by Johi Jenkins
His eyes are open. His pupils are dilated, the irises two thin rings, dark green like the evergreens outside. He blinks, and seems to focus on me.
“Tori,” he says. The name on his lips feels foreign to me, yet familiar at the same time. The grip on my wrist reduces, but he doesn’t let go.
I climb over the foot of the bed, using his arm holding my wrist as support. I come closer and admire him, smiling in victory at having conquered him. His lips part in surprise, and I bite half of my lower lip to refrain from making any boorish, unladylike sounds. I bring my lips close to his.
I hear his sharp intake of breath, and in the next split second his hands are at my shoulders, holding me at arms’ length. I frown; I don’t understand what he’s trying to accomplish, but I have a sole purpose: to get closer. I extend my arms under his, and I touch his sides with my fingertips. His skin feels so strong, yet so smooth.
He doesn’t say a word but he pushes me a little further back. I press my shoulders into his iron restraint, making a frustrated yelp like a child’s when he won’t let me get closer. His expression softens and he yields; his elbows bend, allowing me to lean into him and wrap my arms around his back.
There. I burn against his chest. My hands trail his back, feeling the contours of his muscles. I feel his breath on my ear, but he’s otherwise frozen. My lips are so close to his neck; I breathe in, and his scent assaults my senses. It fills my extremities with longing, as a myriad of feelings reverberate through me. I can’t be away from him any longer; and now full of determination I press my lips against his neck.
He stiffens one last time, and then exhales; and his hands relax at my shoulders. In fact, his whole body slackens as though he’s giving up on a battle I didn’t know he was fighting. His arms drop to my waist and he slowly pulls me even closer. His hands timidly travel under my nightgown and touch my skin reservedly, barely making contact.
One hand travels up my back, his fingers light as a feather, exploring my skin, making me burn with desire. I press against him, enjoying the feel of his cool hand on my burning skin. My lips are still at his neck, and as I exhale I run the tip of my tongue over his skin.
He makes a grunting noise, and in a second he grabs me by my bottom and lifts me, pulls the sheets back, and places me down on the soft white satin that covers the mattress; I’m suddenly horizontal. He hovers over me, his eyes locked with mine, his expression unfathomable. God, he’s so beautiful. I bring a hand to his bare chest and caress him softly. He shuts his eyes, takes my hand and kisses it hesitantly. Oh… his lips send a shock down my arm and into every cell of my body. He gives me back my hand; his movements are gentle and incredibly stimulating. My arms move of their own accord behind my head, just as his hands grab the hem of my nightgown and pull it over my head. No; it’s not a nightgown, but a… shirt.
I lie there, my bare chest to him, while he just stares at me. My breasts stiffen under his scrutiny. I bite my lip, wanting him. I bring my arms around him and pull him down into an embrace until our bare chests touch.
Finally. He faces away from me and I nuzzle against his neck, enjoying every second of this heavenly hour. I raise my hips forward to meet him; to get closer to him.
Timidly, he places one of his hands on the side of my chest and caresses my breast pressed between us, rubbing my nipple gently with his thumb. I feel it everywhere…. His other hand moves to my raised hip and stokes my side. Every move is slow and deliberate. His fingers find the edge of… of my pants; I realize I’m wearing some form of fleece pants. His fingers crawl under the elastic; they roam serenely on my bare skin. He squeezes the flesh of my behind gently, but with enough strength to drive me wild.
His hand presses me against him, and my groin rubs against his. My body reacts to the friction, building up pleasure like a rocket. It’s concentrated on my secret spot, but spreads to every inch of my flesh. I breathe raggedly. I move against him, slowly, pressing my body into his, into his hand caressing my chest. My head is at his neck; I can’t see his face, only feel him.
He shakes and grips me harder, almost as if he were keeping himself steady by holding me close to him. As if fighting his will. I don’t understand his reserve, but I caress his back lovingly, letting him know that I want him. He moves with me, obeying my body’s wishes. And then my hands tangle in his hair as a million sparks explode quietly within me. He presses my hips against his one last time, and holds me there for a few seconds, his frame continuing to shake faintly.
