Page 21 of Accidental Vampire

TIFFANY

Half of me was cold, half warm, too warm really. I felt like an old Apple computer booting up, each program coming on-line. I even had that dial-up sound buzzing through my head. Trying to connect my thoughts with consciousness.

I moved my tongue around the inside of my mouth. It was gluey with this grassy taste, almost like arugula, but thicker somehow. I didn’t remember having a salad.

I didn’t remember. Anything.

I tried to get my thoughts together, but just like with dial-up, the connection kept dropping. There was a wall I couldn’t think beyond. What’s the last thing I remember?

Blue eyes.

Those splashes of blue framed by shaggy hair and grief. The color of oceans and sky, that would just hold me up and wrap me in warmth while I floated happily. I felt my whole body smile and relax, calling those eyes to me. His face swam before me. Pale and sad, clean shaven with high cheekbones. I tilted my head to let him nuzzle. The memory sent shivers to my toes. He put his lips gently on my neck. His lips were flush with red.

Red.

I licked my lips. Just the thought of the color made me hungry. Hunger wasn’t quite it. I was thirsty. I was thirsty on a cellular level. Like I had just run an ultra marathon in the desert.

“I’ll keep bringing these, but you should just keep her naked. No need for modesty.”

My dial up brain finally connected. I heard the soft-spoken words with my whole body, like the sound waves actually touched me. My body felt heavy but non-existent. I knew it was there, I could feel it, I could feel things affecting it. I just didn’t feel like I was fully in it yet, like I was still floating on the blue sea. Until the thirst slashed through me like a knife.

I shot up straight.

“Water” hissed from my lips, sounding alien.

And he was there, with his blue eyes holding me up and not letting me drown. He held a bottle to my lips. The hard plastic felt sharp and oily. My lips were too sensitive. I shook my head, confused by the sensation. He wound fingers in my hair and tugged back, pulling a gasp that exploded in the pit of my stomach. His hand in my hair, pulling like that, was grounding me, centering. It gave me something to focus on. He brought the bottle to my lips and tilted water in. I gagged and sputtered, like water had never touched me before.

“Look at me.”

The words wrapped around me, soft and sure, anchoring me like his hands in my hair. More water, again. This time, it didn’t feel so harsh and new. The thirst burned. I grasped his hands to tilt more into me, but he was steady and unyielding, feeding me just a slow stream. I felt a sob escape and a tear roll down my cheek. I just wanted gallons in me and not this slow trickle. He fed me another bottle, and another, until I stopped shaking and crying and could hold one on my own.

I finished the last bottle and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. The floor was littered with bottles and caps. I looked down. The wine colored top I was wearing was drenched. Spots of water dotted the matching pants. I plucked the damp fabric away from my skin, it felt rough and stiff. I didn’t want it touching me. I much preferred my own…

“These aren’t my clothes.” I covered my ears and winced. My voice sounded like it was on a bullhorn.

A small sad smile pulled his face from handsome to stunning. He was crouched in front of me on the balls of his feet, ready for action, ready to pounce. Like a predator. His eyes were… everything.

I looked around the room finally.

It was dull gray concrete, but that polished kind that wasn’t slippery but wasn’t rough to the touch. A shower head and toilet were in one corner. A plate glass wall. I started. There was a man on the other side of the glass, just staring at me like I was a zoo exhibit. He was slim, not overly tall, with long hair. Put him in bell bottoms and he’d have stepped out of a men’s fashion magazine from the 70s. A smile curled his lips. Naturally, I had to flip him off, which just made his smile wider. He picked up a pile of clothes and left. Left me alone with a strange man in this… cell.

I was alone. In a cell. With a man. And I was not wearing my own clothes.

I shot to my feet. My knees immediately buckled. I tried to regain my balance, right myself, just stand up. I hit a wall. I felt like I was moving in fast forward. I felt sea sick. Oh god, I was going to puke. He grabbed my upper arms and held me still, but it took a while for the room to stop moving. I wanted to cover my mouth to keep the puke in. I swallowed foul tasting bile.

“It takes a minute to get used to. Just move slower than you think you should.” His voice was soft, but I still felt it, like I could feel the sound waves. It felt like a caress. I shivered.

Fucking weird.

I tried turning my head again, but not slow enough. His eyes, if I just focused on his eyes, the room didn’t swim. I wanted his hand in my hair again. He let go with a squeeze. I think he meant that to be reassuring. I could feel the strength in his fingers. I took one step back, and I crashed against the far wall, somehow moving all the way across the room. He followed, staying that three feet away, like ready to hold me up if I needed it. Or hold me together.

“I…” I winced at the sound of my voice. It was too loud. I tried again in a whisper. “I need you to back up.” I stretched my arms out along the wall behind me for support.

He took a deliberate step back. I felt like he was humoring me. I wanted to look away, but his eyes trapped me.

Trapped. I was trapped.

“What’s happening to me?”

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