"Oh no, she left you. What a *friend*," the man says in such an openly odious tone it's difficult not to smirk.
His scent burns my nose with woody amber and spice. How determined and justified is this night prowler?
I can hear his deep breaths, aroused and hostile. He's well groomed, flaunting wealth and status with a finely tailored suit and an expensive gold watch. He must be attempting to disguise his foul desires, lure in naive guppies with flashy trinkets and jewels.
Confident. He's very confident that whatever may come of this encounter will be in his favor. A hotblooded soul who loves conquest, by any means necessary.
The man is very close now. He commands me like a master to his dog, "Come here."
"I think not," I turn to walk in the opposite direction hiding my smile. I can hear the blood pumping through his veins.
His heels hit in rapid threes as he closes the gap, snapping up my wrist with harshness meant to frighten and cause discomfort.
"Don't be impolite," he yanks me to him, grabbing the hair from the back of my head and forcing my gaze to his. All things I could easily avoid but do not. My demon growls silently in suspense, "We're just talking, are you too good for a conversation?"
He awakens memories of them, stirring my bloodlust that pushes at the thin layer of my sensibilities. It seems I'm either waiting or fighting and I have come to loathe waiting, especially when it nothing will come of it. The fight, it's what I am now and what I crave. It's how the world has shaped me.
Conscience unburdened, he believes I am lesser, weak. It is the way of things. If it's available, take. If it's justifiable, act. Survival is the will of strength.
Does he feed on fear, crave power? I hope so, I long to taste those things in him.
"Let me go," I command, the beast surfacing as the heat of his palms arouses it's greed. He's everything it fancies to feast upon.
"I don't believe you want to be let go," he caresses my cheek and I lean away only to have my jaw squeezed betwixt eager fingers and forced to his hungry eyes, "Why else would you wander the night dressed like a whore."
Charming, surely, he's so openly aggressive and my beast is enthralled. It's clawing through the recesses of my mind, rising through the pit of my stomach. Patience, patience. What a waste it would be to spill him all over the pavement.
I give him a light shove with a firmer tone, "Leave."
I observe him grab both of my wrists with indignation. He drags me to a wall with a twirl and I allow him to thrust my back into the bricks. I inhale deeply to keep from detaching his hands from wrists. His musk scorches my nostrils, kindling that fire with irresistible desideratum.
"You smell very good," he leans in to breathe in the scent of my hair. I can feel his fantastic warmth, the heat of his breath as he sneers, "Look at your face. You want this more than I do. It turns you on, admit it."
I push at him lightly, he's provoking my hunger too quickly. His hands are unwieldy and harsh as they struggle to hold me against the wall.
He becomes impatient pulling out a switchblade and pressing it to my throat. He spits, "Stop fighting me."
I stare into the gleam of the silver blade, the predator rises to take control, "You have ten seconds to release me."
"Oh ten seconds," he mocks, "Or what? You'll strip right here and now? Not a bad idea," his hand latches onto one of my breasts as I grimace. He fondles it with a rough hand through the cotton fabric. It takes great restraint not to clamp my jaws onto his throat and tear out the flesh, "You naughty thing, you're not even wearing a bra."
I flash my teeth. I debated keeping my promise, but with all that has transpired I'm no longer able.
"Hope you've coped a good feel, because I'm killing you in five seconds," I inform him, my tone is grave.
He removes the blade, ignoring my warning and compressing my throat with his arm. The tip of the blade skims over my chest looping under the strap of my tank top. With an upward tug he cuts through the strap of my right shoulder. His five seconds are now up.
I thrust outward, pushing him back. He staggers then leans in, throwing his weight at me with a curse. I slide to the side avoiding capture and pilfer the knife from his hand like the most experienced of thieves.
"Times up," I declare, weaving the knife between my fingers then ridding it over my shoulder with a weak toss.
"You, bitch!" he yells, clumsily throwing himself at me again.
I dodge in amusement to witness him nearly belly flop on grey cement.
I appear from behind tearing the collar of his shirt away, exposing his shoulder and neck. The fragrance of his skin surges free, it hits with blunt force. I lose myself for a brief moment.
He flips around. I laugh half delirious from his aromatic balm, circling so I'm always at his backside.
He begins to panic, head jerking, feet lurching to and fro, "The hell? Where are you!"
I lean into his ear, inhaling him deeper and whisper, "Right here."
An arm swings to grab for my face as his breath staggers. I sweep around the side bathing in his fear, my giggling unfolds into cackles. Sweat beads from his brow. His tongue darts to quickly dab his top lip. A heat radiates from him like an oven left ajar.
I slide a hand under his arm as if to hold him and dig my nails into his chest dragging back quick. I feel his flesh spread giving way to my tips. He screams in surprise. The flavor of hot blood fills my lungs. A thick, savory smell, hinting with adorned sweetness.
