The second shoe is lying like a homing beacon at the bottom of the stairs. He can still feel the heat from her body in the carelessly abandoned heel.
Quietly, he climbs the rosebouquet-lined staircase, almost tripping over the almost non-existant piece of fabric that she had worn as a dress, as he reaches the top of the stairs. He can see without a doubt that she has left him a sugary sweet, yet dangerous trail to follow. Never before has he experienced something so highly erotic. With every step he takes, the old wooden floors give away his presence. The tiny thong made of black lace that he finds in front of one of the large white double doors is the crowning moment for him. With a powerful push, he enters the extension room above the garage.
Her body shines against the cool moonlight, making her skin look soft and milky white. He wants to taste her, fill himself with her. He would rather turn to dust on the spot than not be able to have her. Time seems to have stopped, with only the sound of her breath breaking the silence.
As she turns towards him, there is neither shame nor surprise in her eyes. Naked as the day she was born, she stands in front of him, and in this moment she is the most beautiful and desirable thing his age-old eyes have ever been given the pleasure to see.
No words are needed from either of them, they both know why they are here and so their lips meet naturally and effortlessy, as if detached from their bodies. His rough hands glide over her soft, supple, naked skin, fondling her firm, full breasts and tightly gripping her soft, round butt. Orlando’s clothes come undone and fall to the floor, as if on their own.
He stands before her in all his glorious manhood as the pale moonlight makes his snow-white skin melt into the colour of the white painted iron bedframe. He needs no further invitation, and so he enters her, momentarily engulfed by a searing heat. Through his passionate lust, he can feel an otherworldly fire building. All reason is lost in her wild moans, and he is a slave to her immeasurable will. Incomparable to anything else and yet its her striking eyes that he can’t help but remain fixated on.
Exhausted, he falls back, while she straddles him like a queen on her throne. He has been submissive to her every wish. Fatigue spreads over him and he falls into a dreamless slumber.
Orlando awakens several hours later, and he realises it is seven thirty in the morning. How could this happen to him? He has never fallen asleep at some woman’s house, what makes this one so different? One look at her perfectly formed body is enough to answer that question for him. Her golden hair is falling in soft waves over her naked breasts, that only a few hours before he had been nuzzling like a baby. He wants to start over again, go another round, and then keep going over and over again, but sunrise is coming, forcing him to leave.
As he sits up, his head starts spinning and his eyes glaze over with some kind of blackness. He feels incredibly weak as if all of the power had been drained out of his body. Her blood will make him stronger; just one bite will be enough to make her forget the whole night. It’s a real shame that he has to take such a one of a kind experience from her, but it is as much for her protection as his own. He doesn’t usually play by the vampire rules, but there is one rule that not even he would dare break, and that is to always keep your true identity a secret.
No one can ever know what he is, because not only would that mean the death of the person who discovered his secret, but also the death of him.
Orlando gently strokes the soft, pale, delicate skin on her throat. It almost pains him to have to ruin this perfect surface with a bitemark. There will only be two tiny dots to be seen, but that is enough to mar the perfection. He softly presses his lips on her slim neck, and then he pierces her tender flesh with his fangs. Blood flows into his greedy mouth, causing him to recoil quickly, coughing and gagging. It burns in his throat and not only robs him of his wits, but also of air as he struggles to breathe. The blood burns stronger than any hard liqour, it almost seems as though his throat is being engulfed with some kind of strong venom. Tears fill his eyes, as he sinks to the floor drenched in sweat. Like a fish out of water, he gasps for air and strains his body until the burning slowly starts to subside. In shock, he pulls himself to his feet. He has no explanation for what has just happened. It deeply unsettles and unnerves him. There is no mark to be seen on her swan-like neck, not even a pin prick sized hole, all the while the fire is still burning dimly in his belly. He doesn’t have any time left to question it; the sun is rising and the break of day forces him to flee. He stumbles unsteadily out of the room. Good thing Moundrell Manor is not too far away, as he would not have had enough time to survive a drive across town.
