by Anastasia,P.
“Kathera!”
The demand in his voice drew my gaze to his and I went dead still.
“Kathera.” He was quieter and more reassuring the second time as he pulled me close to his chest and released my wrists in order to embrace me.
Everything was blurry. I couldn’t struggle anymore against him; everything about the air was foreign and strange. It frightened me but… I knew he would protect me from it all.
And it felt nice to be protected.
But… the dress?
I was covered in blood-saturated lace—it was disgusting, but the sight of all the blood didn’t scare me like I would have thought.
Why didn’t it scare me?
“Come with me,” Matthaya said. His voice was as soothing and patient as it had ever been.
I struggled to stand and stumbled against him. The buzzing had cleared from my head, but colorful drawings still danced in and out of my thoughts. I craned my neck around to take another look at my last victim.
“Don’t.” Matthaya tugged at my shoulders and pushed me forward. “It will only make it worse.”
He was right.
But it was too late. The weight of regret had already sunk in.
The face was familiar now and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. That tattoo—the demon girl—I remembered it.
I remembered drawing it.
“Matthaya… what have I done?”
“We all have our regrets, Kathera,” he replied. His fingers trailed down my arm and he took my hand. “Let’s go home.”
Home?
Did I have a home?
We walked swiftly through the darkness of the back alleys and we came upon a doorstep I was sure I had seen before.
He unlatched the lock with the turn of a key and opened the door for me.
It was dark inside. A soft reddish glow bounced from the walls of the main room. The light was inviting and warm and I started to remember the place—his place.
The couch was still where it had been when I had last rested upon it. I took a seat again and curled my arms around myself, sinking into the soft cushions.
Matthaya left the room for a few minutes and then returned. He sat down beside me and looked as if he were searching for the right words to say. His thoughts, too, were grief-stricken and unsure. I could feel it in my blood.
He set a small pile of clothes beside me.
“If you want to change…” he began.
I was uncomfortable in the dress and grateful for his thoughtfulness. It wasn’t like me to dress the way I had. I brushed my hands over my bare knees.
“Yes,” I replied, looking down at the soft teal blouse and dark blue jeans he had offered. “Thank you, Matthaya.”
I tried to smile, but it was awkward.
Memories were coming back to me, but I was lost in the contradictions contained in them all.
I knew I loved Matthaya. I just knew it—and remembered it clearly. I wanted to reach a hand to his face and touch his skin, but attempting to do so felt unnatural and difficult.
The action would have been so simple, and yet…
And then, I recalled how I had once kissed him longingly, but that, too, now seemed alien. What was wrong with me?
“Thank you, Matthaya,” I repeated, this time, mustering the courage to touch his hand.
He leaned closer and pressed his lips lightly against my cheek.
“I know what you’re going through, Kathera.” His elegant green eyes looked sympathetically into mine. “Try not to think about it right now.”
I felt the corset-style ties at my sides loosen as he wrapped his fingers around each of the threads and undid them carefully.
“How did you get this on by yourself?” he asked with a faint chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
The truth was, I didn’t remember.
I shrugged.
He cleared his throat.
“I know it’s not really who you are, Kathera, but you do look… beautiful.”
A tiny smile tugged at the edge of my lips. I was too preoccupied with other thoughts, though, for it to last more than a moment.
He untied the bow on my lower back and then unclipped the metal hooks that held it in place. He set the loose strand of ribbon down beside me.
“Will it come back to me?” I asked, hoping the emptiness I was feeling inside would pass.
Matthaya glanced away toward the fire.
“Matthaya?”
He looked back to me and over my face for a moment. His hand came up to my shoulder and he fidgeted with the thin shoulder strap of my dress.
“Why won’t you answer me?”
“It will take time to get accustomed to this new life,” he said. “I want to help you.” He brought his other hand to my other shoulder and cupped the back of my neck. “I want to be a part of you. But, this life has its limitations…”
I FOLDED THE SCARLET DRESS into a small bundle and tossed it into the fireplace. The lace quickly caught fire and shriveled up into tiny black cords that soon ignited and burned to dust with the rest of the fabric. It had been stunning and the fabric had been intricate and soft, but Kathera was better off without the memories it harbored.
I was done wanting something I couldn’t have and glad to have Kathera back. Being together wouldn’t stop us from feeling the natural emptiness that comes with the disease, but it would help ease some of the pain.
She slept for many days and I didn’t interrupt her—I couldn’t. She needed to recover and her body needed to rest or it would hunger again for the drug I would soon force her to renounce. Hibernation slowed the desire temporarily, but her consciousness stirred and she would eventually wake with a violent thirst raging inside.
Until then, I slept, too…
I awoke to the touch of fingers sliding down my temple to my cheek. I opened my eyes to the deep blue gaze of Kathera leaning over me with a subtle smile.
“Teach me,” she said softly; her stare was earnest and loving as her lashes fluttered between blinks. “Teach me how to be…” she stopped and swallowed, “like you.”
I sat up and placed my palm on her cheek. “You don’t want to be like me,” I said with a shake of my head. “And I don’t want you to be like me, either.” She closed her eyes. “But I will show you how to cope with what we are so that you will never have to return to what you were.”
