Dark Diary

by Anastasia,P.

  I quickly made up my mind not to go to work tomorrow.

  My eyes were bloodshot now, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded anyway. I patted another tissue against my face to dab up the blood that was still weeping from the cut. I spread some ointment over my cheek, removed some bandages from my medicine drawer, and placed them strategically over the wound to prevent it from rubbing against anything overnight.

  The bathroom door unlocked with a click and I took a few shaky steps to get to my bed. I collapsed and saturated my pillow with more than just one night’s worth of pain and tears.

  Matthaya…

  I wanted him—whoever he was. Whatever he was. Only God knows why, but I wanted him. And I soon drifted into a delusion that he could somehow help me, that he was there sitting beside me, his cool touch massaging a trail down the back of my neck.

  I had slept for much longer than I had thought I would and awoke sometime mid-afternoon. I checked my phone and read a text from Derek confirming that my tardiness would be excused and telling me to take it easy for the rest of the day.

  If only he knew the truth.

  A brief trip to the bathroom confirmed my nightmare was, in fact, real, and I still had the wound to show for it, though it was now scabbed over with an unsightly layer of crusted blood. I took a few moments to reapply a fresh bandage and put a game plan together in my head for the day. I needed to get out of the house.

  My stomach grumbled. There was no way in hell I was going downstairs for something to eat.

  I changed out of my bloodstained shirt and put on a light jacket before prying open my window and climbing out onto the roof. I braced myself and dropped down to the ground. The overgrown grass in the backyard softened the fall. There was a high picket fence surrounding our property that, if I were careful enough, I could vault over to reach the neighbors’ open yard and then the sidewalk. My fingers stretched warily over the tips of the fence posts and I pulled myself up and over, careful to avoid scuffing my arms as I landed.

  I’d overslept by so many hours that by the time I had gotten myself something to eat dusk was already on my heels. My heart was set on seeing my mother that night. Only she could help me let go of the hatred and anxiety pulsing through me. I would have given anything to see my mother again—to feel her arms wrapping around me as gently and sweetly as any mother could ever embrace her child.

  I would have given the world to have her in my life and to rid myself of that she-devil, Aldréa. I would even risk confronting Matthaya just to feel the presence of the sleeping soul beneath her weathered headstone. Even he couldn’t stop me.

  “What are you doing here?” a stern voice prompted me from behind.

  “Leave me alone.” My face was cupped in my hands and my reply nearly inaudible.

  “Where were you last night?” He sounded disappointed. Soft footsteps made their way closer and closer to me, followed by a faint scoff and then a snarl. “What happened to you?” He remained behind me to avoid my gaze. “Why are you bleeding?”

  He couldn’t have seen the bandage yet…

  “It was an accident,” I lied. The quiver in my voice probably gave me away.

  His steps were silent and he soon stood looming over me with an open hand near my face.

  “Let me see it.”

  His request was more of a demand than a plea; he lifted his other hand toward me, threatening to pry my hands away if I didn’t remove them from my face voluntarily. “Please,” he added, looking me in the eye. I was surprised to hear that part.

  The bandage tugged at my skin as I peeled it back. Without meeting his eyes, I could sense his shock and disgust. His fingers came to my chin and he tipped my face toward his.

  “Who did this to you, Kathera?” he asked, kneeling beside me. Matthaya’s usual coldness faded as his thumb pressed firmly against my chin and he further investigated the scratch on my face.

  His eyes narrowed. “Your stepmother…”

  KATHERA DID NOT VERBALLY confirm the accuracy of my assessment, but her expression twisted with intrigue.

  It was more obvious than she knew.

  “Human nail marks,” I divulged. “The essence of aged skin… clearly not yours. A trace of the oils of dark hair radiates from it. She was very angry with you at the time. The sweat of rage still lingers around the wound.”

  “You can tell all of that by—”

  “Scent.” I touched the peels of skin edging the scratch and she pulled away with a sharp breath. I had forgotten what pain felt like.

  I had previously picked up the smell of her stepmother in a foul mood, but tonight it was stronger than ever. There had also been a more potent human aura present on her. He didn’t seem to be a threat, however.

  “There was another,” I added, and her eyes met mine as my fingers released her chin. “The owner of the shop.”

  I could sense him all over her; there was a deep, musky richness in the male pheromones saturating her skin. You’ve heard the expression “I can smell your fear.” It’s true. And I can smell your happiness, your anger, and… your desire.

  “He is very attracted to you.”

  “I kind of figured that out already.” She crossed her arms. “Did your supernatural nose tell you that?”

  Her words brought the slightest grin to my lips.

  “The pheromones of attraction infuse every breath that flows from your body. I can sense every bit of lust and fear that courses through your veins. You cannot hide your feelings from me… Any of them.”

  Scattered shadows between patches of moonlight masked the brief flush of color in her cheeks, but I noticed it nonetheless. The rosy pink hue complimented her porcelain skin.

  I stood and turned away from her. It was possible for me to help rid her of the wound, but it would require a great deal of trust in me—trust I had likely shattered with my seemingly weak understanding of courtesy.

