Oh. Wow.
I am mulling over this. I mean, really doing some major mind bending reworking of my concept of the universe and unlife as I know it, when someone starts banging really hard on Joshua's front door.
***
Drake is furious.
I can see his face, white with blood black eyes, nostrils flaring above that ridiculous mustache when Joshua slides the door open slowly, chain still engaged.
"I found your trucker," Drake spits through the four-inch space.
Joshua looks back at me, wide eyed. There is a little hurt there, too. "I only ate him," I assure him. "There wasn't even any kissing." The bright panic in his eyes relaxes a bit. "What do you want, Drake," I say over Joshua's shoulder.
"Let me in."
"I don't think so," Joshua's all burly he-man, shoving his chest up against the door as he goes to close it. It makes me tingle.
"Samuel," says Drake in The Voice. I freeze. God, how embarrassing. "Tell him to let me in, Samuel."
"Let him in, Joshua," I say low, my face suffused in the warmth of borrowed blood. I feel Joshua swivel to look at me, but I can't meet his eyes.
"Bobby?" he whispers, and I have to look up at him now. Pleading with my eyes for him to understand.
"He... he's my Sire," I explain. "I have to..." "Let me in, Samuel," says Drake, cranking up the power of The Voice. I grab at the door handle. Joshua makes a feeble attempt to stop me, but of course he can't and I hate myself as I release the chain and swing the door wide, turning my back and walking across the room to stare out the window, arms folded.
I hear Drake enter the room.
"But... but... I didn't invite him in..." Joshua protests. Stupid Anne Rice. "It isn't necessary," says Drake, his accent thicker than ever. And I blush again. For him, so third world and old school no matter how hard he tries to keep up with the times. And for me, eternally hooked-up with this embarrassment. This socially inept creature of the night.
"You have been feeding, Samuel." Drake's voice is an appreciative growl.
I whirl around and see him just inches from a frozen, pale Joshua. He is staring at the bites on Joshua's neck, his tongue just barely showing against his lower lip.
"Stay away from him, Drake!" But Drake grins. Anyone I bite is his and we both know it. Generally it doesn't matter. Food is food. But this is Joshua. He is frozen, Drake's will holding him. Panting, his mouth open as he draws in quick shallow breaths. His eyes roll toward me.
"Bobby?"
"Leave him alone, Drake!" Drake gives me a look that is so sorrowful it makes me hurt a little for him. Like I used to in the old days when he first turned me and told me his long, sad story. About his lover, Samuel, and the pact of eternity they had together. About how Drake had lost him. About how he spent the rest of his unlife looking for a love to replace him.
"I'll ... I'll go back with you if you leave him alone, Drake."
"No, Bobby!" Joshua's voice is strained as he fights the thrall. Drake ignores him and comes toward me. In the light from the window, I can see the dirt and blood staining those hideous polyester bell-bottoms. I make a huge effort to look past all that and into the ancient blue eyes. "I... I promise. I won't leave again. Just let him go."
"I've missed you, Samuel."
And he has. I can see it in those eyes. The hurt at being abandoned. His honest confusion, not understanding what he had done wrong. I feel compassion for him flood through me again. "Goddammit, Drake."
"Why does he keep calling you Samuel?" Joshua's voice is hurt and angry.
"He gets confused," I explain softly. "He thinks I'm someone else." "Samuel..." says Drake softly, longingly.
"Someone he loved very much and lost," I say, my heart aching.
"That's not your problem, Bobby," says Joshua, his voice all steel. "Sucks for him, but you aren't responsible for his feelings," says my proudly non-dysfunctional friend.
"He needs me," I say. And I take Drake's hands as he steps up to me. Raise one and kiss it softly.
"What about your needs?" asks Joshua. I look up at him, startled. Drake has let his thrall fall away and Joshua stands there, appealing to me, one arm slightly outstretched. "What do you need, Bobby?"
"Me?" I feel a little taken aback. "You've told me how quickly you were forced to grow up. I mean, obviously it was a euphemism for..." he gestures with his hand, "this. But I know you feel you missed something. Never got to be a young adult, never got to be out on your own. Have some freedom to make your own choices."