She nodded and acknowledged my reply with a tightened grasp on my hand. I lifted myself from the armchair and gestured for Kathera to wait where she was. I entered the next room and followed a slim hallway to the basement door. Once downstairs, I pulled open a large wooden storage case and slid a black bottle off one of the wire shelves. I shut the door and returned back up the stairs to where she was waiting patiently for me. The peaceful look on her face made it hard to believe she and I were one and the same.
I lifted a pair of fluted glasses from a wooden rack hanging in the kitchen and set them down on the marble countertop. The clinking noise drew Kathera’s attention and she walked curiously up beside me. I peeled a thick coating of wax effortlessly from the top of the bottle and jammed a long metal coil into the cork. I twisted it down until I was able to depress the handle and pry it from the bottle.
I poured the thick, deep-red liquid into both glasses, re-corked the bottle, and then turned back around to face Kathera. Drinking it at near room temperature wasn’t my preference, but her eyes were already fixated on the glass in my hand.
“It smells awful,” she said with a downward curl of her lip.
“It is, at first,” I admitted with a shrug. “You’ll get used to it. Then again, it’s more bearable when it’s coming from a living animal and not a bottle.”
“If you say so.” She grimaced as she took the glass from my fingers. “What is it?”
“Pig,” I answered, running a finger along the rim of the glass. They were the only other creatures whose blood could satisfy our cravings.
“It’s better than human, I guess.” She shrugged and glanced down at the glass as if she were still apprehensive about trying it.
She would soon learn that nothing could tide us over like pure human blood. The younger the victim, the better. But that was a fact I was hesitant to mention.
Leading by example, I brought the flute to my lips and took a sip. It washed down smoothly, leaving a taste in my mouth reminiscent of a fine metallic aroma with a thick, buttery undertone. Pig blood was heavier and thicker than human blood and the bottles I acquired had been purified and filtered to remove some of that thickness, making it more palatable to us. I’m not sure if any amount of filtering could have made it truly appetizing to a newly-taken, however.
Kathera took a drink from her glass and then closed her eyes in silence.
She wasn’t revolted… nor was she satisfied by it.
“Well?” I asked, tilting my head.
She set the glass back down onto the counter.
One step and she was within inches of my face, her bright azure eyes meeting mine. She studied me for several moments and then took one of my hands into hers. I set my glass down and took her other hand, too.
“What are you thinking?” she asked in a whispery voice. “Right now, Matthaya? What are you thinking?”
Nothing…
Kathera’s grasp tightened. She moved in closer and kissed me.
The warmth of her lips had been replaced by the synthetic feel of exceptionally cool skin.
Our lips parted and she asked her question again, differently.
“What are you feeling, now?” Her eyes searched my face for the answer.
“Remorse,” I replied with an irritated grunt. I wanted to feel and taste her kiss as I had once. But I couldn’t…
I was very much in love with Kathera now, even though the disease forbade it. It’s one drawback of being what we are—one of the many. Hormone and endorphin production shuts down upon infection. Voluntarily or involuntarily, nearly everything humans do is driven by one or the other. From an embrace, to dark, primal sexual lust… it all dies in us.
I didn’t miss what I had never really had, but my imagination taunted me every now and then. But to feel so emotionless toward Kathera’s kiss angered me. I didn’t want to react that way—to appear closed off. But it happened.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, Matthaya,” she said, changing the subject at the sight of my discomfort.
“What happened… that night we were together?” She fidgeted with her hands and stepped back a few feet. She rested her palms on the counter just opposite me and leaned her weight against it. “Did it feel real to you?”
Of course it hadn’t, but the truth would break her heart.
She frowned.
Too late. She had already picked up on my thoughts.
“Well, it felt real to me,” she continued with a bashful shrug. “I only wish we could have experienced it together.”
“It felt the way you wanted it to feel—the way you had hoped it would. But, that wasn’t real.”
“How do you know?” Her tone had a bitter edge to it.
“The look in your eyes. The smell of your breath. The purity in the taste of your blood. It wasn’t that difficult to tell that it was your first experience.” I took the nearby glass back into my fingers and had another sip. “Kathryn saved herself for me and… apparently, so did you.”
“Did you?” Kathera stared longingly at me.
“Did I what?”
“Did you… wait for her?”
I think she knew the answer to that question but wanted a reply nonetheless.
“Honestly, I didn’t have a choice,” I replied with a dry chuckle. “Not that I would have done anything differently if I had, but when I was still human, I swore myself to only Kathryn. Now it’s an impossibility altogether. Our kind do not require intercourse to procreate.”
I tipped the foot of my glass up and swallowed what remained of the blood. Then, I stepped across the kitchen to join Kathera.
She lowered her head. “So, it was all just for me, wasn’t it?”
Not all of it…
Her face came back up and her eyes narrowed. I swept my fingers across her jaw line.