  Pity hadn’t come easily to me in the past few centuries, and I shouldn’t have cared enough to offer her my help, but I had believed she was too beautiful a young woman to be tarnished by such cruelty. Fear lingered within her for the life of her father and this kept her from standing up against the torture she endured at home.

  “I can help you,” I said. “If you allow me to.”

  “Help me what?” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Kill Aldréa and bring my mother back to life?”

  “Yes or no?” I asked firmly, gazing into her eyes.

  She straightened up. “I’m sorry. I’m just angry and…” She sighed. “Yes,” she said, shifting in place.

  I lowered myself onto one knee again and leaned closer to her.

  “What are you going to do?” Her eyes widened.

  Vampires have little interest in old blood—the stale wound and dirty blood that traced her cheek was rather tasteless in comparison to blood that comes directly from the heart. I had no desire for it whatsoever.

  “Close your eyes,” I ordered, hoping she would squirm less. I really didn’t know how she would react.

  My lips parted and I brought my index and middle finger to my mouth, saturating them with a thin layer of saliva from my tongue. I wiped the fluid across her cheek, painting the wound. Kathera’s breath fluttered and I pulled my hand away.

  Her eyes opened. “What did you do to me?” she asked, her pulse racing. She came to her feet. “What… did you do to me… Matthaya?” Her breath quickened.

  “Kathera, calm down. It will help—”

  “Oh, God!” She doubled over. “What’s happening?” Her voice rose fiercely and she cupped her face with her hands. The flesh of the wound sizzled, reacting to the enzymes in my saliva. “It’s burning!”

  She brought her face up and glared at me spitefully. “There’s so… much… pain! First Aldréa and then you! What did I ever do to you!?”

  I reached out a hand to touch her shoulder, but she pulled away with a quick shrug backward.

  “Don�
�t touch me, you-you monster!”

  “Kathera, please.”

  “Leave me alone.” She turned away and took off running in the other direction.

  “Be careful!”

  I would have followed, but I knew such a pursuit would be in vain. She would understand soon, and then, surely she would forgive me.

  If only things had been easier for her at home. Aldréa was an increasing threat and who knew what she was capable of?

  It was inevitable my saliva would make the wound heal, but the exact time frame in which that would occur was unclear. I wished she had given me a moment to clarify what I had done, but it was too late for that.

  I shouldn’t have treated her the way I had and I felt like a fool for starting the conversation with such malice. Kathera had promised me her friendship in exchange for a companion. It was a promise I had accepted with questionable judgment and I suddenly found myself missing her company—even regretting the way I had neglected her fragile heart.

  She was gone now and I had nothing to do but feel sorry for myself for being so inconsiderate. The most I could do was wish Kathera the best through the night and hope her stepmother kept her distance while the wound healed.

  I MASSAGED THE TIPS OF my fingers against my temples and tried to remember what a headache felt like. It had been decades since I had befriended anyone and centuries since I had been called something so condescending. In the darkness of my solitude, I had escaped that wicked title by keeping to myself and drinking only the blood of animals. I had stopped killing and intended never to harm again.

  I had not attacked her, but had I harmed Kathera by trying to help her?

  As I sat pondering my actions, the gaze of another drew my attention. The painting above my fireplace mantel haunted me every day of my immortal life—but I would never have dared to take it down. Kathryn was a part of my past that would stay with me forever. The melody of her sweet voice had become distorted over the years and the scent of her body even less familiar. The feminine curves of her face and the supple ivory skin of her neck and throat could not escape my memory… as long as I kept her painting near.

  A new voice was creeping into my ears—penetrating my restless sleep with new tragedy and need.

  Kathera.

  I refused to believe that she could invade my thoughts against my will, but it was happening. Slowly, my brain took what little memory I had left of my Kathryn and assimilated it with my newest acquaintance.

  Perhaps it was the bright auburn fire peeking out from the roots of her rich, burgundy colored hair that lured my subconscious into such comparisons. Maybe it was her fair skin or her blue eyes that provoked it. Regardless of the external similarities, there was a dark maturity in Kathera, and the heavy burdens on her soul showed whether she knew it or not.

  I had done what I could for her, but I could not save her from her fate—whatever it was—and that was part of the reason I could not bring myself to be patient with her.

  My eyes met the terrace window and moonlight shimmered across the balcony. It was a gentle reminder of the hour and I felt compelled to see if Kathera would return to her mother’s grave… or to see me at all.

  I pushed my body up off the armchair I had been sitting in and decided to humor my concerns with some fresh air. I locked the door behind me and tossed the keys into my pocket. I wasn’t very concerned about the possibility of thievery, but I took minimum measures to safeguard the sanctity of Kathryn’s painting. No thief would get within yards of the place without leaving a strong scent in their wake. Evasion of my wrath would not be an option.

  The rain had finally stopped and the ground had dried up enough to leave my shoes clean of mud. It was still soft under my steps and I searched the ground for signs of recent activity as I walked through the night. I had been around town many times, taking in the sights and sounds of the nightlife in the area.

