Best Souvenir |
The vampire was looking at her wistfully. He wanted to tell her that she was beautiful. He wanted to tell her that she was the warmth and essence that was life itself.
He wanted to tell her that she was worth living for.
He could see pain, fear, experience, torture, age, and death in her eyes.
She had been a fighting the good fight for too long without enough to mitigate the pain.
Death and duty had taken their toll on her. He had seen it in other warriors who hadn't even survived as long as she had.
But there was something wonderful about her, too, something Heavenly that shimmered and shifted before his eyes.
There was still the spark of life in her, burning brighter than it should in someone so burdened.
It was pure and innocent and everything he was not.
A half a decade ago, he might have told her that.
A half a decade ago, hehad still hung on to hope, foolish as it had been.
But his soul, with its immense capacity for punishing himself, had gotten tired of forcing him to go on with this existence.
Once, she might have been his salvation, and he, in his own way, might have shown her that the light inside of her that led him to that salvation was her salvation, too.
But the time had passed.
She was his salvation, now, but only in ashes.
After been pushed out and turned away when his true nature had been discovered during the pitiful, meager attempts he had made to build some kind of life took their toll.
He’d often had to resort to living on the streets, only to crawl his way back out.
Almost a decade ago, now, he’d given it all up.
He’d stopped caring if the sun came up on him when he slept under newspapers in the park, and only blind luck and a vicious instinct for survival he’d long wished gone had kept him going.
The necessities of existence—shelter, darkness, blood . . .
cleanliness—nothing mattered any more.
But now, things were different. There was a blond, golden skinned little princess on the other side of the door who wanted him clean.
Wanted him clean so he could help her.
Chewing thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek, he began stripping off the rags.
He pulled the shower curtain aside and realized he didn’t remember how to use the silver dials attached to the middle of the tiled wall.
Gingerly, he turned one. The water was instant and cold, and he stumbled back out of the shower, startled.
But the water kept beating down, and this time, when he reached out to touch it, it was much warmer.
His eyes widened as the droplets sprinkled down on his hand and the top layer of dirt washed away.
Slowly, he began to smile, and remember.
He’d been living worse than an animal.
He owned nothing tangible, had no where to go; there was hardly anyone he knew.
Worst of all, he didn't know how to act, especially around her.
He ached with need for her, in more ways than one.
She was too much; everything about her made him remember hope and love and sex all at the same time, and it was making his self-control fray about the edges.
He had to pull himself together.
He had to learn to walk like a man again.
|
|
|
|