Drawn to a Vampire (2 page)

“Marilyn, hey, wake
up.”  Rachel’s voice.  ‘Huh?’ I thought.  ‘What the hell happened last night?’

“Hmm,” I managed.  And ‘Bloody hell, I’m hungry,’ I thought.

“Marilyn, are you alright?”  There was an edge of panic to her voice.

“Hmm, why?  Where are we?” I said.

“At home – but I don’t know when you got back.  Why are you sleeping on the floor?  And why is there blood on your neck and mouth?  Are you hurt?”

Keeping my eyes closed I reached for my neck and it felt fine, but it was a bit flaky.  I squinted against the bright light and looked down at my fingers.  There was dried blood under my nails.  Weird. 

I closed my eyes again and rolled onto my side.  And then it all came rushing back.  Luca.  What had he done to me? It couldn’t be the obvious.  No way. I had watched as many vampire movies as anyone so I goddam knew what it looked like … but … seriously?  ‘Fiction!  Fiction!’ blared through my mind.  ‘You’re not living in a bloody book!’  But the blood.  I drank his blood.  And then what happened?  He can’t have killed me. I can’t be … dead.  No.  No way.

There was a scent in the room, something rich and unfamiliar, luscious, fragrant, and delicious.  It made my stomach contract with need, and that was enough to make me sit up and squeeze open my eyes.

“Phew, you are OK,” Rachel said.  “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”  She got up off of her knees and left the room.  As she walked out the delicious smell followed her.  “But seriously, what happened to you last night?” she called.

“Hmm, I went to a free party.  I was quite drunk,” I said, but my voice was hoarse, and I blinked at the light.  It was too bright.  Squinting still, I stumbled to my feet and closed the curtains, then slumped back onto our ragged sofa.

“How did you get home?” she said, her voice drowned out by the boiling kettle.

How did I get home?  I racked my brains, but … “I don’t know,” I said.  “I met a guy, maybe he brought me home?”  ‘But does that make sense?  And why does my head hurt so much?’ I thought.

Shit.  And what was that irresistible smell?

Rachel came back in with two cups of tea and the smell became stronger again.

“Oh good, you’re up,” she said, passing me the drink and sitting opposite, in a squashy arm chair.  She fiddled with her blonde hair, pulling it up, and the smell got stronger.

I took a sip of my tea and winced.  “Is the milk off?” I said, disgusted.

She frowned, wrinkling her little nose – her freckles scrunching up, then she ran into the kitchen.  “No, it’s fine.”  She sounded on the side of offended.

“Sorry,” I murmured, wondering what it could be I really wanted.  Surely it couldn’t be … “I guess I’m pretty hungover.”

I pushed the tea aside, and got to my feet, following my nose and the strong feeling I needed something.  I walked up to Rachel, trying to work out if the smell could be her.  She turned around and jumped when she saw me so close.

“Shit, Marilyn.  You scared me.”  For a moment she looked at me like she was confused.  “Your eyes …” She shook her head.

I breathed in deeply.  “You smell …”

“I smell?”  Rachel turned and rushed away, into the bathroom, and I heard her spraying something on her body. 

I followed her, a part of my mind saying that was silly, that she’s my friend, but it was like I needed her, wanted her.  I opened the door to the bathroom.

“You smell really good,” I said.  That’s when I noticed the ‘thud, thud, thud’ of a heart.  Rachel’s heartbeat.  Hypnotic.  Inviting me in.

She frowned.

“Shit, you’re acting really weird Marilyn.  Why don’t you have a bath and chill out for a bit.  Maybe it will make you feel better.”  She did not sound convinced.  She stepped forward, probably expecting me to get out of her way.  But I couldn’t.  I needed to be closer to her.  I was so hungry and she smelled … her smell … it was making my senses thrum with hunger – making my body crave her.

I stepped forward.

And she stepped back.

“What are you up to?” she said, uneasy, and when I didn’t reply, just stared at her, taking in her bare neck, the veins there, just under the skin, I realised I was clutching onto her arm, and she was trying to shake me off, but I barely registered this.  She said, “You’re hurting me … let go!”

