(no subject)
Section One- Bleed For Me
Chapter One
Hold Me in Your Arms
Sitting in the bathroom on the toilet. I've just washed my face and hands, there are water droplets still clinging to my face. My shoulders are hunched and I'm trying not to dry retch. I never thought I would have to this. My hands fall from my head to in between my knees. I can't stand this. My goddamned girl hands. Slender digits and long perfectly rounded nails. I hate my hands. My hands are made for cross-stitching not a mass-murder of little ones. I watch transfixed as water droplets fall off my nose onto my hands, one clear streak of crystal amongst all the blood. You can't see the blood anymore though. I washed it off ages ago. The smell is really starting to get to me. I glance over to the dozens of bodies stacked messily in the corner. An insane chuckle falls from my lips. A corner! In a completely rounded room. That's why she chose it. Because it had no dark corners, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Blood covers the walls now. Big arched splatters of it. Old dried blood, rusty brown and fresh crimson, still wet. I could reach out and smudge all of it, smear my face, hands and body. I could kill her slice her open like and leave her out in the open. She'd never know. Not the way she is now. Sleeping in the bath of blood. The blood not of those who are evil but the blood of the innocents. She wouldn’t have any blood but that of little girls and even younger boys, all have given their blood for her recovery. She had gone into the sun while I slept. When I saw her I screamed. She smelt horrible and all her skin was like pig crackling. I couldn't stand it so I ran inside but she called to me, her beautiful voice sliding over me soothing my fears. I love her.
That's the only reason I'm doing this for her. Killing all those little ones. I never wanted any children of my own and I've never followed a religion but it still seemed, wrong. Something in me was telling me that slicing the little ones up so that their blood would splash down into the bath was…wrong.
"Wrong."
I rolled the word around my mouth. I don't think I've ever used that word before. But then I can’t remember much from my mortal life, just the brief moments of terror when she first took me, then the sweet ecstasy as I took my first swallow of life-giving blood. I looked up and openly stared at the beauty in the tub. At least how I remembered her to be anyway. Porcelain skin, long shimmering perfect hair, big round breasts, slender thighs. Her eyelids slid open with a crackle of burnt skin making me want to retch again.
"More."
I knew what she meant but I had hoped she wouldn't say that word. It was all she had said to me for the past three and a half days. More. More blood. More little ones dead. My hands were made for cross-stitching, not a mass-murder of little ones. I stood up and called a little one to me, people had never been able to resist doing what I asked them too, even when I was human. There was something about my voice that called them, like a siren serenading the sailors to their doom. I paused and titled my head slightly. I quite like that idea, makes my duty seem less horrific less terrible. The little one came to me blind-folded, the older ones I'd first chosen wanting to protect her as much as possible. The older children knew what was going on. They had witnessed first-hand the murder of half their number before my love was full. Two had killed themselves, those still with their sanity tried to look after the little ones I'd stolen, those who lost their minds after the first slaughter sat alone muttering, and one more fascinated by the death and blood around him than the fact that all the others avoided him because of this. He wrote poetry and stories for her about all of it. I was amazed at how he used an old paintbrush he found on the floor as his pen, the walls as his paper and the blood in the bathtub as his ink. The gentle caress of his brush against the walls made my stomach do flip-flops, I loved watching him write. His hand dipping down then coming back up to write was elegance put into action. I think he hoped that when she recovered she would make him a nightwalker like us. He was always asking me in obsessed whispers what it was like, how did the first mouthful feel, what enhanced abilities did I have. He began to toss and turn in his sleep, screaming out before waking with a jolt and going to sit next to her murmuring his thanks that she would allow one so lowly as he to sit in her presence. I always wondered what he had dreamed about, whether his screams had been in pleasure or in pain. She drank him dry this morning and mocked me when I turned my head away because I had grown to enjoy his macabre company, or as she put it “I laugh because you enjoyed the company of a mere mortal no more precious than the dirt under our heels.”