After drinking one of his blood reserves, Orlando feels a little more like himself. Upon his arrival at home he was met with the familiar and comfortable daytime silence. He has no idea what had happened to him. Had anyone seen him, his confusion would have been plain to see and that would have prompted questions; questions he has no answer for. He is confused about the entire night; it scares him but also intrigues him. Her glowing eyes are the last thing he sees in his mind before falling asleep. He will never be able to forget those eyes and would recognise them in a crowd of millions: emerald green and brighter than the sun, yet cold as ice.
- 3. Lia Green -
Birdsong can be heard through the closed window in the dark bedroom. A cool breeze wafts gently over Lia’s naked back, making the thin strands of hair laying over it dance around. Well rested, she opens her eyes and lets out a powerful yawn, then swiftly pulls the thick blanket up to her neck. What time is it?? Did she forget to set her alarm? A quick glance at her clock reveals that it’s only shortly before seven, so she could easily sleep another ten minutes. It’s a miracle that she woke up at all without the help of her alarm clock’s shrill screeching, but the fact that she is in the mood to immediately get up is even slightly worrying. Normally she would pull the pillow over her head in an attempt to drown out the noise of her alarm clock, just looking for some excuse to not have to go to school again. She usually has a headache and her stomach turns just thinking about all the torture she will probably have to endure that day from classmates. But right now she feels oddly free and can’t wait to see her friends; especially Lindsay. She has something to tell her! Her lips curve into a smile.
The harassment she has to face from the others doesn’t seem half as bad right now. She is, after all, only in school for a few hours every day. With her eyes closed, she sees ice-blue eyes and hair as dark as night in her head. The skin on her neck prickles with excitement as she thinks about the many kisses and touches experienced last night. She is surprised to find that she doesn’t feel the usual shame when remembering what happened the night before.
Feeling enlightened, she swings her legs out of the bed, and walks barefoot over to her white closet, swinging the doors open. Her closet is split into two halves. One side is neatly lined with pearl-green blazers and skirts, along with the white shirts that make up her school uniform. Next to those there is a thick down coat for cold weather and a worn brown leather jacket, which is the last surviving piece of her mother’s possessions; the only proof remaining that she actually existed, because the rest of the house is devoid of any photo, or a single item that belonged to her. Ever since she took her first steps she has been searching the house from loft to basement for something, anything, without any success. She doesn’t even know if she looks like her, but asking her father is pointless, because he falls into what seems like a trance, and just stumbles over his words trying to express how beautiful she was, but that she had left them. He has never made much sense when speaking of her mother. Its like talking to a wall, so much so, that Lia would like nothing more than to take him by both shoulders and shake him until he finally answers the many questions that have always burned inside of her.
In the other half of the closet, Lia keeps her casual clothing, which consists of long black and grey tops and dark jeans. In the bottom drawer she keeps a few mini-dresses bunched up and out of sight. She cannot remember when
she went and bought them; they were just always there. Some mornings she feels so ashamed of herself that she pulls out one of these dresses and cuts it up in a violent rage, but somehow there are always more.
After washing herself in the bathroom and dressing, she stands in front of the mirror on the old-fashioned dressing table in her room, and traces the embroidery of the school emblem on her blazer. It is a white lighthouse on a green background representing Scarborough which was once a fishing town.
She brushes her hair and thinks about tying it in her usual ponytail, but then she decides against it. Why can’t she just wear her hair open like every other girl? Let the other say what they like! She was not put on this earth to always worry about what others will say about her. She skips down the wooden staircase with a spring in her step and walks into the kitchen. To her surprise she sees her father, who is leaning casually against the counter reading today’s paper and checking out the stock market. “Good morning daddy,” she says with a smile, which is met with an irritated glare. There hasn’t been a ‘good’ morning in a long time, and the last time she called him ‘daddy’ was when she was five years old. He clears his throat.
