nothing. You didn’t do anything. But you… you remind me of her.”

  Ah. Okay, confirmed. Thierry’s words were about Corben’s wife.

  “I’m sorry if I look like her, if it’s making you uncomfortable.” It comes off dryly.

  “That’s not the problem,” Mr. I Care About No Other Woman says. Clearly I don’t make him uncomfortable; he can love only one. “The problem is that you remind me….” He pauses, and looks at me like I’m a demon. I look down at my lap, hurt.

  “I don’t understand,” I say, because he doesn’t explain.

  “Ever since she died and I was compelled to remain alive, I’ve existed, but I haven’t really lived here. I only really live in my memories with her; because I could not—I cannot—live without her. Hence when I lost her, I figured a way around her absence… my head. I live there with her, as detached from the present as possible. I can think of her and remember her perfectly, and I can pretend that she isn’t gone.

  “But now that you’re here,” he continues, “I see you and I miss her. You keep me in the present….” He seems to struggle for the appropriate words. “You… you just make it all too concise and too clear that Charlotte is not here.”

  The unfair accusation bothers me more than I can take. I have to look away, out the window the farthest from him, and implore my eyes that they shut up and not well up with tears like it feels they want to do.