"I wanted to go to college," I say.
"Yeah. Like that." "Samuel," says Drake. "We have seen the world together."
"A chaperoned world tour isn't the same as being your own man, Bobby."
"Yeah," I say. I pout at Drake and drop his hands. "I never feel like I'm making the decisions. It's all decided for me,"
"You haven't got free will," says Joshua.
"That's right," I say, pointing at Joshua. I frown at Drake. "I want my free will back."
"Nonsense," says Drake. And then he's up against me, those teeth bared, those intense eyes seeming to just enter my brain. "You will come with me now." It takes all the strength of will I possess just to utter one tiny protest. One squeak of denial. But I know it's hopeless. He will take me away again. Make me live that dark Goth dream of his again and again until I'm as sad and lonely and insane as he is.
"I want Joshua," I whimper, staring into Drake's face.
And then I am staring at a puff of brown smoke and the ash coated barbeque skewer in Joshua's hand.
"Cured Hickory Stick," says Joshua, dangling the thing distastefully from a thumb and forefinger. "Cost a fortune, guess it's unusable now."
"You... you killed him."
Joshua turns, eyes crinkled and still a little shocked. "Yeah? You okay with that?"
"Uh." "Listen, the guy obviously couldn't let go."
"Uh." "And it is obviously time for you to have your own life. Or unlife. Or whatever." Joshua carefully deposits the skewer into the trash. While I stare, he removes his broom and dustpan set from the inset cupboard, neatly sweeps up Drake and dumps him into an immaculate stainless steel trash barrel under the sink.
"So," Joshua smoothes his palms over his slacks, looking uncomfortable, "are you going to kill me now?"
I find my wobbling way to the sofa. Sit down hard. "I don't want to kill you, Joshua," I say. And find my eyes filling suddenly with tears. "I just wanted to be your boyfriend."
Joshua is across the room and beside me, his arms gathering me up against him, his mouth on my hair. "Hey, hey, I'm still here, aren't I?"
I nod against him. It's all so overwhelming. The coming out to Joshua. The end of Drake.
Joshua's hands pull my face up; I feel his lips against mine and can hardly believe it.
He pulls away and looks into my eyes. Dark. Serious. "So what do we do now?"
JULY 12, 2014 Club Francis is the hottest dance club on the boulevard this year and despite the best efforts of its doormen, the club is packed so tight that one can barely take a deep breath.
The two men leaning against the bar don't seem to mind. The tall, slender redhead, his mouth turned in a pouty little smile as he watches the dancers. His smaller, equally pale, dark haired companion. Both with that fine white baby skin of the young. The dark haired boy's hair is short with the long trail in the back that just came into fashion. The redhead's auburn hair curls at his nape as he grows it in. Their clothes never saw a rack. They stand side-by-side, gorgeous, rich and perfect. Princes of all they survey.
"Oh honey," breathes one man at a nearby table to his companion. "Those two are exclusive, I'm afraid. They have been together simply forever."
His friend says something about them looking too young to have been together all that long.
"Human growth hormone, so rumor has it," says the first man cattily. "Or worse. Honestly, what some men will do out of vanity."
The music switches. An old song. A classic. The red
head turns dark blue smiling eyes towards his companion. Holds out a pale hand. "Wanna dance?"
Bobby smiles and loops his fingers through Joshua's. "Always."
Salt Whispers
By S.K. Jovovich He was dead. The only person in the world who had ever loved her, ever made her feel like she belonged, was gone. Her father was dead. And the ghouls had gathered here for the reading of the will. Gina wanted to curse at him, to rail at him for leaving her, but the softness of his smile was too bright in her mind. So she could only swallow her rage and let it gnaw at her from the inside out.
"Miss Hawthorne?" A voice interrupted her reverie.
She looked up from beneath her straw hat, her green eyes assessing the little man who spoke. "Yes?" "I'm sorry, but the rest of the family has gathered in the State Room. They wish your attention." Gina felt a prick of irritation. How dare they summon her? How dare they presume... She interrupted herself. Her father would not have wanted it to be this way. No, he would not have wanted the sniping whispers and venomous glares. Her father had loved each of them in his own way. Gina sighed and rose from her chaise to follow the messenger to the State Room.
