The Longest Night
©1998-2000 duVivier
"Was it good for you baby?" She still gasped for breath. Her cheeks glowed with the flush of coitus. Every inch of her felt wonderfully warm and alive. Even her eyes seemed to throb. She bit her lip playfully, thinking that it had been too long since the last time. A cigarette would have been perfect just about now.
She looked down at his spent body, still twitching spasmodically from their recent embrace. His eyes were closed and his lips sparkled from light cast by the many candles in the room. Gloppy fluids carelessly stained the carpet, the sheets and the bodies of the two lovers. Some of it even managed to create a new floral pattern on her prayer rug.
"There's something mind-bending about really satisfying a need, don't you think?"
He said nothing, trying to be as cold as ice.
She shook her head. "I see," she chided him. "I do all of the work and now you're just going to lay there like some macho piece of shit!? Gonna light a cigarette too?" She kicked his foot. "Asshole!"
Still, he played it cool and said nothing.
"You bastards are all the same!" She prowled the room like a detective casing a joint looking for her clothes. "Good for nothing once you've had your fill, huh?!"
She noticed her pants in a sloppy pile on the other side of the bed. Crawling over him to reach her first piece of clothing, she felt the cool sheet of congealing blood that caked his chest. It was starting to get sticky.
"Shit. Gotta take a shower to wash the smell of you away. Far away." She crouched down, pressing her warm, naked body against his cooling, lifeless flesh and pried his eyes open.
"Hmm. Too bad you were so pretty."
Fine. The scene was fine, but it was time to split into a deep, dark sleep. Time to bail on the domestic headaches of 'cleaning up'. The cleaning boy would do his job and she would wake up fresh, clean and hungry. Time for a heavy date with Shoosh, to while the time away. The longest night was just ending.
She was feeling edgy, a little more than she normally did. You know that feeling you get when you've had 8 cups of coffee for breakfast and your fingers start shaking, your heart palpitates and your vision blurs. Just like that; only this feeling was a special hybrid. There was something extra in the ointment this evening. The heady glow of her recent bloodfeast boiled her senses so much that she couldn't close her eyes.
The Dead Boy on the bed didn't really bother her. There was something oppressive just beyond her perception. No sense worrying at this point. She couldn't ignore his presence, but she had to try.
Her lips still throbbed from where he bit her. A dull, subterranean ache, punctuated with an acute numbness around the wound's epicentre. Instinctively, she coughed and spat the luke warm blood that pooled in her mouth into the corner of the room. The stinging pain robbed her of the simple sensation of taste. The blood in her mouth tasted almost empty, hardly salty, barely sweet. It should have ignited her flesh with coruscating vortices of feeling, but she couldn't feel it. She wasn't sure why.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slow blur of movement reflected in her full-length mirror. A shadowy figure, with an interesting spattering of blood on his jacket. The stylish, heroin-chic Vampyre look. The chick-magnet. The envy of all major governments. She shot a smile at him, betraying the fact that she knew he was there.
"My blood", she thought, "I've marked you." She wondered if the other vampire had been there the whole time, watching her? It would have added an order of magnitude to the event, had she known. Ah well, it was lost this time.
"You'll be wearing me all day long, you evil bastard." He said nothing. He didn't move a muscle.
She dropped her half-dreaming head down to her greedy pillow and closed her eyes again, hoping to set a better trap next time. Just before she drifted off to sleep again, she craned her milky neck and exposed a tantalizing vein, hoping. Her last thoughts, the last words on her dawn-paralyzed lips were "Share."
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