The demon within my throat mocks him aloud, "What's wrong? Don't you want me?"
He wisens up to my circling, backing into the brick wall. His head lurching from side to side, chest heaving adrenaline laden exhales, spiking his heart rate. It pounds through his skull in circles like a hurricane, pulsing through the veins of his primed fists. I watch crimson gather like mountain fog, the pearly buttons of the ruined shirt shimmer like sea shells on midnight beaches. Blood pushes under his skin, seeping from the slashes along his rib bones.
I stand motionless, direct in his line of sight. I sample the blood in the air, feeling his pulse as if it were my own.
I'm tempted to taste the blood dripping from my fingertips but if I exercise a bit more patience I'll be rewarded with the vein.
My teeth lengthen, waiting each languid, unbearable second. A smile creeps along my face in anticipation, eyes flare with cold heat.
He catches my gaze and jumps. His face spirals into helpless despair.
He croaks, "The *hell*!"
I stroll forward, taking time with each step, inhaling his escalating terror. I endure and relish its sweet sting as it sails through my nostrils.
He cocks a fist back, "What the hell are you!"
I throw myself upon him, palms capturing each large fist and flattening them into the wall. His eyes are wide and erratic like the rolling eyeballs of a maddened horse.
Unable to hold back any longer I strike. A hiss sucks through my agape mouth, my head plunges forward onto his corded neck and my teeth sink through.
He cries out obscenities thrashing against me as I take a long drink. What a taste, what a masterpiece of flavor. I indulge in the fear, anger, wanting and bitterness as his hot blood drenches the buds of my tongue. It's fantastic, simply euphoric.
A knee bumps into my hip then my lower stomach and I lift away, tossing him aside.
He scrambles to his feet clutching his neck, "You bit me! What? You!"
More, I must have more. I dash to him again, baring my teeth. I drag my nails into his cheek with a rapid swipe and he can only gasp. With one hand palming his chest, I shove him to the floor.
I lower myself and crawl on top of him, snickering, "Isn't this what you desired?"
He writhes beneath, attempting to throw me. I stun his flailing, gripping his chin and forcing his jaw to the side. I nearly snap his neck. My tongue falls to his cheek, lavishing the gash, running it to his ear.
He bellows, "Get off!"
I whisper into his ear, "I think you want this more than I do. Why else wander the night like some entitled prince?"
"I'm going to cut you up, you crazy bitch!"
I let him go and stand before his feet. He's dazed, a fit of arms and legs instinctively dragging himself backwards.
He manages to skid away creating a small separation. Each time he slides back I take one step forward, until his back thuds against a lamp post.
He's panting and tense. He spots the knife I discarded and grabs for it desperately. His fingers grip it so tightly his knuckles protrude white against the tanned skin. He presses against the post as leverage to hoist himself to his feet. His eyes are wide and locked. The knife threatens, pointing at my chest.
Yes, *fight* me. Defend yourself from the monster.
My gaze beats down on him, "What are you waiting for? Here's your chance to 'cut' me."
"Women are thieves and liars. You're all worthless leeching whores!"
I'm at his side, leaning against the post before he has a chance to react, "And yet, it was you who sought me, remember?"
He stubbles back slicing the knife in a panic, it's all too easy to avoid, "Get back!"
I snatch his armed hand, clasping it betwixt my palms. His teeth clench as he attempts to tear an arm free. A desperate fist comes careening for my cheek.
I catch the fist before it hits and pull it to his other captive hand, pressing his wrists together so he has the weapon aimed at me with both hands.
I scream at him, "Strike now! Strike me down!"
His muscles are convulsing, the knife quaking as he squeezes it. Hatred and trepidation are twisted in his expression.
I continue to jeer, "Cut me! Strike! Hurry!"
He bellows thrusting forward and I let the blade hit my abdomen. He hardly has enough strength to penetrate. It barely nicks my flesh, only the tip is hidden in the flat of my abdomen.
He gapes then clenches his teeth trying to push the blade deeper. I grin at his efforts.
I clasps his hands in mine again and guide the knife deeper into my belly.
I grunt from the sting, clamping my teeth together and driving it deeper. He gasps bewildered, yanking his body backwards.
I don't release his hands. The foregin object pushes in with horrible discomfort. My stomach tightens and churns as the blade inches through. I force it in until the hilt stunts the blade.
My motions are possessed by the obsession to feel and relive the past. To feel everything and nothing at all. The present is only a reflection. The world is hellbent on my destruction and some piece of me is roused at the prospect of it.
I must feed my senseless attraction to affliction. To feel, to be and to numb it all.
