This is a short story I wrote several years ago that I wanted to share with my good author friend, Kristy Haigwood since we both have this undeniable love for the same man. Enjoy, Kristie.
My Everlasting Lover
By
Susan Griscom
Milky clouds
shielded most of the stars and shrouded the quiet street in eerie darkness,
save for a few streetlights casting strobilus shapes of amber here and there
along the way. No lights peered
out from windows where children slept snuggled in their beds, where men and
women lay tangled together among mounds of sheets and comforters, where Fido
curled up on his little bed snoring. My vision of a happy home.
I considered where I was. Off
the strip two blocks from Hollywood and Vine where lights still glistened and
people still lingered from their night of cavorting from dance club to dance
club, hoping to find that special someone, most of the time, just for the
night. Did anyone ever find their true love in those sorts of places? I'd
tried, gave it my all, but no matter how hard I tried, how pretty I made
myself, or how sexy I felt, it was always the same old story. All they ever wanted
was sex. One-night-stand-sex. I'd had enough.
This night would be my last
time. I was tired of the needing, the pretending to be someone I didn’t want to
be. And I was getting older. At twenty-five, I'd soon lose that youthful
innocence most men seemed to be attracted to—I hated all those men. The ones
who thought they were God's gift to women, telling us how much they wanted us
and how beautiful we were. When all they ever wanted was to get their freaking
rocks off. I was done. I needed an out. I needed to find my warrior, my knight.
I'm not sure how it all
happened, really. I was walking and then I wasn't. The air around me hung still
and thick, like stagnant pond water and every muscle in my body froze. I was
unable to move. I remember thinking, this
is weird, I should I be scared?
The shadow came out of
nowhere, so fast, a blur. He must have been hiding behind a car parked along
the road, or an overgrown bush on someone's front yard. I didn't even see his
face. My hands instinctively went to his arms to fight him off. It was no use
as his large, tight arms surrounded me, it was impossible to defend myself
against such a robust, muscular build. Even with years of martial arts
training, I was no match for his strength. I felt the prickles of his stubbles
against my skin as his teeth sunk into my neck and I had no breath or desire to
scream.
While he sucked, I remember
thinking. This can't be happening. Vampires aren't real. They only exist in
novels, a figment of some sick writer's imagination. Then, why? Why not? The
concept must come from somewhere.
He didn't kill me. That he
could have done so easily. Instead, he turned me. There is something to be said
of that.
When he finished sucking, he
lifted his head and smiled; that quirky little curve of his lips still amuses
me. My blood dripped from his lips and he slid his fingernail along his bulging
pectoral muscle where blood began to trickle out. With his hand tangled in the
back of my hair he tugged my face to the oozing cut.
Everything makes perfect
sense now. This must be why he'd never married. My creator, my everlasting
lover. I say "Ha" to all those tabloids with their silly rumors of
love and relationships. A different lover every other month they claimed. It
seems like every time he makes a new movie the papers are paring him up with
his new co-star. Well, I know the truth.
I wondered why he took me. I
don't suppose it makes any difference now. Maybe he was lonely. Maybe he was
tired of all the hopeless love affairs with starlet after starlet. He could have
had his pick from any one of them. But he chose me.
As I sucked his blood to heal
myself, I became stronger. More powerful than any amount of weight training
could possibly offer. He was like a drug, my own private drug and I began to
worship him. I wanted to be a part of him, wanted to be like him, and he was
giving me everything I wanted.
And now with this power
inside me, his gift to me, with his drive to kill to survive I will take my
revenge on all those men who never bothered to give me a second glance. All
those assholes that came to my bed only to leave in the middle of the night
with promises of a phone call.
And so this is my life. The
way, I guess, it should be, the way it should have always been. No more visions
of children and puppy dogs snuggled on their beds.
You shouldn't fret for me,
though. I may be his slave by blood. But I am his lover, his companion for
life. I suppose if one is to be bitten by a vampire, they could do a lot worse
than someone who once played a Spartan King. Now I am twenty-five forever and
belong to Gerard Butler and lucky enough to walk that same street night after
night, preying on those stupid jerks who thought they were so much better.
