Before I get to my tidbit for today, I have something to say.
There is a bill being pushed through the government in Uganda right now that will result in the murder of thousands of gay people. That is, they’re making homosexuality illegal, punishable by death. There is a petition going around attempting to stop the bill going through, and I would very much like for you to sign it, please.
That said, time for a tidbit. Please note: The characters Liessa and Sierra are my most commonly used. This story is related to the last tidbit, but is in no way connected to Looking Through.
It’s dark when I wake up. A deep dark, that hue of indigo which makes the concept of pitch black seem almost chalky. It is the dark before the dawn, I know, and a quick glance to my alarm clock- 3:14 am, glowing redly next to my head- confirms it. Soon the sky will lighten and brighten, rolling from indigo to violet to the sudden violent pinks and peaches of sunrise. Winter will take the blue of the sunlit sky and dress it with invisible frost, crisping the air and adding bite to the wind. Even now the room is chilled. I am suddenly thankful for Sierra’s company, her sleeping form radiating heat and keeping me warm beneath the crumpled blankets.
Sierra. Her name tingles, floods my mind with memories of the night not-yet-past.
I raise myself up on my elbows and twist to look at her, breathing evenly and quietly on my other pillow. The are dark patches on her skin: a handprint here on her shoulder, the smudge of a knee by her ribs, smears of kisses on her neck and cheeks. Her delicate, long-fingered hand is the darkest, curled sweetly on my pillow, dry now but once slippery wet with my blood. Her blood. It has stained the creamy white cover of my pillows, my sheets. Blood, in all its coppery sweetness, its sickly sweet smell. I think her blood has set me afire, giving me a taste, a sample, of what she lives with every day. Every sound, every movement, every smell is tantalising and distracting. That humans grow addicted to it no longer surprises me.
Attempting to roll on to my side proves difficult. The sanguine feast hasn’t given me her gift of healing, and the plethora of bite marks are still fresh, aching and twinging almost intolerably as my movement breaks them open anew. Some of them, the ones on my thighs and that single, perfectly personal wound between them hurt the worst, having sealed stickily to the flesh that now moves and flexes away from it. A sound of pain, oddly delicious to me in this early morning quiet, escapes my lips and stirs Sierra to waking. She twists sleepily and looks up at me from the pillow. Her eyes glimmer. For a moment I can almost believe she’s a living human being, but then the moment is gone, and that strange hungry burn returns to her green gaze, gentled with love.
“You’re awake.” Glance at the alarm clock, a second or two to register the numbers. “It’s early.”
My blood made her more human. She’s warm, and breathing, and slow to wake. It strikes me as a miracle, and for a moment I’m lost, marvelling in her complexity, a frown wrinkling her forehead as she waits for me to answer. I have to check myself to avoid forgetting to speak entirely.
“I’ve only been awake a couple of minutes.” I smile at her and bend to kiss her forehead, feeling warmth and the tightness of the dried blood. The hunger takes me off guard and I buck my hips slightly, grimacing with both the pain and the surprise. The pain intensifies as I pull myself away. I’ve ripped open the bite on the soft part between my neck and shoulder in my haste. Somehow, it seems more painful than the bites on my thighs.
Concern registers on Sierra’s face and she reaches up to touch the skin gently, checking the wound. “Do they hurt overmuch?”
Distractedly, “No- not really, they hurt, but…” The need is almost overwhelming and I flail awkwardly on the bed, trying to find words within the mist. Sierra’s eyes darken with understanding and I flood with relief, knowing now that I don’t have to explain. “I thought it would go away after sleeping.” Confusion and distress in my voice, that trembling self-consciousness in my inward breath afterwards. I hate it. It feels so much like the hysteria of my weeks without medication. Sierra pouts and kisses my arm in sympathy.
“It will fade. It takes longer than eight hours, Liessa, just be patient.” The lust is in her kisses. It sends goosebumps through my skin and I shiver, aching to roll to her despite the pain. “I told you what to expect.”
Her patronising tone angers me and I swing my legs off the bed, pulling away from her seeking kisses in the jarringly painful movement of sitting up. I can see my silhouette on the wall, disrupting the grey-and-purple stripes of light coming through the blinds on the window. The floor is freezing and the air presses damply about my naked calves, and for a moment I consider staying in bed, in the warm, with Sierra’s heat. I know my sudden temper has alarmed her but she says nothing, still watching me from beneath the covers, waiting for me to make my move. Silence thick and heavy enfolds us like a shroud.