My Beautiful Sin

by Heidi Lowe

  “I never thought I would be that girl, the one who falls for someone like that. I mean, what sane, right-thinking person actually wants to be with a vampire... sexually– ”

  “Erm, Lissa–”

  “No offense to you, of course. It's just not my thing. Except, I guess now it is. Well, Jean is. God, what is wrong with me? My mind says no, but my body... God, my body is screaming and aching for her–”

  “Lissa–”

  “Aching like it never has before. And my dreams. I'm lying beside my girlfriend while dreaming about a two-hundred-year-old vampire pleasuring me–”

  “I'm not two hundred years old.” Oh fuck, it wasn't Petr's voice this time. The voice was coming from behind me. That posh English voice I'd come to love.

  I stared open-mouthed, wide-eyed and mortified at Petr, whose eyes confirmed what I feared. Even so, I pleaded silently: tell me she isn't right behind me. Tell me she hasn't been standing there this whole time.

  I turned around slowly. Jean stared back at me.

  When she looked at me I felt as though I was standing naked in a room filled with people. Why did she keep catching me when I was at my most salacious? And why had I all of a sudden become so salacious?

  “Oh look, I think I see my friend Craig from archery class,” Petr said. He was gone before I could point out to him that he never went to archery class! Oh, I was going to make him pay. But first, I had to get myself out of a tricky situation.

  “I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about another Jean,” I said, and immediately regretted it. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I had my back to her and eventually she came round to face me. I wanted to turn away again, but that would have been childish. The last thing I wanted her to think was that I wasn't mature enough to handle her. Besides, she was what I had come for, and I never tired of looking at her. She was more beautiful than ever tonight; her black hair hung in a tight ponytail, her expensive-looking blazer and jeans combo gave her that classy yet down-to-earth look. It also agonized me to look at her, to be so close to such perfection knowing that I couldn't have her.

  A tiny smirk crept to her lips. “So you know more than one Jean who also happens to be a vampire?”

  I groaned in frustration. “Don't flatter yourself.” No, I was doing a great job of that for her and making a fool of myself in the process.

  She sat down in Petr's seat, and once again the world around us seemed to fade away, leaving just her and me. No one else existed as far as I was concerned. She watched me without saying a word, her eyes soft and caring. I watched her too, my eyes hard and reproachful. What was this game she was playing? If she didn't want to sleep with me, why was she always hanging around? She could have ignored my presence at her bar, but instead she chose to come over. I didn't get her at all.

  “You know, I was thinking,” I started, ready to play a game of my own. “I was thinking it's just as well you turned me down. You were right, I was confused. You saved my life, I felt indebted to you. But the truth is I wouldn't want to sleep with a woman who's been dead for two hundred years. I like my women alive. I'm not a necrophiliac!”

  Just as I knew I would, I saw the hurt in her eyes. Reducing her to something inhuman, a monster, always got to her. It surprised me that she even cared what I thought of her.

  “I would be fifty now if I hadn't been turned,” she said quietly, staring down at her hands. “Not two-hundred.”

  “It's all the same to me.” I shrugged, playing the biggest role of my life, knowing I didn't mean any of it. But she'd hurt me so I wanted to hurt her. “I don't fool around with dead people. In fact, I prefer to keep my distance. You never know with your kind. Friends one day, and the next I could be dinner.”

  “If you're keeping your distance, what on Earth are you doing in my bar?” Now the hurt and anger were completely visible.

  “I'm looking for a job,” I said without thinking. It made no sense, but no other explanation came to mind.

  “Robyn does the hiring.”

  “I'm going over her head. She would never give me a job.”

  “Why would you want to work for someone who belongs to a group of people you despise?”

  “I need the money.”

  We were staring each other down now, waiting for the other to break and look away. Of course I was the first to break.

  “You don't need a job,” she said finally. “And I'm not hiring you. Enjoy the rest of your night, Lissa.”

  She got up to leave, but I grabbed her arm. “How do you know what I need? You seem to have all the answers about me, but I don't know a damn thing about you. And I've got lots of questions.” I too had stood up, my mouth hovering close to her ear as I whispered. I'd never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I wanted to kiss Jean then. I was afraid the urge would take over. “Like, I wanna know why you were there both nights when I needed a savior. And I wanna know what happened to the mayor's son.”

  “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said levelly. So levelly that I knew she was hiding something. She then pried my hand off her arm and left, going in the direction of her office.

  Ten minutes and two cocktails later, I left Petr (once he'd returned to apologize for ditching me), and went after her. The cocktails fueled my courage. I didn't know what I would say when we were face to face again.

  There was a conversation taking place when I entered the room, without knocking, without apologizing. Robyn's furious face greeted me, as did Jean's, though she didn't seem surprised to see me.

  “What the hell do you want? What are you doing here?” Robyn demanded, baring her teeth like a guard dog.

  “I need to talk to Jean.” I pointed tipsily at her sitting on the edge of her desk, her arms folded.

  “You need to fucking leave. I knew it. I knew you came back for more than just your bag that day,” Robyn snarled.

  “Jean, I need to talk to you, without your little lapdog.”