“Good morning Liandra. Maria made fresh pancakes this morning before she went shopping.”
Maria is their Spanish live-in maid, cook and everything else. In short, she is the kind soul in the house. Lia smiles.
“How kind of her, but I am not hungry at all! Could I have some of your coffee?”
Mr. Green puts his paper down, taken aback by his daughter’s strange behaviour. “There is still a whole pot, help yourself.”
Lia sits opposite her father with a cup of coffee and glances happily out of the window at the snow-covered garden, where she sees a bird searching for food on the icy ground.
“How is school going?”
“Oh, it’s getting better, I am working on it. When you really try hard you can achieve anything!”
In shock, William Green chokes on his coffee. This girl sitting across the table from him can hardly be his ever pessimistic, depressed daughter. But before he has time to question her sudden change in attitude, she is already up and around the table, gives him a kiss on the cheek and leaves the room. He doesn’t know what to make of this. He had always hoped that she would come around and her attitude would change, but never could he have anticipated such an immediate and unexpected change in her.
Cold wind blows in through the window of her old VW Golf as she drives on the bare Manor road towards Scarborough Grammar School. Her father would love to buy her a newer, faster and generally better car, but Lia knows that it would be a waste of money, because it is a guarantee that within one day of having it, it would be covered in scratches and old chewing gum stuck to it by her classmates if she left it in the school’s parking lot. It doesn’t matter on the old Golf, as she lost count of the scratches on the black finish a long time ago, even though she purposely parks her car a few blocks away from the school. But she will not let that spoil her good mood today and so she turns on the radio and cranks up the volume when she hears Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell”, one of her absolute favourite songs.
„Last night a little dancer
Came dancin' to my door“
The others stare at her in disbelief; they could never have imagined such a thing. Lia the weakling, the one who lets everyone bring her down and humiliate her; the scared one who always hides in the back of class, she is suddenly no more. She still sits in the back of the room, but now she is sitting up straight with her head held high. For the first time in a long time she is in the right frame of mind to listen to what Mr. Atkins has to say, instead of eavesdropping on the constant bitching between Tracy and Sarah in the row in front of her. No matter how loudly people want to pester her, Lia does not care today. Her thoughts let her drift into another world; that head of black hair is all over her naked body and when she comes back to reality, a joyful smile sweeps across her face.
Mr. Atkins has also noticed the change in her. He is not used to anyone really paying attention in his class. When his eyes meet hers again and again, he stumbles over his words. Meanwhile they have reached the year 1914 in today’s lesson. In November of that year, Germany had dug a series of trenches on the western front, and thus the trench warfare began. Mr Atkins falls silent and looks around eagerly to see who else is paying attention. To his dismay, nobody is, but he is in his element, and therefore enthusiastically continues with his lesson.
“Something quite unbelieveable happened in December.” He isn’t expecting anyone to be listening well enough to actually raise their hand and contribute to the lesson, but sure enough, Lia raises her hand, much to his irritation and dismay.
“Yes Liandra?” he asks, almost timidly. All of a sudden he doesn’t seem much like the mean little dwarf that he did the day before. Lia now sees him rather like a man who suffers from serious confidence issues due to his short stature.
“December saw the beginning of the Christmas Truce.”
His eyes light up and he seems almost euphoric as he claps his hands together.
“Exactly right, could you please explain to us what that means?” His voice almost breaks in his excitement and growing enthusiasm.
“There was a short ceasefire between the German and British soldiers in honour of Christmas celebrations. According to some accounts there were even fraternisations and brotherly gestures made.”
At first Mr. Atkins seems happy with the answer, but then he pulls a more serious face.
“Yes, but all that just to continue with the same war once Christmas was over, inhumanely using soldiers as nothing more than cannon fodder.”