“Your neck …” I was practically drooling, all logical thought banished from my mind by my need.  I wanted what she had, my mouth felt funny, my teeth, it was like they were attracted to her neck.  I wanted …

“Rachel, your teeth … no!  Get off me!”

And I was holding her hand with my other hand and my teeth were in her neck.  I don’t know how it happened – it just was – and I was drinking, and holy shit!  She tasted so good.  Rich and succulent and exotic, like sweet pollen and the way her blood made me feel was exquisite, like it was electrifying my body, bringing it life, zee zee zing!  The essence of life, of energy, of power. 

The more I drank of her, the more I wanted.  I was so hungry.  I needed more.  And I drank and drank and drank, thoughtless, controlled by a basal desire to have more, until Rachel was limp and lifeless in my arms, and I couldn’t suck any more of that delicious fluid from her body.  It felt like my teeth were changing.  Her neck came away from them, and I dropped her arm.  She fell to the floor, and I stepped back.

It was like I was waking up all over again. 

My eyes widened and it was like I was seeing Rachel for the first time today.  And she was on the floor.  Pale.  Blood at her neck. 

My hand travelled to my mouth.  There was blood on my mouth.  On her neck.  My mouth.  I fell to my knees and reached for her.  But she didn’t respond.  As I very well knew she wouldn’t, but had desperately hoped I was wrong, that I’d been in a trance, that none of that had just happened.  That she’d be fine.  That we were both just fine.

But she wasn’t.

I felt for a pulse at her neck, but there was nothing there.  Tears started to roll down my cheeks.

“Rachel,” I sobbed, and I pulled her into my arms and cradled her there, sobs overtaking my body, coming in giant waves as I held her close.  “No – Rachel – came back to life – Rachel!  Please!  Come back to me.”

Rachel did not come back.  I waited and waited, and cried and cried, but she remained still.

“I’m so sorry Rachel,” I wailed.  “I’m so, so sorry.”

I cried and wailed and cried until I felt hollow and empty and numb, and could do it no more. 

Gently I laid her on her side on the bathroom floor, and pulled a towel off the rack.  I used it to cover her body.  I stood there and stared at her lifeless shape under the towel, unable to take my eyes off her, to comprehend what I’d done to her.  I’d killed her.  Me.  A murderer.  I was a fucking murderer.

I felt terribly sick.  I ran to the toilet and retched, but nothing came up.  I slumped back to the floor and found out I could cry some more.  I looked around the room, my eyes avoiding Rachel on the floor, but I didn’t see anything through my tears.  I blinked until the room came into focus, and I felt dumbfounded by the mundane-ness of the bathroom, in comparison to what was going on.  What the hell was going on? 

Eventually I got to my feet and looked at myself in the mirror.  I gasped. 

My pupils, once a pure ember, now glared a demonic shade of red, darker and deeper than fresh blood.  As I watched the red tang died away, and I shook my head, wondering if I was hallucinating.  My normally tanned skin had disappeared, leaving me palest pale, although my cheeks were faintly flushed. 

I looked very different from normal, somehow ethereal, ghostlike.  I had blood on my lips.  Keeping my eyes fixed on my reflexion I turned on the tap and washed away Rachel’s blood. 

Rachel. 

More tears brimmed up and started to fall and my teeth tingled again.  I opened my mouth, heart pounding, adrenaline flooding my body, ears ringing, and I made myself look at my teeth.  And I choked back a sob as I saw them.  My canines had grown, had become twin points.  I stared and stared, until the flush disappeared from my cheeks and, before my eyes, my teeth changed.  They slowly shrank until back to their normal size. 

More tears fell and my breath started to come in panicked little gasps, until my knees buckled and I was back at Rachel’s side.  By Rachel’s body.

The gasps came faster and I pushed myself back … away.  I had to get away. 

So, crawling, I left the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.  Then I leaned heavily against it and gave in to my tears, my body heaving with emotion, and I stayed there for some hours, crazed thoughts running through my mind in a blur. 

