The Story of the Vampire, L (Completed | Featured )

Quinn, part 6 - Languages

I awoke to Leis's body, pressed against me in our narrow bed, as I had woken to him so many times. In the pale light of morning, I touched my cheek to his, because we were so close that we were like one body. He didn't wake up, and so I knew that he was drunk on someone else's blood, and I hoped it was human blood for his own sake.

It is not entirely that I am jealous. It is that he has made his own rules and has made me his arbiter. I have been hesitant to say that I love him. It is only because now I so often feel bitter and low. It is the case that we are the same body, and I could no more spite him than cut off my own head. But how I hate my head sometimes, for what it thinks, and what it makes me do. Sometimes this flesh is a mystery to me.

We passed some days without speaking, the first time he came back to me from Laurent's bed, but I could not stop him from creeping into bed with me as I slept. I wish that he would not be so penitent, because I could dislike him more, but he is like a child who has done wrong. His expressions are so pained and so naked, and his shame is real. Even then, at the beginning of the affair, I felt that in a sense we had been made closer, because the knife of shame exposed flesh I had never seen before. These contradictions confused me, and hurt my head. I blew across his chin, and he woke, eyes opening lazily. The expression of youthly wrong came into his eyes quickly, and he looked away, arms tightly pressed against my chest.

"Embrace me, foolish thing," I said softly.

"It is only that I don't know how to be without you," he said. "Please do not be angry with me for coming to bed."

"I'm not angry. It's cold and you're warm. Pull me in closer, if it's possible."

He did, and I tucked my face against his collarbone, and listened to the quick beating of his heart. His heart beats so fast when he has drunk.

"Do you even think of what I do when you're away?" I asked.

"What?" he said.

"Tell me a story, would you? Put me back to sleep. I am not ready to be awake. The light is hard. Tell it slowly."

"All right, Quinny. What should I tell about?"

"Whatever you remember. Whatever you think about."

His hand came and cradled the crown of my head. "One time I remember is that when we were very much younger, sometimes when I woke up in our place you were not there, and I felt scared very much because sometimes you were not yourself, and I feared always that you would get lost and I would never find you again."

"Oh, it is a sad story."

"And so I woke up one time, in a doorway, and you were not there, and I felt like, now I am alone forever. So I went to look for you, and I looked a very long time, and then I found you by the river after many hours. You were sat there looking at the water, and I wanted to know if you were hurt. You said it was your head that hurt, and that you wanted to go into the water, but that you were afraid. You asked me if hell is really very hot, and I told you that it is not hell for suicides, and you said 'Oh yes, I remember it. Why did I not think of it?' but you would not let me take you away from the water."

"This is terrible," I said. "Why do you think of such terrible things?"

"It is because I dream of it nearly always. Then you said after some time, 'I'm cold. Take me someplace warm, please.' You said, 'Please' like that. I thought that I feel very badly for making you cold, because you are saying you are cold all the time, and it is my fault. I wish that you would be warm always."

"Leis, what's wrong with you?" I asked, warm in his arms, his hair tickling my face.

"Oh, I do not know, Quinny. What have I done wrong now?"