Ruby Red

Twelve+

© Amber Kalkes 2014

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+Twelve+

My head lulls to the side and back again as I struggle to lift the heavy extremity off the hard black marble of my prison’s floor. My eyes burn and ache from the heavy brightness in the room. They never shut the lights off or even dim them from their stadium watt brightness unless I’m being tortured. It’s almost a relief before they start the interrogations.

“How were you hidden?”

“How many people have you fed from?”

“What is Kale Vaspiri to you?”

“How did Kale Vaspiri help you?”

“Where is Kale Vaspiri?”

I don’t the answer to any of these questions so I just fade in and out of consciousness until I am doused with boiling hot water, which burns horribly. Apparently this is ‘holy water’. In reality our sensitive skin just reacts adversely to any extreme heat, causing the skin to boil, blister and burst. Usually I would heal quickly but these people don’t want me to heal, otherwise, what would be the point? I need to feel the pain and the suffering to give in.

This is the logic behind torture.

Yeah, I don’t get it either.

It just makes me want to be more tightly lipped just to piss them off. I won’t answer anything and such as the situation is they have decided to starve me. I don’t know how long its been since I’ve been in here or how long it’s been since I’ve had a drop of blood but the monster is starting to take over.

Every person who comes in here is like prey to it. It demands I drain them dry, devour them and take them into us. Make us whole again as we were meant to be. The constant hounding to be fed is nearly driving me insane as well as the burning thirst in my throat. My stomach is fairing no better is claws at my flesh wanting out so it can do the job itself but all it does is make it hard to breath past the pain.

I’m still in my red velvet dress as I move from side to side trying in vain to stop the pain in my body. I think of Kale on occasion, trying to stop the pain or distract the bloodthirsty part of my brain. I dream up his dark hair, so thick and begging to be touched. I dream of his eyes often, in my memory they are as black like the blackest night. They call to me, sympathy in them as he looks at me in my mind's view, wanting to save me from this hell. He can't though and the heartbreaking look I conquer up is almost too much to picture. I often have to stop thinking of him or I begin to cry blood, blood that my body needs to cling to.

He probably won’t look for me, I convince myself daily. I may imagine, like a fool that he will, but he won’t. Up to date he’s wanted nothing from me other then to make me his night walking sidekick. He doesn’t want me the way I want him but my heart, the damn organ, clenches at the idea that he’ll allow me to die. That maybe he won’t be my personal savior anymore. He’ll let me die and it only makes my body want to give up quicker.

Still the monster demands we stay alive.

I can’t say I can hang on for much longer though.

The door to the room swings open and lights dim. At first I think it’s another interrogation but that’s until the magnificent Andrei himself comes sauntering in. he looks especially menacing today with his black duster coat, red silk shirt and black dress pants as well as some lovely steel toes boots. His hair is slicked back and his blue eyes look as disinterested as ever. He looks like some extra from the matrix and if I had the strength I would snort at the idiocy of this man’s wardrobe.