He slowly lowers me back to the bed. I collapse beneath him, my heart thrashing wildly. He raises his head and his handsome face appraises me, full of wonder and regard. I want him close to me. I pull him down to me and he succumbs.
“Mon Dieu,” I breathe against his neck. “Mon coeur.”
He pulls back suddenly and looks into my eyes. They are now greener; his pupils have contracted as normal. He squints at me, alert, his eyes focused.
“No,” he says. “No, no. Tori. Wake up.”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. I’m awake. But so delightfully tired.
“Corben?” I ask him.
He scrambles off me, and in a second he’s back and wearing a white shirt he didn’t have on a moment ago. He hands me the shirt I was wearing.
“Put this on, Tori.”
I look at it and recognize a rock band’s logo. A rock band? I’m confused. I don’t even know that that means. I frown, as I try to figure out what am I thinking of.
“Raise your arms, like this,” he says. He takes one of my arms and raises it. I comply and raise the other one. He pulls the shirt over my head.
“Tori. I need you to wake up.” He grabs my face with his hands and stares into my eyes. “Tori. Please.” He feels terrible, I can tell. I’d do anything to keep him from feeling that way. But I don’t know what he means. And then I’m so exhausted.
I close my eyes. It’s a testament of how tired I am that I can close my eyes, cutting off the sight of his perfection. I fall asleep almost immediately.
***
I wake up in a cold sweat.
“Corben,” I breathe. He’s in the foreground of my thoughts, because I was dreaming of him. I feel arms around me tighten. It’s him; I’m in his arms, my back pressed against his chest. I jump a little, shocked. The arms disappear in a second and I feel a strange emptiness adding to my confusion. I turn around to face him in the darkness, my heart beating fast in my disorientation.
He sits up and a dim light flickers on above us; I’m assuming he does that for my benefit. He’s fully awake. I squirm back, away from him, trying to figure out how I feel past the shock of finding myself on his bed. I stay on my side, confused and alarmed of the blank that my mind is drawing.
It takes me a minute for the memories to surface, and when they do, the wave of dread that rolls over me takes my breath away. I remember my accident. Him picking me up. And then nothing.
And then the dream. Or what I thought was a dream, but really happened; I was in a sort of sleepwalking mode. But I remember it clearly… too clearly…. A glow starts in my chest, spreading to my limbs.
I shudder the thought away. I’m repulsed, embarrassed beyond belief. It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever slept sharing a bed with someone else. And oh God. The level of intimacy! I start shaking, and to my dismay, my eyes fill with tears. I brave a look up to his face, and the hard expression I find there scares the shit out of me; I scramble off the bed and run. I run away before he has the chance to say anything that will ruin me.
I dash down three flights of stairs, escape to my room in the basement. I don’t even turn on the light; I shut the door behind me and lean against it, as if I could block everything that lies on the other side. The windows are fully covered in snow. I feel trapped; depressed. Unfortunately I still want Corben.
There’s a knock on the door. Of course he followed me.
“Tori, I’m sorry,” he says on the other side of the door. He sounds… hurt. “It’s
my fault. I can explain everything.”
“It really happened,” I say. It’s not a question. “Were you awake?” I’m sniveling and my voice is stupid, but I can’t care.
“Yes, I was.” He is bashful.
“You tried to stop me.”
“Not hard enough.”
“Why do I feel this way?” I whisper, almost pleading. I know he hears me.
“Do you remember your accident?”
I don’t respond right away as I relive the violent memories. “Yeah,” I say, shaking. “But I don’t remember anything afterwards.”
“Tori, you were badly hurt. You cracked a few ribs and hit your head many times on those rocks.”
I remember, and I shiver. And I recall the pain.
And find myself surprised to not feel any pain right now.