He drifts off into another one of his monologues, but now he is doing it with a much happier expression than Lia ever saw on him in the last year. Maybe she just never realised, but Mr. Attkins’ joy is infectious. History is much more interesting than she thought, because you can learn a lot from it that can be useful in modern day life. Mistakes made in the past don’t have to be made again. Why did she never realise that before?
Before Mr. Atkins lets everyone leave the room, he wishes them all a happy Christmas, as it is the last history lesson before the winter break. He also pleads with them to follow the example of the historical Christmas Truce and forget any grudges or feuds they may have, if even just for the holidays.
Lia doesn’t hang about like she usually does, but quickly gathers up her stuff and tries to squeeze her way out of the classroom with everyone else. Of course Tracy can’t help but say something about the massive change in Lia.
“What’s your game? How cheap of you to suck up to the teacher in front of the whole class!”, she says in the most patronising way possible, to which Sarah immediately jumps in and starts imitating Lia in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. “Yes Mr. Atkins, whatever you say Mr. Atkins!”
Bradley starts roaring with laughter, and as usual joins in on the mockery; “May I suck your dick Mr. Atkins?”
“You are such a slut!” Tracy chimes in again, flinging her hair carelessly over her shoulder, not awaiting any answer from Lia.
“Says you! Why don’t you reign in Bradley and get him to close his mouth before he starts drooling.”
The room falls into a dead silence, broken by a single powerful laugh. Tru pats Lia on the shoulder and gives her a cheeky wink, then walks past her towards the exit.
Even Lindsay and Mike are positively gobsmacked as Lia heads out with the others. It lifts Lindsay’s spirits so much that she grabs Lia by the arm and pulls her playfully towards the lunch room. They are so early that Lia can reserve a seat by the window for them. She bravely ignores the stares from the others and instead looks out the window, watching the leaves falling from the trees. The snow on the concrete floor reminds her of her late-night lover’s ice-cold skin.
Mike can’t hide his concern for Lia and brings her a fruit salad and a Lemon Cola, but she is still not hungry and just pokes her fork around in her salad while continuing to st
are out the window with a smile on her face. “Isn’t it amazing? Fresh air! No smelly bins!” Lindsay sighs, and sinks happily down into her seat “It’s a completely different way of life!”
“A lot seems to be different today, you look fantastic Lia,” Mike adds, sharing in Lindsay’s enthusiasm. Lia is slightly taken aback, but then realises how true his words are. The dark circles under her eyes have disappeared, and her hair has a healthy shine to it, rather than its usual dull, matted texture. Lia smiles feeling embarrassed but Mike continues, as if he hadn’t already said too much, making more of a big deal of it.
“Not that you aren’t always beautiful, but today you just seem even more beautiful than usual. You seem so free and relaxed; just happy.” He gushes, a wry smile plastered on his face.
At first Lindsay pouts angrily at Mike’s words, but when she looks at Lia she smiles too.
“I’m afraid to ask, but can it be that you have finally and truly fallen in love?”, she asks curiously, pushing her pink streak of hair behind her ear, all the while fixated on Lia with her sky-blue eyes.
“I wouldn’t call it love, but I can definitely tell you that I have met an amazing man.” Her voice beams with pride. Finally she has spent the night with someone and doesn’t feel ashamed for it, even though she probably should feel just as bad as all the other nights. A very girly giggle escapes Linsday:
“Easy! This must be your dream man if he can manage to bewitch you like this.” She is the only one in the world who uses the word ‘easy’ so liberally. That makes her truly unique.
“He is better than a dream man, because he is real!” Lia retorts cheekily, when Mike suddenly stands up, noisily pushing his chair aside with a face like thunder.
“This conversation is too girly for me, I’m going to class”, he says through pursed lips and marches off. On the one hand Lia feels bad for Mike, but on the other she is just grateful that it’s not Lindsay that’s mad at her for once. She is after all her best friend, and she misses her more and more since Lindsay fell in love with Mike, a circumstance that seems to put a growing divide between the girls each day.
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