I release his hands and he topples backward, wild eyed he stares at the knife buried in my gut.
He lies paralysed and confounded before me. I grasp the handle and tear it from my skin with a small cry. I bring the blade to my face, examining the drip of my own blackened blood. My tongue flattens against the cool liquid and metal, erasing the recent history.
The man staggers to his feet and takes off into a sprint. I finish cleaning the blade and swallow the liquid verging on coagulation. There is nothing quite like the taste of my own blood, there's a voided desolation to it. It applifies my desire for his. At last, I relinquish control to my brutal nature.
I wipe the weapon on my shirt then pursue him. His blood is up, dancing in my head. His oder teases unrelenting, calling out.
He's frantic for the corner to make his escape. I beat him to the end of the walk using the shadows to my advantage. I stand blocking his way.
His face deforms evermore daunted upon spying me but he doesn't slow. He charges forward intent on bowling me over.
The fire roars to life within my bones. I grapple with him before he has the chance to cast me aside. I sling his backside into the walk and hover inches from him. An imminent growl resounds in my chest.
"No," he chokes.
My lips stretch to expose aching teeth, "You were right, I am a liar. I promised you death in five seconds, let me rectify that."
His eyes bulge in mania as he blurts out, "I wasn't going to kill you! I didn't want to push that knife into you! Don't! Do I deserve this! Do I deserve this?"
Disgust curls my lips. The stink of cowardice assaults my senses.
My voice is no longer my own, the involuntarily detachment disturbs and deadens my sense of self, "It's not about what you deserve. It's simply fated."
"Don't! Don't!"
But his cry falls on deaf ears.
The cacophony of rhythmic pounding throbs in my temples to a numbing euphoria as I force myself onto his artery. The liquid vitality rushing forward and down my throat drowns out his screams. I suck in desperation to fill every cavity, to become one with his waning vigor. A moment where I can feel and forget. For a moment, I am not so hollow.
The deep drink forces visions to my mind, his images and memories. Faces of women and men. Dissonant laughter and silken weeping. Regrets and betrayal. The majority rushing by much too quickly, it's largely nonsensical.
It's rare to have one so consumed in a mighty flurry of emotions, to be able to taste them like this.
His anger and fear are soaking into my flesh as I drink. An array of shapes and unseen places intrude. I feel alive like he has lived his life to show it all to me in an instant. But one thought stands out amidst the chaos, a young boy's face projects clearly. The image of this round faced boy scalds it's way into my mind. Tears well in my eyes.
The taste of him is unbearably sweet and the feelings his blood provokes are of undeniable beauty. His life is swallowed up within, along with the flicker of memories and feelings. Why did that nameless boy bring tears to my eyes, what did he mean to this man? I suppose, no one will ever know the answer to that now.
His heart beat is slowing, slowing. We cling to life together. I cannot release, I'm ascending and drowning in his intensity.
The man whispers something hardly coherent and ceases his struggle. His hand twisted in my hair unfurls, falling limp to his side with a slap against the damp, cool concrete. His body melts as if he were a bundle of dense sheets in my tight embrace.
'Do you like killing? Why must you do this?'
Petite, why must you interrupt this experience?
'It's not too late to change.'
But for what purpose? What use is it to deny the call of blood, the call of life.
Why am I questioning the way of things now? We all must die, eventually. We must kill or be killed. This is my nature; to survive.
I tense from the untimely thoughts and dig my nails into the man's flesh. I need him, I must accompany him to the end. Our lives are intertwined, they are one. We will wash it all away, drink it away together.
Help me forget.
The beat is likened to the languid drip from the spout of a filled tub. Each dropping into my mind and rippling outward. His brief cluster of thoughts and emotions seep into a void as he enters an eternal slumber and I follow, holding his hand like the guide to the underworld.
Ba...Dah…
Finality rings in my ears. The blood is calm, no longer filled with power and energy, no longer flowing with life. It's sweet but that is all it is now. I drink a while longer.
Should I feel badly, should I feel empathy for him? Perhaps I long understand, am I in the wrong? And even if I learn I truly am in the wrong, would it be reason enough to change? Can I really change what I am?
Ashlen is so tightly knit in her human ways and I… It was so long ago, I can hardly recall what it is to be human.
I lift my face from his neck and look upon him. His dark eyes are clouded over and his lips are slacken and blue, almost as if he's gawking to behold the veil of heaven lift as he transcends to their gates. An unmatched stillness ensnares him entirely as I hold him to my chest, the only movement being the trickle of blood rolling down the valley of his neck to stain the ruined edge of his once white shirt.
This is what I am. This is how it must be.
'We cannot die. We will never die.' The familiar entity recites it's unending mantra within me.
I am a survivor and a destroyer as they are one and the same.
And I will never die.