  “You bitch!” Before I knew it Robyn's fist came flying at me. I closed my eyes and brought up both arms to block it. When I opened them again, Jean had her hand wrapped around Robyn's wrist, and she'd shoved her against the wall.

  “Don't you dare touch her,” she growled. Robyn was no match for her; she didn't even try to free herself. She looked afraid. I couldn't see Jean's face, but I imagined it was terrifying to make Robyn cower like that.

  “What has she got over you?” Suddenly Robyn was in tears, and I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. I'd caused all of this. I didn't want anyone fighting over me. “I'm the one who's loyal to you, who's been there for you for years. Yet you come to her defense every time. Why this one?”

  It was awkward standing there while they spoke as though I wasn't in the room.

  “I don't have to explain myself to you. But I'm only going to say this once; you don't ever lay a hand on her, do you hear me? Otherwise you and I are going to have a problem.”

  As soon as Jean released her, Robyn flew from the room, not before shooting me the most hate-filled look I'd ever seen. Jean kept her back to me as she straightened out her clothes.

  “You said you wanted to speak to me, Lissa.” Her voice was a little shaky. She went to sit on the edge of her desk again. It took her a while to look up at me. “Go ahead.”

  I'd almost forgotten what I wanted to question her about. Now I wanted to know what Robyn also wanted to know: why me? Because it became clear to me in that moment, when she had her girlfriend pinned to a wall, having defended me – someone who had only known her a few weeks – that there was a lot more to this than she let on. From the way Robyn spoke, it sounded like there had been other times when Jean had come to my defense.

  I closed the door, blocking the rest of the world out. She shifted uneasily. That was where she had been when I'd spied on them; it was impossible to look at her now in the same position and not envision her being fingered on that desk. Only, now that we were alone, I could easily replace Robyn's image with my own.

  “I know
that one of those boys who tried to attack me was the mayor's son. He and his friend have been missing since the night of my attack... since the night you came to my rescue.”

  Silence. Her face remained still, emotionless. Purposely so.

  I took a few steps toward her. “I remember hearing them scream just before I passed out.”

  More silence. More steps forward.

  “Did you kill them?” I braced myself for the answer, the only one that was likely. She was a vampire, they were rapists; having seen her reaction to Robyn's attempted attack on me, I realized she was capable of anything. How far would she go to protect me?

  She shook her head slowly, holding my gaze. “No.” She looked more afraid of me than I was of her, as I drew closer, now standing a few feet away.

  “I wouldn't blame you if you did. And I wouldn't be sorry. They were going to do the same to me.”

  “I didn't kill them. I don't do that.”

  I had finally arrived at my destination – inches away from Jean, standing over her. She was exactly where I wanted her.

  “So how do you explain their disappearance?”

  “I didn't kill them,” she repeated slowly, with more emphasis.

  “But you are a killer, by nature. Dangerous...” My face was inches from hers now. I watched her blood-red bottom lip quiver. “Everything is telling me to stay away from you, but for some reason it makes me want you even more.”

  “You should stay away from me, Lissa,” she said in a tiny voice. Her eyes were searching mine frantically, trying to figure out what my next move would be.

  “You know I'm never going to do that.”

  She closed her eyes sadly, as though confirming that indeed she did know I would never give up on her now. Perhaps before the Robyn incident, but not now. She'd shown her hand.

  “I wanted something better for you.” She said it to herself, not to me. She shook her head. “This wasn't supposed to happen.”

  I took her face in my hand. As usual, her ashen skin was cold and soft to the touch. I stared deep into almost ebony-colored eyes, more unsure and afraid than I had ever seen them. There was no need to rush with the kiss this time; I knew she wouldn't push me away.

  When our lips joined, this time, hallelujah! She let me snake my tongue into her mouth, and unite with hers, like long lost friends. What started off as a gentle, sensual kiss turned into something more frenzied. There was no separating us. Breathless, wet kissing was the only sound coming from that room, and anyone outside could easily have heard us. I hoped Robyn was outside listening. Something told me that, no matter how long they'd known each other and been screwing, they'd never kissed like this.

  She broke away first; the spell I'd put her under had worn off. While she regained her breath, I kissed her face, every chilly part of it, working my way slowly down her chin, and finally to her neck. She held the back of my head with one hand, while her other gripped onto the desk. With each kiss I planted on her flesh, she moaned softly.

  “This is wrong,” she mumbled.

  “It doesn't feel wrong to me,” I stated through kisses. It felt wonderful. She felt wonderful.

  She pulled my head away, leaving my mouth wide open and longing to taste her sweet flesh again. That pained look was present in her eyes again. What wasn't she telling me?

  “I never wanted you like this,” she said. “I can't... I can't be your lover, Lissa. I'm sorry. It just doesn't feel right.”

  And that was it. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. She got up, fixed herself so she looked prim and proper again, as though nothing had happened.

  “I don't understand you.” A rage brewed inside me, and I was ready to unleash it on her. “Every Tom, Dick and Harriet gets to sleep with you, but when it comes to me, it doesn't feel right. What do they have that I don't?” I actually stamped my foot, I was that pissed off. I wanted her; I needed her. And I'd been so damn close.