When those hours had passed, I was left with three distinct thoughts – 1. Either someone had slipped me a trip last night and I had become completely disillusioned or 2. I was actually a vampire. 

Luca had turned me into one.

That beautiful Luca had been a monster, and he had turned me into one, too.  It felt like there was an empty hole where my heart used to be.  Luca.  Luca who had made me feel alive again, and then had taken my life away.  And I’d taken Rachel’s. 

Only Luca hadn’t taken my life in the same way, as I still existed, heart thumping in my chest, loud to my overly sensitive ears.  Were vampires’ hearts supposed to beat?  Mine certainly was, and I couldn’t think of anything else I could be.  Not that I was a paranormal expert or anything.

And thought 3. I was hungry.  And I mean HUNGRY.  And what that meant seriously worried me. 

Beyond that I felt filled with a fear that was virtually tangible, like a thick mist pressing around my chest, making it hard to breath, hard to be logical, hard to think at all.  I was filled with WANT. 

I remembered what that meant.  That was how I’d felt before I took Rachel’s life, ripped her from this world, her studies, her life with me.  I’d taken her from her friendships, her family – her poor family – and if I didn’t get a grip I was going to do it again, do it to someone else. 

I didn’t think it would be possible to cry more tears, but more fell.  A surge of anger welled up, and I pushed my tears back.  I would not let that happen.  I would not give in. 

I got to my feet and went into the kitchen, and opened the fridge.  Milk – cheese – vegetables – bacon – chicken – cut melon.  A lump settled in my throat, but I swallowed it back, pulled out the bacon and set it to fry in a pan.  It sizzled and I remembered that it should smell good.  But it didn’t.  It wasn’t that it smelt horrid either, but it didn’t smell, how should I put this?  Satisfying.  No.  It did not smell as though it would satisfy me.  But I cooked, and, still hot, forced it down.  But then, disgusting as this may sound, it did not stay down.  I retched over the sink until my stomach was empty and hunger burned in my veins. 

Then I put myself through a kind of torture.  I tried to eat the contents of my fridge, one thing at a time.  But everything came back up. I felt hollow, and a deep craving filled me.  My teeth tingled and I longed. 

I was at the edge and I knew it. 

I started to wonder … could I do what those vampires did on TV … could I STOP before I killed someone?  Could I feed and NOT take a life?  I decided that, yes, I could do that.  I was so, so god damn hungry.  I would do that.  I would go out and feed, and when I was no longer filled with this longing, then I could think, and I could decide what to do.

Somehow I knew that seduction would be a part of it.  I would have to reel someone in, as Luca had done to me. 

I had to clean myself up.  I closed my eyes as I went back into the bathroom and stepped over Rachel.  Rachel, who a part of me hoped would rise from the dead, that she’d be a vampire too, and that we could go through this together.  But I knew a part of the equation was missing:  I hadn’t fed her my blood before I’d killed her. 

She wasn’t coming back. 

I stripped my clothes off and stepped under hot water, keeping my eyes screwed up tight, trying, but failing, not to cry.  Trying to keep my steadily growing hunger at bay. 

I tried to wash away the sorrow and pain and desire and hollowness – but none of it worked.  All I washed away was the physical grime.  There was nothing I could do to wash away the evidence of my crime.  Rachel would stay where she was, and a deep part of me knew, although it hadn’t worked its way to the conscious part of my mind yet, that I could not.  I would need to leave and it would have to be soon.  Before long, people would come knocking, and we would be discovered.

Not in the mood for extravagance, I dressed in a hurry, pulling a little black dress over my shoulders and leaving my legs bare.  I had a feeling I would no-longer feel the cold. 

I remembered Luca in his black leather jacket.  ‘How appropriate,’ I thought, slipping black leather over my shoulders.  ‘What is it about vampires and leather?’  I grabbed some sunglasses to hide my eyes, unsure when they might decide to go red and freak everyone out, figuring it was better to look like a rock star-wannabe than to send people screaming. 

I hoped I could keep my fangs in check. 

I left the flat and headed for the city centre, with its bars and night life awaiting.