When Gina entered the room, all conversation ceased. She was met with cold salutations and even icier stares. Her back stiffened under the perusal, but she raised her chin. She sat at an empty space toward the head of the table. The little man that had come to fetch her stood at the front of the room.
"As you know, we are here to comply with Michael Hawthorne's last wishes. The first thing that I am supposed to ask is if everyone is having a good time." This statement was met with nothing. The occupants of the room simply stared, awaiting whatever he would say next. He shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Then he continued. "The will cannot be read as of yet."
There were murmurs of dissent and growls amongst the gathering.
"Not until Gina has read this." He held up a small diary.
"Why don't we all need to read it?" Gina's cousin Heather questioned. Heather had been the sole heir to the Atlantis Empire, until Michael had adopted Gina.
Gina shot her a look of irritation.
"Well, Cousin Dearest, why can't I read my beloved Uncle's last words for myself?" Heather answered the look.
Gina wanted to puke. Heather was the most insincere and worthless slut that she had ever known.
"It was not left to you. Just like everything else." Gina's tone was soft, but the jab struck home.
"Give me the damn book Gina!" Heather became mobile, flying at her cousin in a rage of nails and teeth. The little man was suddenly formidable. He stepped between the unaffected Gina and the snarling ball of embarrassment that Heather had become. "It will be done as Mr. Hawthorne wished." He went over to Gina with his efficient step and handed the tome into her expectant hands. She held it lovingly. It was last that she would have of him. Tears sprang to her eyes, begging to fall. But she would not cry, not in front of all of these cold and unforgiving faces with their greed a badge on their sleeves. No, she would be the cold bitch that they all thought her to be.
Gina held her head high as she rose and was the first to leave the room, her jaw set in a hard line. With the book clutched to her breast and hurried steps, she went to her cabin to lock herself away from prying eyes. Gina was eager to see what those pages held and to hear his voice echoed in the words there.
After locking the door behind her, she found herself on the balcony and lounged in the sweet Caribbean breeze. She reclined with the book still close to her heart. It was as if by holding it, she could feel him. Maybe it was only the zephyr, but there was a warmth around her; a scent that was a vague mix of tobacco and musk. It was as if his arms held her again. The sensation fortified her and Gina finally dared to turn the cover back.
Gina -- If you read this, I am dead or lost to Oceania. There are secrets here that you must know. Please don't remember me by what you read here, you have always been my own precious child. Gina's hands began to tremble. She wasn't sure if she wanted to continue reading. Some things were better left to the darkness and the dead that took them there. She almost dropped the book as if it were on fire. A choking fear filled her at those first cryptic lines. No matter what was within, Gina was unable to fling away his last words to her. With no other recourse, she read on.
I saw you for the first time today. You crawled from the waves to lie weakly on the sand and when you held your arms out to me, I could not resist you. It was as if I was entranced, I saw myself putting my own child down in the sand where you had been and I took you into my arms, in his place. The sea carried him away, but I could feel nothing, only the need to hold you.
The prose made no sense to Gina. She had crawled from the ocean? He had abandoned his baby? How was that even possible? A sudden lethargy stole over her as her mind tried to wrap around the meaning of her father's words. Unwittingly, her eyes closed and she dreamed. She was aware of her dreaming, because the images she saw had no place in her reality.
In her dream, a woman climbed the side of the cruise ship up to her balcony and slid over the railing. This woman watched her as she slept; taking her in through eyes that reflected the deep sea. They were cloudy and dark in the way that no eyes should be; there was no iris to reflect what the creature saw. Only the vast abyss of rolling waves and darkness. She was unnatural. She was beautiful.
Her hair was a lavender mass that tangled down the length of her. The woman's naked body shone in the fading sun; the surface smooth and wet, reflecting the light. It was a pale blue, like human skin that had frozen, but it was supple and rippled with her movements. The long fingers were decorated with an elegant mesh of webbing and they reached out to touch Gina. The touch chilled her to her soul, but she was powerless to move. The foreign face peered closer to Gina as the arctic fingers touched her cheek, the dampness exploring her. The salty water ran in steady rivulets from the woman, almost as if she were made of it. It dripped onto Gina in shattering contrast to the tepid air. Salt water was somehow heavier than fresh water. But before she could think about that, the cold flesh was suddenly pressed against her, the blue lips closing over hers.
