Halloween
It's cold. Cold enough to be snowing, but it's holding off for November. The stars are out. The moon is past full, waning but still casting bright white light. Leaves have mostly fallen. They litter the silver concrete sidewalks, frozen and dried, crackling like knuckles, dancing in the wind. They cast violently angular shadows, tiny under the night sky. She resists the urge to count cracks as she steps, but is aware that she takes one and a half steps per section of sidewalk. She whispers under her breath as she walks, letting the sound of wind blowing through branches follow her from above.
"Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back..."
Halloween. Her favorite holiday by far. The night the crazies come out. No family dinners, no questions, nobody confident enough to approach. She walks quickly not out of fear but out of familiarity. She spends her least regretted time with men with long strides. She's small, but convincing when she pretends otherwise, and she's wearing heeled boots over her fishnets. She hears her heels clicking on the cold rock and it makes her smile though her mouth doesn't move. Her eyes are lit, though. He'll notice; she knows. He'll know she's happy even though the black lipstick obscures her lips. She runs her tongue lightly over her canines. No fake fangs this year. She doesn't need them.
"Present me a signed doctor's note, sweetheart," she once joked, "saying you're clean and I'll drink your blood the other eleven months and thirty days of the year. But don't fuck with me on Samhain."
He was an aspiring poet. She thought he was cute. Cuddly. Fun to corrupt. He was fascinated. He'd written about her. Blood poetry, he'd called it. Carnal, erotic. He'd called her skin moonlight and her heart a void. He'd assured her it was just poetry because he'd assured himself that he was romanticizing her. She smiles. She can still hear him screaming. He'd let her tie him to the bed. He'd let her cut his clothes from him slowly. He'd been so incredibly hard.
"Okay," he'd suddenly panicked, "wait. Kana, wait, stop."
She'd traced white lines on his chest with needles. She'd smiled. "That's not the safe word."
"Kana, fuck. No, don't do this. Please."
She'd straddled his lap. "Your cock is contradicting your mouth." she'd said. She'd shoved the needle under his skin, along his collarbone. He'd shrieked. She'd raised an eyebrow. "You're a diabetic. You do worse to yourself every day. Shut up."
"Please..." he'd begged. She pulled it out slowly, putting her lips to the pinprick and sucking. One drop. Just one.
"Haiku." she'd said, pulling his favorite pen from the pocket of his jeans. She'd uncapped it. "The idea is syllabic, yes? Seventeen. Five, seven, five. A single idea about nature, otherwise you've fucked up and written senryu."
"Kana..."
"You're right." she'd said, capping the pen. "I don't want to write a poem. I'd rather live it."
She smiles again, feeling something cold and hollow in her gut. It's not the smile from before; not the moonlight smile of crackling leaves.
"Kana." A man's voice from the shadows.
"Ian."
"Fishnets, hm?" he steps toward her, eyebrow raised.
Instead of kissing him, she steps into the glow of a streetlight, letting her long black coat fall open, revealing a black corset, a black mini skirt, and a remarkable expanse of bare skin. Thin silver chains of uneven length falling gracefully over her breasts; a black lace choker. "I dressed up for the holiday." she says. "Guess what I'm being."
"Common whore?" he asks, grinning with his eyes.
"Jackass." she laughs. "No! I'm being an ordinary twenty-something female human as observed on October 31st. Do you like?"
"So I was right?"
Her eyes light up as she laughs openly. "'Cept it's cold out, Ian, so really, can we get moving?"
"Nobody bothered you on your way here?"
"Pure perfect cold night, love. Just the echoing of my dark and twisted soul."
She slips her hand in his and he squeezes her hand lightly. "You dressed up just for me."
"And for me."
"You know I'm just going to take it off you."
She kisses his cheek. In her heels, she needn't stand on tiptoes to do it. "Jackass." she whispers in his ear. "You spoil me."
"I do it in hopes that no man after me stands a chance."
She's silent. They've discussed it before. Finally, she says, "How do you know I don't do all this just so you won't forget me?"
A car drives by. They hear drunken male laughter and some unintelligible comment shouted at them. She resists the urge to run her fingers through her short dark hair.
"What were you remembering as you walked here, Kana?" he asks.
She closes her eyes briefly. "Somebody who thought I was a great idea."
"I was thinking about you while I was waiting. Thinking about how your skin smells. How soft and messy your hair is in the morning. Feeling the ghost of your hand in mine. The way the second we touch a silent deafening dialog is opened between us and there's no such thing as something going unsaid or unheard. The freckle on the side of your nose. The taste of blood on your lips."
"They're chapped. I can't help it. It's cold out."
"Shh, love. I like it."
"I don't mean to be me."
"Please don't stop."
"Ian, I'm really fucking cold. It's like ten degrees out here."