“Savoring your blood was an erotic pleasure by itself,” I replied, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her nearer. “Never have I experienced such luscious purity.” I brushed a stray lock of hair over her shoulder and touched her neck lovingly. The bite mark had vanished long ago, but the memory of my sin remained embedded in my mind. “Draining it from your flesh, however, was a guilty and seductive pleasure that I will never forgive myself for.”
Kathera finally lifted the glass back to her lips and drank the rest.
“You gave me what I asked for, Matthaya,” she said, calmly. “There is nothing to forgive.”
I SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY. I should have been fulfilled.
Should have.
I’d gained all I’d wanted but at a heavy sacrifice. I had thought having Matthaya would be all I would need to be complete, and that his presence would end my sadness.
I had been wrong.
Inside me now was new sorrow that plagued me with utter emptiness and a feeling of worthlessness. He had tried to warn me. He had tried to convince me that even as it strengthened us in some ways, the curse enfeebled us in others, but I hadn’t wanted to believe him. I had known I could overcome them—that we would overcome them.
Pig blood was sufficient to curb the hunger pangs, but it tasted disgustingly thick and metallic. I couldn’t go back to killing humans, though, so I had to adjust. Matthaya told me it was addictive—human blood—but I was stronger than that. With him, I would be strong enough to fight it.
That’s what he had told me, at least.
As I stared up at him standing beside me in the kitchen, I noticed the familiar misery in his expression. It was the same grief that had filled his eyes before, only now it was darker. There was guilt brewing in the shallow frown threatening his lips.
I caressed his cheek with the back of my hand. He closed his eyes.
“I love you, Matthaya.”
His eyes opened and he smiled graciously. He was so beautiful to me and I wanted to love him like I had imagined I would. Those frivolous fantasies were out of the question. It’s hard to understand how closely related our ability to show affection is to our ability to actually feel it.
“I know, Kathera,” he replied. With an abrupt clearing of his throat, he turned to me and grasped my hand.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say the words before all of this happened, but the thought was there, I swear it.” He squeezed my fingers. “I love you, Kathera. I’ll do anything for you.”
He reached into his pocket and there was a soft jingle of metal. “Which is why I…” He pressed a small set of keys into my open palm.
I was shocked to see the familiar-looking key ring.
“Keys to the shop?” I asked.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he added quickly, his voice apologetic as if he had offended me somehow. “I thought, perhaps, you might want something from it. You spent a lot of your time there, after all. I’m sure you have memories you want to preserve.” Matthaya’s eyes searched mine for some gratitude and I knew he was desperately seeking approval.
I closed my fingers around the keys and thought about what he had said.
Yes, I did have many memories there: my art books, my drawings and sketches, not to mention the awards I had won for many of my pieces. Maybe there were some things there I wanted back, if I could stomach the emptiness of knowing that Derek wouldn’t be there anymore.
“I’ve paid for a 10-year lease so there’s no hurry to go back there if you’re not—”
I interrupted him with a trio of fingertips touched to his lips.
“It’s okay.” I forced a grateful smile. “Thank you, Matthaya.” I brought my
clenched hand to my heart and closed my eyes in remembrance. “It means a lot to me that you thought of doing this.” I glanced at him and saw the gloomy shadows of his eyes lighten. Witnessing the tiny spark of joy provoked me to throw my arms around his shoulders and embrace him tightly. He was, at first, surprised by my reaction, but then he pressed closer to me and I sensed an air of contentment spread through him.
His hair still felt soft in my fingers and his dark gray linen shirt was clean and crisp as always. It was nice to still remember how he had felt when I had first embraced him, although memories of those precious sensations were fading fast.
His arms released me and lowered back down to his sides. It was then that I noticed a yellow glint of light reflecting from his wrist. There was a pair of cufflinks at each of them—one silver and one gold. They had been deliberately placed that way, as the pairs were mismatched on both sleeves. I hadn’t seen them before, but then, I had never seen him without his beloved coat either, which I had noticed earlier was hanging in the foyer.
“What are these?” I asked, lifting one of his wrists to eye level and examining the intricate metal work of the two very different cufflinks. The simplistic-looking gold one was diamond shaped, while the silver one was round and accented with tiny carved details that appeared to be Asian in origin.
“The gold ones were a gift,” he answered. “From a friend, long ago. I bought the silver ones myself, back during one of my travels.”
I had already forgotten he wasn’t the same age as me.
I’m sure he had a million stories to tell me and I could only hope he would trust me with his every secret someday.
“I’d love to learn everything about you, Matthaya.” I grinned and, oddly enough, he did the same.
“You will,” he replied softly. His attention returned to the bottle on the opposite counter and he took a few steps to retrieve it. “I need to put this away.” I gestured for him to go ahead, and he left the kitchen with the black bottle in hand.
While waiting for him to return, I decided to have a look around and see what else he had inside the house. It was a spacious place with several rooms on the first floor and a few on the second. Large hallways. Open floor plan. Vaulted ceilings. It was quite apparent he didn’t like cramped spaces. To my disappointment, however, there were very few items around that seemed to be there for a reason. Abstractly colored dishes and vases were arranged here and there on shelves and tabletops, but none of them looked personal or his; they had likely come with the place when he had purchased it.