“How come I’m fine now? Did you—did you give me…?” I start, but I close my eyes as I realize what happened. He fed me his blood. “Oh, God.”
“I had to,” he whispers, and his voice is so full of emotion that I wish I could see his face. “It wasn’t a significant amount.” Like I even know what a significant amount is.
“Is that what made me…?” I can’t finish.
“Tori…. I’m sorry. Let me explain everything to you. Will you come up to the living room?”
I wipe my tears away with the back of my hand, and suddenly notice something. “Aaah!” I cry as I blink, patting my eyes frantically, touching the cornea directly and scratching it in the process. I hear discordant noises coming from my mouth.
“Tori? What’s wrong?” Corben calls.
“I can’t find—I can’t feel—my….” I can’t form sentences, and I turn around, open the door, run past Corben to the bathroom and inspect my eyes in the mirror, noting briefly that my hair is a mess.
“Tori, your heart is out of control,” Corben says behind me. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands.
I look up in the mirror and my panicked stare collides with his. Our eyes almost match in color, but mine are frantic and his are worried. “I scratched my eye. I was wearing my contacts and now I can’t find them!” I move my hands again to my eyes.
He’s immediately before me, pinning my forearms to keep me from scratching myself again. “Sh-sh-sh,” he trills. “Your contacts are not lost in your eyelids. They’re upstairs in my bathroom. I took them out.”
“Huh?” I blink, and I stare into his eyes again, the real ones, and it doesn’t make sense, because I can see him perfectly well.
“I probably damaged them… I just threw them in a cup with water. But I’ll get you new ones. You kept blinking as if something was bothering you. I checked your eyes, saw them, and I took them out.”
“But I… I can see. I don’t need them….” I look past him to the tile on the wall, and I can see the grout lines distinctively with the unscratched eye. Not blurry. I look around and can see everything; then I lean into the mirror and inspect my eye. The contacts are definitely not in. I look at Corben, scared and thrilled of the explanation my brain provides. “Did your blood fix my eyesight?”
He looks just as perplexed as I feel. “Can you see okay now?”
“As if I was wearing my contacts,” I say. “Better.” This is the single most amazing thing that has happened to me since I learned that Thierry was a vampire. It’s almost enough to make me forget my other more pressing concerns.
Corben stares into my eyes, and I have to look down at myself. I notice my apparel. “What is this? What am I wearing? What happened?”
I ask because I feel like I have to know, but I really don’t want to hear the answer.
He leans back against the tiled wall, putting some space between us. “I brought you in, took you upstairs to my bathroom, fed you my blood, removed your wet clothes, put you in a hot bath to raise your temperature. When you started to revive, I dried you off and put some clothes on you. I didn’t want to go through your things, so I just gave you some of mine.”
Halfway through his account I stopped processing thoughts. I was kind of hoping that he had left me in my underwear, but no. I cross my arms over my chest. No sports bra. He took everything off.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I needed to do it. You could’ve caught hypothermia.”
“No, it’s… fine,” I say, keeping the panic out of my voice, trying to show him that I’m grateful that he saved me. “Thank you.”
“I was tired and weak, so I put you in the bed beside me, and took a nap. When I woke up, you were….”
“What? Tell me. Please.”
“Will you come upstairs to the living room with me? I’ll tell you there. It’s cold down here.”
Corben shifts uneasily before me. Seeing him act like this, like he cares, lifts my spirits a little. My prospect of happiness is nonexistent, but at least I’m in this house, with him, and he finally sounds like he gives a damn about me. That’s what keeps me going.
I’m a fool.
“Does the cold bother you?” Is what I ask him, of all things.
“No, but seeing you cold does,” he says.
***
“What time is it, anyway?” All my napping, healing, and sleepwalking have majorly screwed up my internal clock.
“It’s about two in the afternoon. We still have time to make it to the airport in a few hours.”
