The Vampire's Lover

The Vampire’s Lover

Kayleen Knight

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Copyright 2013 Kayleen Knight

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Abby sat in her bedroom and watched the blood-red sunlight filter in through the blinds. She smiled as the sound of birds tweeting and cats purring and dogs barking filled the room – but then the smile quickly disappeared. Her boyfriend would be coming around soon. She knew that this was a thought that should fill her with joy and loving anticipation, but all she felt was dread. She wished that she didn’t feel this way – she wished that she could be normal like everyone else seemed to be, just being with their partner without the anxiety that she experienced – but she just couldn’t. She was twenty-five years old, and she was still a virgin.

She yawned, stood up, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was tall and her nose was pointy. Despite this, however, she was beautiful in her own way. Her skin was pale, her hair was very long, and her small breasts were tight and pert. Her cheeks, which were freckle-covered and reddened easily, were dusted with a soft layer of foundation. She had decided to wear something enticing tonight, as she was sure that Jack thought that this was the night that something was finally going to happen. She felt absurd standing there in the risqué dress – it was short and barely covered her at all. She supposed that was what men liked.

He said that he was going to be here at half past ten, and now it was twenty past. She tried to read but her heart was pounding too loudly in her head. She couldn’t focus on anything. Her palms were sweaty, her hands shook, her tongue was big in her mouth and her throat was dry – she didn’t feel like talking to anyone, let alone having sex. But she felt like she must. There was something shameful about being a virgin at this age, she told herself. She had to get it out of the way – even if she didn’t enjoy it. She had to do it.

When Jack had called her she’d been watching television. She’d answered the phone and said,
‘Hello,’ as some celebrity chef had been shouting at one of his employees.

‘
Hey,’ Jack’d said – and he’d sounded more serious than usual. He’d sounded somber.

‘
What’s up?’ she’d said.

‘
I need to see you. I’ll come around tonight.’

She’d hung up the phone and went back to watching the television program. In the end the chef made the employee cry. She knew that the phone call could have meant anything – maybe he needed to talk about something completely unrelated to sex. Maybe he didn’t want to have sex with her at all. But she also knew that Jack was a very sexually minded guy. He’d often brought up the topic with her and she’d just put it off until another time. Now was the night – she knew. Now it was sex or . . . or what?

She leaned down on the sofa and thought about the implications if she was right. If her assumption was correct – if Jack really did want to have sex with her tonight – what would happen if she didn’t? Would he stop seeing her? Was he that shallow? If he really was that sort of guy did she want to be with him? All this whirled around in her head, and then the knock came at the door and she had no more time to think about it. All she could do was numbly walk across the apartment. She was aware of the softness of the carpet and the coldness of the air – but now she couldn’t hear the myriad sounds that had minutes ago made her smile.

Jack’s face was a picture of seriousness as she opened the door – his eyebrows were furrowed and his mouth was a stern line.
‘Hi, Abby,’ he said.

‘
Hey,’ she said.

She invited him in and asked if he wanted anything to drink
, he declined, and they sat on the sofa opposite each other. They were quiet for a long while. There was an awkwardness between them that had never been there before. They had been seeing each other for three months now and this was the first time that she had ever struggled to find something to say. It was his fault. He was staring at the floor, fidgeting with his belt-buckle, and doing anything he could not to look in her eye.

As the silence matured she found herself caught in a reverie. She was
half-aware of the room, but her mind was somewhere else. She remembered all the times Jack had ever held her and kissed her and told her that she was beautiful. She remembered his big strong arms as he lifted her over a massive puddle so her shoes wouldn’t get wet. She remembered laughter and smiles beyond count. All of this she was thinking of when he said, ‘I’ve been seeing someone else.’

She almost fell back – instead she stared at him, her mouth agape, not knowing what to say. He was staring back at her and his eyes were steady. He should’ve been more remorseful, she thought. He was looking like someone who had just announced something completely harmless and acceptable. She felt like something harmful and unacceptable had just reached into her chest and crushed her heart.

‘Who?’ she cried. It was the only thing she could think to say.

‘
Does it matter?’ he said. He got up and walked the length of the room to the window, where the sun was reaching its midday zenith. He stared at it pointlessly for a few seconds and then turned back to her. ‘Her name is Zoey. You don’t know her. I work with her at the lumberyard. She does administration and things like that. We met when I had to stay behind about my pay schedule one day – and we’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now.’

Suddenly his gaze lingered on her thigh and she remembered what she was wearing. Wordlessly she stood and went into her bedroom and changed, and felt like a silly little girl for ever wearing such clothes. When she got back she told herself that she was going to be strong – but somewhere between putting on a baggy t-shirt and sitting down on the sofa her resolve dissipated and she burst into tears.

Jack made a move to put his arms around her, but she moved away and shot him a reproachful look. ‘How could you?’ she sobbed.

He looked around uncomfortably.
‘We’ve only been together for three months, you know,’ he said as if talking to a child. ‘I didn’t know we were that close. I’m sorry if I misunderstood – but I had only expected to just come round and end this relationship civilly and without unnecessary waterworks. Apparently I was wrong – you’re crying like a fucking child.’

She looked at him. She was incredulous – there was a bitter edge to his words that she had never heard before. He went on, and his tone was darker and meaner and icier:
‘I mean, you’re twenty five years old, and you haven’t ever had sex. All you ever let me do was finger you, and you would just lie there and not even touch me. What do you expect me to do when you’re such a frigid fucking bitch? Just take it? No way. You were not a good girlfriend, Abby. I’m sorry about that – but it’s true.’

She stood up,
walked to the other end of the room, flung herself into a chair, and sobbed more. Jack had metamorphosed before her eyes from her affectionate boyfriend into a sadistic monster. She glanced up at him and saw that he was sneering at her, the ridge of his eyebrows shadowing his eyes and making them look dark and ghoulish. He stood up and walked over to her and knelt down by the chair.