He smiles, exhaling, and kisses her cheek. Halloween night. The crazies are out. They go to his place and strip, collapsing into bed. Halloween night. The night of nightmares. The only night she knows she'll sleep soundly. She's glad she's spending it in his arms.
"Don't step on a crack or you'll break your mother's back..."
Halloween. Her favorite holiday by far. The night the crazies come out. No family dinners, no questions, nobody confident enough to approach. She walks quickly not out of fear but out of familiarity. She spends her least regretted time with men with long strides. She's small, but convincing when she pretends otherwise, and she's wearing heeled boots over her fishnets. She hears her heels clicking on the cold rock and it makes her smile though her mouth doesn't move. Her eyes are lit, though. He'll notice; she knows. He'll know she's happy even though the black lipstick obscures her lips. She runs her tongue lightly over her canines. No fake fangs this year. She doesn't need them.
"Present me a signed doctor's note, sweetheart," she once joked, "saying you're clean and I'll drink your blood the other eleven months and thirty days of the year. But don't fuck with me on Samhain."
He was an aspiring poet. She thought he was cute. Cuddly. Fun to corrupt. He was fascinated. He'd written about her. Blood poetry, he'd called it. Carnal, erotic. He'd called her skin moonlight and her heart a void. He'd assured her it was just poetry because he'd assured himself that he was romanticizing her. She smiles. She can still hear him screaming. He'd let her tie him to the bed. He'd let her cut his clothes from him slowly. He'd been so incredibly hard.
"Okay," he'd suddenly panicked, "wait. Kana, wait, stop."
She'd traced white lines on his chest with needles. She'd smiled. "That's not the safe word."
"Kana, fuck. No, don't do this. Please."
She'd straddled his lap. "Your cock is contradicting your mouth." she'd said. She'd shoved the needle under his skin, along his collarbone. He'd shrieked. She'd raised an eyebrow. "You're a diabetic. You do worse to yourself every day. Shut up."
"Please..." he'd begged. She pulled it out slowly, putting her lips to the pinprick and sucking. One drop. Just one.
"Haiku." she'd said, pulling his favorite pen from the pocket of his jeans. She'd uncapped it. "The idea is syllabic, yes? Seventeen. Five, seven, five. A single idea about nature, otherwise you've fucked up and written senryu."
"Kana..."
"You're right." she'd said, capping the pen. "I don't want to write a poem. I'd rather live it."
She smiles again, feeling something cold and hollow in her gut. It's not the smile from before; not the moonlight smile of crackling leaves.
"Kana." A man's voice from the shadows.
"Ian."
"Fishnets, hm?" he steps toward her, eyebrow raised.
Instead of kissing him, she steps into the glow of a streetlight, letting her long black coat fall open, revealing a black corset, a black mini skirt, and a remarkable expanse of bare skin. Thin silver chains of uneven length falling gracefully over her breasts; a black lace choker. "I dressed up for the holiday." she says. "Guess what I'm being."
"Common whore?" he asks, grinning with his eyes.
"Jackass." she laughs. "No! I'm being an ordinary twenty-something female human as observed on October 31st. Do you like?"
"So I was right?"
Her eyes light up as she laughs openly. "'Cept it's cold out, Ian, so really, can we get moving?"
"Nobody bothered you on your way here?"
"Pure perfect cold night, love. Just the echoing of my dark and twisted soul."
She slips her hand in his and he squeezes her hand lightly. "You dressed up just for me."
"And for me."
"You know I'm just going to take it off you."
She kisses his cheek. In her heels, she needn't stand on tiptoes to do it. "Jackass." she whispers in his ear. "You spoil me."
"I do it in hopes that no man after me stands a chance."
She's silent. They've discussed it before. Finally, she says, "How do you know I don't do all this just so you won't forget me?"
A car drives by. They hear drunken male laughter and some unintelligible comment shouted at them. She resists the urge to run her fingers through her short dark hair.
"What were you remembering as you walked here, Kana?" he asks.
She closes her eyes briefly. "Somebody who thought I was a great idea."
"I was thinking about you while I was waiting. Thinking about how your skin smells. How soft and messy your hair is in the morning. Feeling the ghost of your hand in mine. The way the second we touch a silent deafening dialog is opened between us and there's no such thing as something going unsaid or unheard. The freckle on the side of your nose. The taste of blood on your lips."
"They're chapped. I can't help it. It's cold out."
"Shh, love. I like it."
"I don't mean to be me."
"Please don't stop."
"Ian, I'm really fucking cold. It's like ten degrees out here."
He smiles, exhaling, and kisses her cheek. Halloween night. The crazies are out. They go to his place and strip, collapsing into bed. Halloween night. The night of nightmares. The only night she knows she'll sleep soundly. She's glad she's spending it in his arms.