Sorrows

I wrap the slipping satin sheets around myself again. The city glow lights me from below as I stand at the tall window, anonymous and unseen.

I hear him bustling behind me, crackling plastic. He shifts the canvas with a thump.
I sigh, aware of my coldness, the cold arc of breath that doesn’t mist on the icy pane. Standing here, so high above the streets, their dirt, their people, I feel completely alone for a moment, balanced on a precipice that draws me forward over the edge. If the glass weren’t there I’d be falling.

He makes an annoyed sound, and I hear furious scratching, tearing, as he destroys the canvas. It isn’t the first to go. I may be here a while still, at this rate. I shift my weight and brush my hair from my face, even though I know it will cause him a twinge of annoyance.

“Do you love me?”

“Lo,” he warns, not in the mood for my goading games. I shrug.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” I make sure to sound resigned, make sure he knows it’s not okay. I can be petulant if I want.

Wisely, perhaps, he doesn’t answer. I could leave it there. But I just have to push this further. I just can’t help myself these days. There’s something about being dead that makes me feel very brave and reckless. Strange, because I have more to lose now than ever before.

I turn my head coquettishly towards him. “You know how I feel.” I grin, showing a fang. “But he’s very fond of me too, of course.” I don’t need to say who. He knows.

I hear something between a sigh and a snarl. So much self-control from him is unusual, and I suddenly realise it’s an outburst I’m after. The cold feels so much closer than usual tonight, squeezing my insides, burrowing in my chest, freezing the mortal feelings just a bit more with every hour.

I let go of the sheets with one hand and place it on the cold glass. Outside, as inside. That gesture completely breaks the profile line, and I hear him striding towards me. I pretend not to hear, and bite my lip. Just one drop trickles slowly out.

“What if he were to come to me in the night? Stroke my face? Maybe kiss me?”

He’s next to me now. I tilt my face away, eyes half-closed. His hand darts out, grabbing my jaw and twisting me around to face him. He grips hard. He’s smiling. He sees through the game. “What then?” he asks, casual.

“I don’t know. It depends if you love me.”

He grins, just a touch of wickedness. Slowly, excruciatingly, he leans forward and licks the blood off my chin, tracing the line back up to my lip. I tremble, desperate just to feel something. There’s a twinge of fear mixed with an inch of lust. That’s all. I squeeze out a tear in frustration. His face changes, perhaps afraid that he’s hurt me? Either way, he lets go slowly. His hand travels down over my neck, then behind my head and into my hair. There, it grips tight, gently but firmly pulling my head back.

I sigh to him, knowing that if he bites, at least I’ll be out of my misery for this night. But he just teases me with a nip.

“Are you going to stand still?”

I pout unhappily at him. “If you want.”

He releases my hair, and I shake myself. I get a serious look on my face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, magpie... nothing.”

It’s true: it’s the nothingness that’s getting to me. I’m not even sure if I can feel anything, or if it’s just a hollowing echo of a remembered emotion. Maybe vampires need to practice at feeling, and they start to lose hold of those threads if they ignore them for too long. Maybe that’s why Mister Oscar is always so sad. He gets a lot of practice at that.

I should really stop thinking about him. I’m supposed to be enjoying myself here, the cheeky little rebel playing at princess with her rogue. But now I just want to be home and safe and wrapped in a hundred blankets – to keep the last vestiges of warmth in. Probably too late, but it’s a nice idea.

Tomorrow night these doubts will be gone, so I indulge them while I can. I know that when I wake tomorrow I’ll be rough and wild and careless again. By then I’ll forget that I’m alienating everyone. Especially Mister Oscar. I just don’t know how to behave around him, he puts me off my guard and inspires my bratty side with his domineering ‘daddy’ act. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing he’s beat me. Though I don’t know why I get that impression. Maybe it’s all his talk of darling Rebecca, someone I never met who I have to live up to, or surpass. He’ll always see me through the lens of her.