Woken from my reverie by her seductive voice so out of place whispering sweet words I reached out gently holding a sharp, clean knife and took the precious one in my arms, gently carrying her towards the bathtub. Then in a swift move I'd performed many times before, I opened her mouth and hung her on the hook above the tub. The hook plunged through the top of her mouth and embedded itself deep in her brain. Her whole body jerked as they normally do and her scream was short but chilling. The others began screaming too, some breaking down into terrified sobs but I continued my work wishing my hands were manlier, wishing I had been stronger as a mortal. Let the blood flow. Little cuts on the soles of her feet. Drip. Drip. Drip. The blood pours out and gives life to my love. That's all that matters. Don't think about the little girl, it was necessary her killing. My beloved must live. I hear a sickening thud and more screams. As I walked over to the basin a body was pushed into the doorway. Another dead. More food for my beloved. I ignored it and went to sit on the toilet again. The older children were almost always killing themselves rather than live with the horror that was now their existence. She would call me when she needed me. Don't think about all the little ones. Just give her blood and she will live.
Chapter Two
My heart breaks
“You should go and eat you know.”
She was awake telling me off for not taking care of myself. I just sat happy that she was better, sad because she was angry with me. “You should have gotten rid of the bodies! I can’t be living like this…wi-with this…death all around me!”
I watched her pace around the room restless but not yet strong enough to go out. There was something troubling her she kept on looking at me then shaking her head.
“I know you were afraid to go out but for Christ’s sake! I can’t be waiting around for you to get ready you know…I have to get out of this hell hole!”
She had changed since her time in the sun, lost all of that cruelness that had kept us safe for so long. She was more human, as if she had taken in the children’s humanity.
“Christ has nothing to do with it.”
I murmured repeating what she had said to me all those years ago. She screamed and slapped me in the face, pulling my hair. I yelled in pain but more so in fear.
“Let go! Please let go. You’re hurting me! Stop it! No!”
I was sobbing, shrieking, the pain ripping my voice forcing it up out of my throat, tearing. The blood tears falling down my face but she just laughed and yanked harder.
“You want to be smart? You want to talk back to me? You’re worthless you know! I should never have made you!”
She crumpled sobbing fistfuls of my hair still clutched tightly in her hand. I looked at her, my head bleeding from where she’d pulled out the hair and reached out gently. She snarled and pulled away from me.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t look at me.”
I was crying silently now, those blood tears falling gently. I stood and stroked her hair just once, and then with the killer’s accuracy I’d learnt looking after her I snapped her neck. Her body went limp but her screams didn’t die like the children’s screams had. It went on and on. My hands flew to my ears. It was horrible, a coarse throaty scream. The head swung lolling wildly, her tongue hung out. I met her eyes and backed away terrified. They were fixed on me and an unbearable malice was shooting from them. You forgot what I, what we are. What too scared to finish me off now? Her voice rang out cruelly in my head and I stepped backwards and grabbed the knife. I was still afraid to approach her so I edged cautiously around her sprawled body and lunged quicker than any human and thrust the knife into her chest. She gasped and her whole body jumped upwards but still she didn’t die. This was far more monstrous than any of the other killings I had performed and my resolve began to ebb away as my horror increased. She groaned and blood pored out of her mouth before getting absorbed back into her system. I threw up and my throat constricted. I watched as her head slowly turned back on its own, I heard the vertebra click back into place. I had to do something now. She sat up and turned her neck from side to side. The knife had been pushed out as the hole in her chest healed itself. I had to do something, but what? Her fist slammed into the side of my face and I heard bone crunch before tasting blood. What? How? I closed my eyes and screamed with the need to do something NOW. Something clicked, finally, into place. I reached up and grabbed her head forcing my thumbs deep into her eye sockets. You will not win. I laughed, the insanity bubbling up out of my throat and spilling like water from an over filled fish pond into the room, leaving behind the same death and destruction. Like the fish left gasping for breathe on the ground after the water has evaporated, she was twitching gasping for breathe in my arms. I stroked her forehead, still chuckling and pushed my fingers deep into her chest snapping bone, parting muscle and grasped her heart. I squeezed gently, and then clenched my fist not caring as her heart’s blood gushed out covering me, trickling down between my breasts. My laughter stopped with an undignified hiccup and I withdrew my hand, her heart still enclosed in my palm.
“Mine. Always mine, beloved.”
Yes. Yours now and forever, remember this. I gently lifted the pulped heart to my mouth and bit down. My hand absently stroked her head as I chewed and wondered what I was going to do now.