Authors: Ashley Robertson
He gave my arm a tight squeeze and let go. He gently grabbed my shoulders, his face lowering toward mine. I took a deep breath, held it in. His lips were there. I could see them through the darkness. They brushed across my forehead, down to my cheek. They were plump, cool, moist. They inched toward the edge of my face, hovering between my neck and ear. “Shall we get going?” he asked.
I nodded, couldn’t speak, like my throat was squeezed shut.
He put his arm around me, pulling me against him, and then guided me down the sidewalk. Most of the shops were closed—lights out, dark inside. The streetlamps were lit, giving just enough light to see a small area around them. I looked up at the black, velvety sky. A few bright stars were scattered across it. The moon, with its wide arc of craters, looked like a smiling Cheshire cat. I guess this wasn’t a good night for walking with Bronx. A moonless night would be at least a week away.
His grip around me tightened. It felt really good, a little cool, but strong and secure. I started getting crazy feelings of doing just about anything for him. All he would have to do was ask, and I would jump at the opportunity to make him proud of me. I smiled, pulling myself closer against Bronx’s chest, relieved and reassured.
Our feet moved as one as we walked. His fingers stroked my hair to the side, softly and gently. We came up to the gated entrance of my neighborhood, “The Groves”. A small silver box hung on a brick wall beside the gate. Bronx punched in a code and the iron gate swung open. “You know my code?” I asked, astonished.
“I live here too.”
I started to panic, breath deep and short, heart racing out of control. But then I couldn’t remember why. I relaxed, shrugged my shoulders. Everything was okay again.
I followed along with him, down this street and then another one, dimly lit by lamps. Faint light gleamed from inside some of the houses. A dog was barking somewhere off in the distance. A garage door opened and closed. We came up to my street. I turned but he didn’t. He kept walking, pulling me along with him. I wasn’t worried. Everything was okay. Maybe he wanted to show me where he lived first, or maybe he was taking the longer, more scenic way to prolong our walk. Whatever the reason I kept walking beside him, wrapped up against him like a baby in a blanket.
A house on one of the dead-end streets in the back of the neighborhood materialized as we made our way to the driveway. It was heavily treed and landscaped which gave it a lot more privacy than any of the other homes in here, including mine. One of the reasons I liked this neighborhood was because of the oversized lots every house inherited. But this home seemed to sit on two, maybe three of them. From what I could see in the outdoor lighting, it was expansive, with a turret on the front giving it a castle-like appearance.
We were at the front door, walking inside. Walking inside? I wanted to turn around and leave, but I couldn’t remember why. It was okay to be here. I was okay where ever Bronx was. We stood in a dark room, darker than the night outside. My eyes struggled to focus, but I couldn’t see anything. Bronx pulled my hand. I followed. I relaxed inside his embrace. He squeezed me—gently, reassuringly.
My knees brushed against a soft, squishy fabric. There was a chair or sofa in front of me. “Please have a seat,” he said, voice soft and inviting. “Would you like a drink?” He leaned across me, tapping something so a light flashed on, faint and mellow. My eyes flicked back and forth, focusing on the area around me. There was a dark brown sofa next to a small table. The light was coming from a lamp on that table.
“Sure,” I said. I sat down as instructed. Bronx turned abruptly and left.
I looked around everywhere. A couple feet in front of me was a table, most likely a coffee table, and there was an expensive-looking oriental area rug on the floor showing off gray and red floral shapes. I couldn’t see beyond that—the light wasn’t bright enough. I turned around; there was nothing behind me, just the floor, maybe some type of wood. It led to another room, but it was black and dark.
“Abigail.”
I gasped, turned back around. Bronx was there. I got excited. As he came closer, my heart beat faster. I could feel it in my throat. My head felt swollen, heavy on my shoulders. I leaned back against the sofa, sinking deeper into it. The cushions eased me in, cradling my body and inviting me to rest more comfortably. Butterflies took flight inside my stomach; they were restless, flying all over.
