Page 6 of Ghoul Kisses

“No, I can’t; it’s protected by magic,” he states, not taking his eyes off me. Yep, he fell off the crazy bus.

“Okay. I’ll help you find the z-hu whatever- you -call- it book,” That sounds even more ridiculous when I say it out loud. I feel like I am in a dream, waiting to wake up. Maybe I’m being Punk’d; Aston Kutcher should be jumping out of the closet any minute now.

I look down at the oversized white cotton shirt hugging my body.

“Where are my clothes?”

“I threw them away because they were covered in blood.” Dammit. That red dress was my favorite. This nightmare is getting worse by the second.

“I’ll be right back,” the guy says before disappearing out of the room. Moments later, he strides back in with drawing paper and a pencil in his hand.

“Describe Pete.”

I describe him as much as I can remember. He begins to sketch a drawing. When he is finished, he flips the paper over for me to see. I can’t believe it; he drew him exactly how I remembered. Talent is not the word to describe his skills—he is gifted.

“What’s your name?” I ask, picking up the picture, admiring his artwork.

“Eric.”

My days begin to clump together. I only keep up with time when a working girl comes in. She appears about eighteen years old, with purple hair brushing the tops of her shoulders. Her eyes are bright violet, and she has a nose ring in her right nostril. Eric must have sent her in here, to make me feel comfortable, so he can sell me to the highest bidder. I haven’t seen him much since our last encounter, which is good. Even though a television is mounted on the wall, I sit with it off. My thoughts are consumed with Jessie’s death. I remember the hurt in my mom’s hazel eyes when she had to tell me the news. I’m sorry, Sarah, but Jessie didn’t make it. Those words still haunt me to this day. Deep down, I always believed Mom blamed me for Jessie’s death, because I begged Jessie to give me a portion of her liver. If she didn’t, then I blame myself. I was seventeen years old when I found out I had stage two liver cancer. A couple of days before the surgery, Jessie took me shopping for a prom dress. The dress was black, short, and made of silk; it was beautiful. I didn’t have a date at the time—Fred (the guy I was dating) broke up with me when I told him I had cancer. Jessie said he did me a favor, that I could do so much better than him. It still hurt like hell, being rejected for something I had no control over. When other girls were going on dates, I was in and out of the hospital receiving chemotherapy. Her funeral was on the day of the prom. I didn’t even go to prom; I stayed home that night and cried myself to sleep. That was the worst year of my life. If I could go back in time and change everything, I would have chosen to let the cancer take me, and let Jessie live. Now, I feel guilty every day. I sleep with men to fill a void, and I like to keep people at arm’s length, except for Vanessa. She is the closest person I have to family. I can’t stay here any longer; I have to leave. I need to break out of here and get away from Eric.

I put on a pair of blue sweat pants, a black hoodie, and a pair of tennis shoes. Turning the knob on the door, I peek out into the hallway. The lights are out; everyone must be asleep. As my heart hammers in my chest, I scurry to the end of the hallway, finding myself at the top of a marble staircase. Two people dressed in business suits walk past me, but they don’t even spare me a second glance. As soon as they turn the corner, I run down the stairs. I don’t know which way to turn. Panic constricts my throat as I dart down another flight of stairs. Which door is the front? I make a left, and at the end of a foyer, I see a pair of French double doors. Quickly, I open the doors and sprint outside. Rain hits my face, and I pull my hoodie over my head. I make my way across the expanse of yard to an enormous metal gate. It is locked. I shake it with both hands, but it won’t move. This can’t be happening; I need to find another way out! I backpedal by a statue of a naked woman with water coming out her eyes, like tears. Sitting on the edge of the statue, I feel hopeless. A hot, fat tear slides down my cheek. I wipe the tear with the back of my right hand. A low growl comes from behind me. Turning around, I see a huge wolf flashing his sharp teeth, his coat is a copper color. He is twice the size of an average wolf. I stand up and trudge slowly back.

“Nice doggie,” I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice. I dart towards the front door. Looking back, the wolf howls and hurtles full speed towards me. I turn the knob, banging on the door until my palms hurt.

“Please, open up!” I turn around and the wolf pads slowly toward me, licking his lips like he is ready to eat me for dinner. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I put my head down and close my eyes. I feel someone grabbing me by my shoulder. It is the working girl, yanking me inside. She removes my drenched hoodie and throws it on the marble floor.

“Are you okay? Do you know how upset King Eric would be if you were killed?” I’m so delighted to see her, I yank her into my embrace. She pats me on the back awkwardly.

“Come, let’s get you dry.” Her voice is gentle as she ushers me into a living room, and I sit on a cream-colored couch. My wet sweatpants stick to my skin, and the socks in my shoes feel squishy. She snaps her finger and the fireplace blazes with flames, warming the room. How the hell did she turn on the fireplace without using a match or lighter fluid? Weird.

“What were you doing outside? You could’ve been killed!” she says as concern colors her face.

“I didn’t know a wolf would be outside!” I exclaim. The fireplace warms my body, making me feel toasty and sleepy. I tuck my feet under my butt. Feeling trapped inside these walls, I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I want to leave this god-awful place. The girl leaves the room and returns with a tray of soup and hot tea.

“You need to eat; you look famished.” She rests the tray on my lap. “Besides, King Eric would be pissed if he found out you weren’t eating.” Has everyone fallen off the crazy bus around here? Do all the working girls refer to their pimp as their king? This is insane. I eye the soup as my stomach grumbles; it has been days since I had a decent meal. As I dig into the soup, easing my hunger pain, I scan the interior design. An ugly, yellowish rug lies in front of the fireplace. A flat screen television hangs on the wall. The love seat and the sofa are beige, and the walls are painted red. The smell of burning logs lingers in the air. The room is tacky. As soon as I finish my soup, I set the bowl on the wooden end table. I peer over at the working girl, who is sitting next to me.

“How much is he paying you?” I ask.

“What?” She gives me a puzzled look. I want to know why Eric is keeping her here. She is far too beautiful to be a sex slave. If we work together, we can break out of here. Before I can propose a collaboration, Eric barges in. I see the anger in his eyes. Once again my body responds to him, every cell in my body aware of his presence. I scold myself inwardly for finding him attractive. The working girl bows her head.

“I’m sorry, sire; I should have been watching her,” she says.

“Stand up, Kate,” Eric barks; his voice is deep and velvety. She does what he says. He turns toward me, and he surveys me up and down. I roll my eyes; this would be much easier if I didn’t find him attractive. He cups my chin and gazes into my eyes. I try to tear my eyes away from his, but instead, I stare back. His touch makes me melt. Thanks a lot, hormones, for betraying my mind.

“Are you all right? I came as fast as I could,” he breathes, causing my scolded hormones to go into a fit of excitement.

“Don’t touch me!” I regret the words immediately after they leave my mouth. Eric drops his hands to his side.

“Don’t try to leave again, or else Kate won’t be able to save you from Clayton.” He thrusts his fingers through his rough hair, clearly frustrated. He dismisses Kate, and she leaves.

“Please, Eric, let me go. I will give you anything you want.” My voice is barely audible. I will sleep with him, if that’s what he wants.

“I can’t! If you go out, the vampires will kill you,” he answers, as if he is tired of saying it.

“There is no such thing as vampires! Just stop it!” I shriek.

“Are all humans this ungrateful?” he asks, folding his arms across his chest. I pick up the hot tea and sling it in his face.

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