He stroked her hair.
‘You’re a loser, Abby,’ he said. ‘You’re a goddamn loser, and now I’m going to take what is mine.’

He reached down and grabbed her thigh. She grabbed at his hand but it was a vice and would not budge. He was leering at her, and he moved his hand up and roughly rubbed her pussy over the top of her sweatpants. She slapped at his face but he just laughed and backhanded her across the jaw. Her head snapped to the side and blinding white pain captured her – she bit down on her tongue and her mouth filled with blood.

He pulled her by her legs across the room and opened them and lay on top of her. She could feel the hardness of him as he pressed himself onto her. He was fumbling with the zip on his jeans. Her head had cleared a little now and her arms were by her sides. He was using both hands on the zip – if she was going to act this was the time to do it. She scanned the room frantically and her eyes settled on an ornament on the coffee table a few feet away – it was a glass angel a friend had given her once.

She reached out for it and heard Jack panting and grunting as he fiddled with his zip. It was just out of her reach, and when she stretched her inner-elbow ached with the effort and her forearm throbbed. She twisted her waist but with Jack atop her it was hard. Eventually she heard the zip of his jeans and he wriggled them down to his knees – then he grabbed her and pulled her sweatpants down. He leaned off her as he did this to make enough room, and she used the chance to grab the ornament.

It was cold in her hand, and became immediately sticky with her sweat. With a crow-like cry she swung it around and smashed it on whatever part of Jack’s body was in her random trajectory – this happened to be his head. He stumbled back and she stood up and grabbed her pants. Her purse was at the door and she took that, and then she left the apartment lest he should recover. 

She ran out of her building – almost jumping down the steps. It was only when she got to the front door and the cool summer breeze caressed her sweat-covered, bare thighs that she remembered she wasn’t wearing pants. She walked down the street a few yards and went into an alley and put on the sweatpants, and then continued walking down the street. She chose the direction at random. Her whole body was reacting to what had almost happened to her by shaking uncontrollably.

After walking for a couple of hours she calmed down a little – but she was still hurt and incredulous and in awe of what had nearly happened. She wanted to forget it all – if only for a little bit. So she did what every person who wants to temporarily forget something does. She went to a bar.

She chose it at random. It was a slightly dingy-looking place, but it looked okay. When she went in she saw that it was mostly bikers, but this didn’t bother her and they didn’t even seem to notice her. She sat down at the bar and ordered a whisky.

****

She stayed at the bar all day and late into the night. She got drunker and drunker and when the sun had set and the room filled with the hot musk of the evening drinkers her head was whirling and she felt like she was going to be sick. Over the course of the day she had gone from sad to angry
, to depressed to regretful, and back to sad again. Now she was too drunk to be anything. It took all her energy to stumble from the bar. The barman – a round man whose chequered shirt could barely contain his belly – laughed at her through his grey beard. She had been thankful that he wasn’t the cutting-off-drunk-people sort a few hours ago – now she condemned him for it.

She stumbled into the street and used her hand to support herself, gripping at a brick wall with all her effort. She thought that she was heading the right way and then thought about getting a cab – but she had spent most of her money in the bar and had to pay her rent and
she didn’t want to waste anymore today. In her state she didn’t see the issue with walking home alone. She felt a lot safer than she normally would, as people often do when they are intoxicated – when she was sober she was shy and timid and rarely looked people in the eye. Now it seemed as if every passerby was a potential friend. She called to them introductory greetings and waited for them to respond. After a few minutes of this she was sure that there was a conspiracy against her – everyone looked away in the same embarrassed way and then circled around to avoid being too close to her.

‘
Fine’,’ she mumbled. ‘I dun’ need you anyway!’

She fell into a nearby wall and
realized she needed to urinate. There was some part of her that knew it was not okay to piss in an alleyway – but that part was drowned out by the overwhelming urge. She crouched down in the corner and sighed happily as her bladder emptied. She was pulling her pants up when she heard the voices – they were deep and thick with and husky. For some reason they frightened her and she tried to run from the alleyway, but she wasn’t quick enough.

They were already upon her.

There were three of them. They were all tall and all men. One had a scar that made him look like he was smiling, one was fat with no hair but for a goatee, and the last was thin and wore a long trench-coat. Before they saw her they carried on their conversation:

‘
Is this where One-Eye said he’d be?’ Scarface said.

‘
Yeah,’ Trenchcoat said.

The man with the goatee was about to talk, but then he saw her. She stopped like a deer caught in headlights and tried her best to appear sober – she thought that if they saw how drunk she was they’d see her as prey. The man smiled and Scarface walked forward confidently. His face was illuminated in the iridescent, yellow
streetlight. ‘Hello,’ he said gruffly. ‘What do we have here?’

‘
She’s pretty tight, boss,’ Trenchcoat said.

‘
Yeah,’ Goatee agreed. ‘I wouldn’t mind some of that.’

‘
Silence!’ Scarface snapped. He turned back to Abby and smiled a demonic smile that showed sharpened, yellow teeth. Abby started when she saw these and fell back. Scarface laughed and the other men laughed with him, and then they all bared their teeth – which were all sharp and yellow – and walked towards her.

Her heart was a
drumbeat in her chest and she closed her eyes and prayed for a quick death – but then she heard a gurgling sound and labored breathing. She opened her eyes and saw that Goatee was dying – his neck had been shredded. He was on his knees and numbly pawed at it, as if he could fix it. Then Trenchcoat dropped, seemingly for no reason. His eyes were blank and there was a hole in his chest where his heart had once been – the organ rolled over in the moonlight and then disappeared into a grate.