  I had seen Kathera’s shop and even watched her as she walked home from work once. It was a quiet town with law-abiding citizens who kept to themselves during daylight hours, but even the sweetest city has its sins. The darkness brings forth prowlers and demons, and I have witnessed their deeds too often to forfeit trust to the night.

  It surprised me how brave Kathera was to make the perilous journey home every evening—alone. A young woman of her sense should have recognized the danger of it, but perhaps the fate that awaited her at home made the risk seem trivial.

  My shoes clicked against the sidewalk as I strode, and I witnessed the city shutting down. Shop signs turned off, buildings went dark, and the parking lots emptied. People had places to be and families to tend to. People had lives to live.

  Faint sounds of a female voice echoed in the distance and my ears immediately tuned into it.

  Kathera?

  The breathing was heavy and distressed and not too far off.

  I picked up the pace and jogged ahead to the location of the voice. Instinct told me to stay away, but my conscience begged otherwise.

  As I opened the cemetery gate, the squeal of a creaky hinge pierced my ears and I flinched. In a gesture of invitation, the lock had been left open and lay neatly atop a nearby pile of chains.

  She was there; I felt it.

  A split second and I lost her scent to a gust of frigid air.

  “I’m sorry.” A small voice came from nearby. I turned and saw Kathera standing a few feet away from me, her hands at her sides and a frown tugging heavily at the edges of her quivering lip.

  “I’m sorry, Matthaya, for what I said to you.” She stepped closer and brought her hands together to her chest.

  Relief filled me. She was not only out of harm’s way, but the mark on her face had healed without a trace.

  A red hue saturated the edges of her eyes and I could taste the tears she had yet to cry. Her agony captivated me. An advantage of my condition was that I hadn’t many weaknesses, but the tears of a girl in pain could still enslave me. I was miserably at her mercy now.

  “I was scared,” she said, taking another step toward me. “And angry.” And another. “I’ve been hurt so many times that I didn’t know what to think. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, Matthaya. I’m sorry.” Her face fell and her eyes met the ground. Her burgundy tresses tumbled over her shoulders. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  There was nothing to forgive. I was a monster and no amount of denial could change that fact, which I would live with for the rest of my days. It had hurt to hear it from her after what I had done to help, but what did she know? She didn’t know what I really was.

  Her courage crumbled. She let out a muffled moan and then burst into tears.

  In a final step, I closed the gap between us. I opened my arms and offered a hand sympathetically out to her. I did not know how to soothe the pains beyond those I had caused.

  Kathera leaned in cautiously, glancing at my hands and then back at me. I forced a grin in an attempt to assure her I had accepted her apology. She shuffled an inch closer and looked me in the eye, then she looked down and thrust herself into me, knocking me back a half step. She buried her face against my chest and her forearms close to my body and cried.

  It wasn’t what I had planned, but I couldn’t push her away. She needed someone to comfort her—to hold her close and tell her what she wanted to hear. Heeding the obligations of a “friend,” I closed an arm around her and my other hand came up behind her head, where I lightly stroked my fingers through her hair.

  “You’re safe. You’re safe with me, Kathera.” Her silky strands tickled my fingertips. “I forgive you.”

  Like a puppet with her strings freshly cut, she sunk into me, losing every thread of apprehension. She melted into my embrace as if she had believed my words to be true.

  Surely, it wasn’t a lie, but…

  The scent of her tears filled my nostrils with a unique, salty odor as they saturated a patch of my shirt. Her breathing was erratic and her body reverberated against me
as she cried heavily in my arms. It was painful, in a way, to hold her close and know that she was depending on only my affections to ease her heart.

  My fingers combed down through her locks and caressed the back of her neck as I waited for her to regain her composure. She was alone in her fight with her stepmother and the quarrels between them were something she would disclose to no one else.

  Without an outlet for her frustrations, she risked isolation and depression. She found her release in me just then, and I found a small amount of relief in knowing that I was able to ease at least some part of her mortal pain.

  In the minutes that passed, her breathing relaxed and her fingers loosened their grasp on the folds of my shirt.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her face still pressed against the damp fabric on my chest.

  My fingers cupped the side of her neck. She felt overwhelmingly warm, flushed with the delicate heat that often accompanied human sorrow.

  Kathera’s reddened eyes glanced up at me and she sniffled before clearing her throat. My eyes traced hers. Mahogany colored eye shadow had been smudged toward her hairline on both sides.

  “I needed this,” she said with a congested cough. A small smile emerged.

  I had forgotten what a delicate balance existed between the emotions of joy and sadness. Something as simple as an embrace had rescued her from her misery, filling her fervent heart with a moment of sanctuary.

  “I cannot keep you safe forever,” I said, my fingers unconsciously brushing against her chin.

  “Could you?” Her azure eyes glittered. “If you wanted to?”

  No. I simply couldn’t. She knew nothing of how the disease worked, or what I was for that matter. The sheer thought of taking her away from mortality and into the hell that was vampirism left me sickened. Even if it were possible.