He sat down beside me. My body leaned toward him. Getting up would not be easy when the time came.
“I hope water is okay, I did not realize I was out of everything else.” His voice was like a song.
He scooted closer. I slid down, my body pressed to his.
His face lowered toward mine. Almost touching, close, so close. Then he was there, lips on my cheek, kissing me—gentle, soft baby kisses. My body froze. I swallowed hard. His lips trailed over to my lips. He pressed softly against them. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut. Then, instead of getting up and running for my life, I kissed him back. I threw my arms around his neck and kept kissing him, each one more passionate, harder than the last. In the heat of the moment he dropped the glass. I heard it thump on the rug before spilling water everywhere. Bronx embraced me so tightly that I could hardly breathe anymore, let alone worry about the glass. I desperately sucked at the air around his lips. He rubbed his hands up and down my back, massaging it aggressively. His kisses grew more urgent and sloppy. I moved my hands from his neck up to his hair and grabbed big handfuls of it, lightly pulling and tugging. Then he slowly moved away from my lips. I gasped, catching my breath. My body was too hot. My heart hammered in a rush.
His fingers caressed my cheeks, and his lips slid down my neck. He began kissing and sucking, wetly and sloppily. “I have wanted you for so long,” he growled. His chest rippled. I let go of his hair and grabbed his chest, inching my fingers toward the buttons. He sucked harder, pulling me closer. I felt so good. My insides were about to explode. I struggled with the buttons on his shirt, couldn’t get them off. I tugged and pulled, and finally the top two buttons gave way. My fingers traced his skin to the next awaiting button.
His body tensed. A deep groan rolled off his throat. It sounded more like a growl. He bit down into my neck. His teeth were sharp, puncturing the skin. My body flinched. I tried to pull away but he held me too tight—I couldn’t move, couldn’t budge. I was in pain, but I was so scared I barely felt anything. Adrenaline raced through my veins like water bubbles floating to the surface. Then, in a rush, a wave of intense pleasure came over me. It felt good, so good, better than anything I’d ever felt before. It was absolutely incredible, sort of like your first roller-coaster ride multiplied times infinity. My body trembled, barely able to handle the intoxicating surge of emotions.
Then those euphoric feelings eased up, bringing with them a sense of awareness. I don’t know how long I was out of it, or whatever I was, but Bronx was still on me, slurping and sucking. There was something wet running down my neck. Was that his saliva or my blood? I felt hot, sweat on my face and back. Then everything got really cold, but I was still sweating. I needed to do something but was paralyzed by fear. I needed to get him off. I needed to get him off of me, now!
I pressed my hands against his chest, pushing, straining. He wouldn’t budge. His body was hard, heavy. His skin was like ice. “Please don’t do this!” I screamed, voice husky, frantic. I was losing consciousness. My eyelids were like mini black curtains closing over my eyes. He was going to kill me if I didn’t get him off of me. I tried again, pushing as hard as I could, fingers digging into his skin. But he didn’t move an inch. Questions crowded my mind: Who is this guy? What is this guy? Why is he biting me? Why can’t I get him off? Does he know I’m dying?
Too much blood loss, body trembling, feeling weaker, more frail. Tears streamed down my face as I tried one last time to get him off. Too late. My emotions went numb—no more fear, no more questions. I couldn’t hear anything. All the sounds faded like their volume was suddenly turned off. Then, everything went completely black.
Transformed
BRIGHT LIGHTS DANCED AROUND ME and it felt like I was floating too, but it was impossible to know for sure since I couldn’t see my feet, or anything else except for those beautiful luminous bursts of yellow, silver, and white. I was in euphoria and surely could get used to this and stay here, wherever that was, forever.
Tingles crept up my neck and scattered around my head. My body felt lighter than air, riding on gleaming, fluffy clouds. My mind thought of nothing and everything all at once. It left me dazed, numb, blank. The lights seemed to go on for infinity. I couldn’t see where they ended or began. They were just there, everywhere around me, swallowing me inside them and then spitting me back out. They glided this way and that, pulling me along like a suction cup. I couldn’t tell how long this went on nor could I grasp time itself. This must be heaven, the place I always dreamed I would go after my body died on Earth.