Gina felt the questing sylph tongue tracing the corners of her lips, forcing its way into her mouth. She opened under the caress as the distinctly feminine body writhed, rubbing bare breasts across exposed skin, but sending the dark freeze of the deep waters through the soaked fabric of her clothes. The alien sensation warmed low in Gina's belly, a curled serpent waiting to strike. Gina threaded her hands through the deceptively soft hair, pulling the other woman's head closer.
She became light-headed as the woman acquiesced, deepening the kiss and stealing her air. Gina tried to pull away, to catch her breath, but the webbed fingers held her fast. Gina's lungs were starved for oxygen and she thrashed to escape. But she was even more aroused as the lack of air increased her sensitivity and her struggles caused their bodies to rub more intimately. The other creature's skin was slightly rough, textured like a cat's tongue and it teased and taunted wherever it touched. Then, as her energy waned and she gave in to the embrace, her mind was flooded with visions of darkness, of a fathomless depth that had no beginning, no end. It was eternal. The blackness filled her with the inky stain of frigidity, spreading and consuming in its ebony shroud.
"Come to me." The voice whispered seductively in her ears.
And Gina screamed, the sound ripped from newly infused lungs. Gina woke straining against the railing and her throat ached with the effort of her scream. When she realized that she was awake, she collapsed back against the lounger and tried to catch her breath. Her heartbeat thundered like a stampede of wild horses crashing into her own awareness. Gina took a steadying breath and looked out across the beckoning sea, then rested her head in her hands to shake off the feelings that were rampaging through her.
Gina stood to go back inside her cabin and her bare feet met the floor. The wet floor! With a start, Gina realized that she was soaked. The enormity of that realization refused to
present itself to her consciousness. It was impossible. But her body belied what her mind could not accept. She was drenched, her clothes and between her legs. Her nipples stood hard against the soft cotton of her dress at the memory of the touch. It had been so real. It was real.
Gina looked around for the diary, but it was not to be found. She ran to the outer door of her cabin, but it was locked just as she had left it. She stormed back out onto the balcony, pacing with her dilemma.
Heather. It had to be Heather.
Bitch! Fucking Bitch! Gina grasped the rails to vent her frustration, squeezing with all of her might as if she could transfer her rage at a simple touch. But then her eyes were drawn to the repetition of the waves against the hull. It was hypnotic and then Gina was sure that she saw a shape down in the darkness. A faint blink of lavender.
"Come to me." The sound caressed her. "This is where you belong. Come." Gina was sure of her faculties; she wasn't prone to hysteria or fits of any sort. There had to be an explanation. And the explanation for the sighting was going to be much easier than the one she would have to invent to explain the rightness of those words.
The depths of those waters suddenly drew her, held her and then came an instant ripping pain at being apart from the ocean. The darkness that had spilled inside of her beckoned. As she shook herself free of her thoughts, she realized that she was halfway over the railing, her foot dangling in the emptiness that lay between her and the murky bottom.
Damn! She needed to find out what happened to that diary. Gina needed to wait until all were asleep to search Heather's cabin for the book. She lay back down on the chaise and thoughts of the strange woman tormented her. Gina could see the masses of tangled hair spread over her belly with the textured skin massaging her with every touch. Gina's senses burst into flame. She could smell the salt water and feel the dampness of it dripping across her skin. She imagined tasting the bluish flesh and feeling those webbed fingers deep inside of her.
Gina pulled off her damp cotton dress and her panties followed suit. She splayed herself wide on the chaise and closed her eyes. As the evening gentled into the night, the breeze changed as well. The heated flush of the day merged into a cool meandering and it slipped over Gina's body, but instead of cooling the fire, it spurred her onward as it rushed over her breasts, causing the already tightened flesh to pucker into near agony. Gina's lips plumped with the expectation of touch and her mouth fell open; an invitation. Her breath caught in her throat as she imagined the woman standing over her again and Gina's fingers trailed the path for the other to follow.
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