I need to leave her.
Before it’s too late. Perhaps it
already is. Perhaps I know that,
really. Heather was gone tonight when I
woke, darkness surrounding me.
Pitch. I reached for her and she
wasn’t there - the sheets which should have held her warmth cold, no dint
indicating she had been there recently.
We fell asleep together, curled around each other, my hand caressing the
puckered scab at her shoulder – the ridges already healing; indentations
becoming less distinct. Somehow, she has
managed to move from me; to evade any conversation over why she strolls the
night. A new burgeoning, burning light
behind her eyes. Signalling the
inevitable. What will come. The becoming.
Beckoning heat. Neither of us has
managed to say the words. Not yet. Not until the inevitable. Until it falls apart. Maybe not even then.
I remember the night too well. The one which matters most. To us.
She stumbled through the door, hair tangled about her shoulders, clumped
with dirt, leaves; remnants of congealed blood.
Jacket lost, top frayed. God
alone knew how she had made it home that way.
Her fingers left smudge marks against the wood and wallpaper; streaks of
mud, mixed with the aftermath of what had gone before.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. Still, she refused to meet my eyes. That told me enough. “They just grazed the skin. Hardly anything, really.”
“What? They? What?”
The words refused to collate; to form solid sentences. “I – what?”
“The teeth.” Her lips
quivered slightly, unshed tears beneath her lids. “Should have just phoned a taxi, I
guess. Stupid.” There was a brief lift beneath the words
before the slump. Literal and
figurative, as Heather used the wall as her prop. The paper would need replacing – sooner
rather than later, if it wasn’t to act as reminder. I would see to it, I told myself. Without fuss.
“I heard it coming.”
A tremble in her voice. “I wish I
hadn’t.”
I thought that was the worst. Then.
Now I know better.
It crept upon us slowly.
The realisation. That there would
be consequences. Darkness made her
restless. She tossed and turned a
lot. To be expected. Her temperature ran high – not dangerously
so. The GP administered injections to
prevent against lingering infection, the fear of fever. We thought that the end of things, save for
the delicate ridged scar gracing her shoulder.
The preternaturally quick to heal, lasting reminder.
Night taught us better, as insomnia gave way to wilful
wandering. Too little, way too
late. Nothing could have prevented
it. I think I knew that first night;
knew without knowing. The moon’s
crescendo towards apex. Waxing. Could scarcely fail to notice the night
Heather came home, the cool of after hours amongst her locks, the taste of
copper on her lips as I kissed her a welcome.
Reddened by something over than natural high colour, though that was
there too. Heightened above normality. Heat in her gaze; amber in her eye, once
chocolate in colour. I purposefully
forgot copper that night; concentrated instead on amber and gold.
Try as I might, I should have – must have – realised matters
would reach their climax. Moon full, white
above, no avoiding the merciless light.
Her gaze burns through me, fever pitch, on her return. Flames fanned by whatever went before. Tonight I see the evidence stained across the
white enamel of her teeth, cherry red matching grin accompanying it. Breath rich with the scent of others. Information I did not need access to.
No more avoiding.
Secrets will out, one way or another – especially those which have been
open for a while. Tonight they may
consume us. Or one will be consumed.
Even seeing her this way, it’s hard not to want what we had;
what went before the now. I feel myself falling, plunging deep towards
the dark. Pull myself back from the
brink. Barely. I know her name. Sadly, much as I try to delude myself, it’s
no longer Heather. It is the other.
We face off. Now’s
the time. Fight or flight. Focused versus fearful. Predator.
Prey. Now. Teeth reach towards me, to administer a final
lover’s caress. To bite.
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