But as the saying goes, “all good things must come to end,” and it did. The euphoric beaming lights faded away. Claws of darkness ripped away the light like a bear tearing into its food. Shadows lurked all around me. The light went out, eaten by the blackness. My body shivered with terror. Those amazing tingles of pleasure turned into hot fire and burned me from the inside out. I screamed in agony, I cried, I cussed at it, I begged for the light to return. But nothing stopped the darkness from covering me, and bringing with it the worst feelings of torture I could ever imagine. There was no way this was the heaven I’d dreamed of. This had to be hell. The place where you burned alive for eternity.
I aimlessly drifted in this hellish abyss on orange-glowing coals, body smoldering and blistering. Agony and fear twisted my gut like a power screwdriver. There was pressure in my head. It could explode any moment. I closed my eyes but that same infernal place was there too. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to go. It was everywhere. Why was I here? Please God get me out!
Something wet slithered across my tongue, trickled down my throat. I tried to open my eyes back up, but couldn’t. What was in my mouth? Was it water? No, it didn’t exactly taste like water. It was thicker, velvety, warm, and tangy. But oh it felt so good in my parched mouth, and it soothed my dry throat like a rainstorm in the desert. It was quenching my thirst and making me forget where I was. The more I drank the better I felt, so I gulped harder, feverishly swallowing it down.
Then I felt pressure on my face, pressing down around my lips. It was smooth and hard like marble but there was a softness to it that reminded me of silk. It was the source of this refreshing drink so I grabbed it with my hands, holding it tightly against my mouth, and sucked at it fiercely, desperately. I was feeling better and better the more I ingested. I clenched it more firmly, securing the continued rhythm of the healing elixir, lapping it down in gulps. I tightly squeezed my eyes as if they, too, could help. Prickly tingles danced on my skin like goose bumps, but more intense. Happy thoughts of survival rose up in my mind. I was going to be okay. Everything was okay.
With no warning, the source of the quenching fluid was gone—as if ripped away from me. I wanted it back, needed it back. I frantically struggled to find it. Empty air teased my hands as they waved around, aimlessly searching for whatever had just been providing the delicious drink. I panicked, desperation crowding in. The tingles increased to a level I could barely handle, scraping and cutting deep beneath my skin. I jerked sideways, twisted back and forth. Nothing. I tried forcing my eyelids to open but they were weighed down like dumbbells tied onto them.
Breathe, just breathe. Take deep breaths, get a grip, and don’t panic.
I took a deep breath, inhaling as much air as I could. But only a small amount streamed inside, as if it was blocked by congestion.
What the hell?
I tried again. Same result. I sucked urgently. Still nothing.
Okay, don’t freak out. You’re going to be okay. Just relax. Think positive.
I thought about a warm summer day on the beach in the Caribbean, the hot blazing sun dancing atop bright blue and turquoise waters, a beverage with a little yellow umbrella garnishing some kind of frozen drink in my hand. The sharp pains fizzled away. My body eased up, relaxed. Small puffs of air flowed in and out of my mouth, barely anything, but at least it was something.
If I’m not getting enough air, how am I conscious?
That was when I heard a deep, soft voice. Was it speaking to me? “Do not try to get up...let my blood consume you…only a few more minutes.”
I couldn’t register those words. I couldn’t think about them—it was too much at once. I needed to open my eyes. I needed to see what was going on. I pushed and strained, got my eyes open. Vision was a little blurry. Couldn’t see anything. Everything was fuzzy like light in a thick fog. I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, then slowly opened them again. That was better. I could see a little clearer. The light was less hazy than before. My eyelids fluttered up and down a few more times. It was working. Closing them tightly one more time, then opening them slowly, the silhouette of a person standing over me materialized.