  “They don't have anything. It's just... different with you.” She gulped, turned away.

  “Jean, I know there's something you're keeping from me. I know you've known me a lot longer than I've known you...” She turned to look at me, startled by my revelation. Her look confirmed my suspicions. “But I don't care. I don't care how you came into my life, or why. It doesn't matter.” I sounded desperate, so unlike myself. Erratic. Being deprived of her body had turned me into a hysterical mess.

  “Well I do care. And I didn't come into your life to take advantage of you.”

  “I want you to take advantage of me, don't you see that?” Jesus, I was laying myself out on the table for her. What more did she want?

  “I can't allow myself to let that happen.”

  “Then why the fuck did you come into my life if not to screw my brains out and add me to your long list of blood-slaves?” I spat.

  “To protect you.”

  “Well I don't want your goddamn protection; I want your body!” That was the last thing I shouted at her before charging from the room in a fit of rage, ignoring her calls for me to stop. If I couldn't have her in that capacity – as a lover – I didn't want her at all. Hanging around me, teasing me with her presence. As far as I was concerned, she could stuff her protection where the sun didn't shine.

  TEN

  There wasn't much she knew about vampirism prior to her affliction. Like most people, she hadn't bothered to learn about it, to read up on it. And why should she have? Before the night she turned she'd never met a vampire, or known of anyone who had. Those were not the circles she ran in. But she learned quickly; unfortunately, through experience.

  First, the hunger. That she learned the hard way. The hardest way, after being thrust into her new world, left to fend for herself without a list of instructions. Some called it The Hunger, others called it The Thirst. Neither seemed truly sufficient to describe the crippling, all-consuming feeling. She still remembered it to this day, years later, as though she was reliving it. That was the other thing she wished she'd known beforehand: the affliction never allowed you to forget. Every memory you ever had resurfaced, repaired by the affliction, just like a bodily wound. That was what fueled the nightmares, they said.

  The nightmares were indeed the worst of it. No one had been around to tell her about those, not that it would have made a spot of difference. That was one of the curses of the illness; you never got to dream again, you only ever had nightmares. The most horrific kind. Every possible fear realized, almost nightly. If she didn't have to sleep, she wouldn't have. Anything was better than being alone with her worst fears, a compilation of her worst memories.

  She woke up with a start, in the dark, immediately feeling the warm, bloody tears running down her cheeks. She felt around for the switch, and there was a click before her bed – her true resting place – slid out of a hole in the wall. It was similar to one you would find in a morgue, though a little less uninviting, and not as claustrophobic.

  She climbed out into a well-lit room. Her lair. Her real bedroom. A huge basement paradise, decorated to a high standard, with paintings covering every wall. It locked from the inside.

  “Oh God,” she sniffed, looking down at her white gown and noticing that the droplets of blood from her tears had stained it. Why did she always wake up in tears when she wore white?

  She sat in her black leather armchair for a moment, trying to regain her composure. She needed time to get over the nightmare – she always did. This one in particular always left her heart thudding an expeditious tune. She'd been having it a lot lately. Not so much a nightmare as a flashback, warped only by the altered scenery. Everything else was the same. And every time she dreamed about the first time – her first and only kill – she woke up crying. The first time she'd taken a life and the night she'd had hers taken were forever connected. A night of murder, of savagery; one night that changed her life and so many others forever.

  She had been so hungry, so thirsty for the thing that would sustain her, the pain was so severe. All she knew was that she needed b
lood. She'd never needed or craved it prior to the change, but when she woke up soaked in her own blood, the wound in her neck still fresh, disoriented and famished, her body cried out for it. And then she took. And took. And didn't stop taking until she was satiated, until the pain was gone, until all her wounds were completely healed. But the pain was replaced by another kind of pain upon seeing what she had done, and to whom.

  Remembering was her punishment. One of many. Loving Lissa was the worst punishment of all. Cruel in its irony. She'd loved her for a long time, but now the love was changing form. And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

  The stench of human waste had started to filter out of the cellar and into the cabin. So strong. The two boys who had been the cause of it, and who had been living, eating and breathing in it, were accustomed now, having spent four weeks down there.

  “We're never getting out of here, are we?” Tommy said into the darkness. If it wasn't for the constant mumbling and cursing coming from the opposite end of the cellar, he wouldn't have known if Zack was still alive. They didn't talk much, sometimes argued, but never talked. Not about the good old days they'd shared together, or about their futures. The former because, now that he had time to reflect, Tommy realized that there had never been good times with Zack Lindley. Not really. Their four-year friendship had been spent with Zack mocking him because of his slight lisp, and Zack generally being the biggest dick alive. Peer pressure, cruel pranks, the lot. Zack had never been a good friend.

  And they never spoke about the future mainly because they didn't believe they had one now.

  “I'm getting out of here, if only so I can get the pleasure of staking that bitch in the heart. Her and that little tramp she's protecting.”

  Tommy laughed and sounded like a madman. “You still don't get it, do you? Four weeks trapped in a cellar because of what we tried to do, and all you're thinking about is vengeance.”