“Oh, wow,” I say. It doesn’t feel like the same day. My sleepwalking dream started with me thinking that it was dawn. This day has been absolutely strange, but I still get to make it home as planned. But first, I have to talk to Corben.
I’m snuggled in front of one of the three fireplaces that this house has, and I have a warm blanket covering me. We’re in the main level’s living room, neutral territory, and he started a fire just for me. Well, he just clicked a button and the fire started. I stare at the flames with my newly fixed eyes.
“I didn’t want to admit it, but the truth is before me. It’s time you know. The dreams will only get worse.” Corben goes straight to business.
“You can tell me. I’m not afraid,” I front, but I totally am.
He’s sitting on a couch opposite me, less than ten feet away, and I’m having conflicting thoughts of agreeing and hating the arrangement at the same time.
“Okay.” He exhales audibly. “First, you were badly hurt. I did what I did because I didn’t want to take you to a hospital and wait it out. I didn’t know the extent of your injuries; only that you looked terrible. You passed out on me, Tori.”
On me. The words send a stupid thrill down my spine. He cares.
“That’s okay,” I say. “I don’t mind. On the contrary, thank you… for helping me.”
“It was my pleasure. But please believe me; I didn’t realize what would happen.”
“What… happened?” I ask carefully. This doesn’t sound good.
He turns his head away from me, towards the fire. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. Now I’m nervous. It doesn’t help that I have no memory of him feeding me his blood.
“First you must know, Charlotte was a vampire.” He opens his eyes and looks straight at me. I pretend it doesn’t surprise me. After a second he adds, “And she was the one who turned me.”
Okay, now I do flinch in surprise. “What? Why?”
He shakes his head. “That’s another story for another day.”
I’m severely disappointed. I want to know how long they roamed the earth as a vampire couple. How old she was when they met, whether they fed on humans together—oh! Whether they could feed off each other….
“What matters for what I’m about to tell you is, when a vampire turns a human, the human’s blood fuses with the vampire’s,” he continues.
“Oh….” I say, remembering Thierry’s account from a particular conversation I didn’t like. “Thierry mentioned something like that.”
“He did?”
“Yeah. He said his blood was mixed with yours, and that he was attuned to your feeli
ngs, or whatever. Because your blood runs through his veins.”
His eyes narrow slightly as if wondering why would Thierry tell me that, but doesn’t ask me to expand. Instead he just says, “Yes. So you know. Well, then, Charlotte’s blood mixed with mine.”
He pauses and looks at the fire again. “Which is, by the way, one of the reasons I vividly remember her; part of her is literally in me.”
Gaah. Not again. I don’t want to talk about how much he misses his wife, so I don’t answer.
“Anyway, to the point: her blood is in me, as of this afternoon, it’s in you, too.”
Oh.
I stiffen in surprise, and feel my eyes widen. My mouth opens to say holy shit, but no sound comes out.
“And that, I think, is what triggered your sleepwalking when you woke up,” he concludes.
Speechless. I’m disgusted and speechless. I didn’t realize until now how much I disliked the dead chick. But the fact that her blood lives in Corben, even if diluted with his, and that some of it is in me, freaks me the hell out.
“I really didn’t know this would happen,” he repeats when I don’t speak.
I struggle to find my voice. “So….” I have to clear my throat, because it comes out small and disbelieving. “So you think she possessed me or something?” I’m not sure what I want to believe. I’m actually half relieved that it wasn’t me acting that way in Corben’s bed, that I can blame it on possession; but at the same time I’m half outraged that the ghost of Corben’s wife is possessing me.
“No…” he says. He rests his elbows on his legs and leans down into his hands, as if defeated. “I don’t believe it works that way. Her spirit doesn’t roam free; she can’t possess you. It’s more that you’re predisposed to… act like her. And her blood awakened that within you.”
“What? No,” I refute him. I don’t want to be anything like her. “Why, because I look like her? You know how many people I look like? Three very different celebrities… at least. Or so my friends used to say.”