I
watch as their bodies move and wriggle about the dim, smoky room. They smile and laugh as they kick their feet
and flail their arms in a new, jittery dance.
The band’s music is almost overwhelming for the small space, but the
volume seems only to excite them more.
From
the small table where Leontes and I sit, I can feel the heat emanating from
their bodies. I’m reminded of the
warmth from the sun when it shone upon my face nearly two decades ago. I close my eyes for a moment in mortal
nostalgia, but the feeling quickly slips away.
I
look over at Leontes. His head is
propped up by his arm, which rests on the table. His gaze is steady and unmoving, almost glazed over. But I know that he too is engrossed by the
very being of the dancers in front of us.
He senses
my stare and turns towards me. He
flashes me one of his all-too-charming smiles, usually reserved for young,
mortal girls. Our eyes are locked for a
moment longer before I turn away.
We’ve
been sitting at this table for an hour, perhaps two. Time is irrelevant to us.
We could sit here for a week, drinking in the people and atmosphere,
without the slightest concern. Alas, we
did not come in here merely to sit. As
usual, our intentions were far more sinister.
I glance again at Leontes, the corner of my mouth twitching into a
playful smile. He raises his eyebrows
knowingly and waits for me to make my move.
The game has begun.
I stand
and slowly take my eyes from his. I let
them wander from face to face, surveying the room and the people in it. The fur wrapped around my shoulders falls to
my chair as I deliberately smooth my beaded, satin dress. I move into the crowed and try to imitate
their seizure-like dance. I twist my
body and raise my arms, kick one foot to the side and then the other. I move as if in slow motion in comparison to
the dancers who jitter and shake all around me.
A man moves to dance
beside me and I turn to face him. His
hair is slicked and combed back, as is the style of the day. He wears a black suit with a bow tie. He dances, but watches me move with great
interest. He leans towards me to speak
over the music. With an earnest smile
he tells me my dancing is unique and he enjoys watching me. I smile lightly and continue to dance,
keeping our gaze locked. I move closer
to him and allow him to take my hand.
He raises it in his own above our heads and begins to shake his
shoulders and free hand. I do the same,
relishing in the warmth of his touch.
We make a series of steps and gestures that combine to make an odd sort
of dance. Now I lean towards him to
speak.
“I miss
the old dances,” I say in a modern tone.
He asks to what I refer and a sly smile spreads across my face. “In the old dances, you and I would have
been much closer . . . holding each other.”
He looks
at me a moment before smiling as well.
He says something trivial and puts his hand on my waist. I steal a glace at Leontes. He is leaning forward now, his hands on his
knees. He makes no gesture, but I can
feel his anticipation.
The man
and I dance for a moment longer before I lead him out of the crowd. I stand between two tables and lean against
the wall. He puts his hands on my waist
again and whispers silly things that lovers say to each other in my ear. I make no visible expression, only stare
into his eyes. His mischievous smile
widens and he places a hand on my face.
He tells me how beautiful I am and asks, rather impertinently, if I will
allow him to kiss me. I raise and
eyebrow and smile slightly, revealing little in the way of my thoughts. My hands wrap around the back of his neck
and I pull him against me. We lean
toward one another simultaneously and kiss lightly on the lips. He moves his hand up my waist and onto my
breast. When I make no movement in
opposition, he kisses me again, more aggressively.
I inhale
deeply and smell his musk covered by light cologne. The skin on his neck is hot and moist with sweat. I can hear the blood rushing through him,
into his face. The warmth is
amazing. I could be content just to
hold this pulsing, living body, but the temptation to destroy it is too great. This is the great irony of my being.
I open my
mouth now and allow his tongue to enter.
Though is it vulgar, it is also necessary. I move my hand to the back of his head and I wrap the other
around his waist. He embraces me in
turn, but it is I who pull him firmly against my body. It feels as if we are holding on to each
other “for dear life,” as they say.
I allow
him a final moment of human pleasure before then I bite down hard, drawing the
first bit of blood. His head jerks back
automatically, but I do not allow him to pull away.
With my coaxing, the blood
begins to flow freely into my mouth. I
drink the rich, hot liquid, becoming nearly unconscious of his struggling. A thousand times before I have done this,
and every time I find myself in this state of overwhelming ecstasy. His life, his warmth, spreads from my mouth
into the rest of my body. I am being
rejuvenated, the pallidness of my skin giving way to a more human-like
tone. I feel as if I am being revived
from my living death as I drain the life out of him. The flow seems endless and I am utterly absorbed in my pleasure. His heartbeat becomes powerful in my ears,
beating hard and fast. It won’t be long
now; he’s already slipping away.
I savor the last bout of
the blood as he becomes limp and lifeless in my arms. I pull away from our kiss, careful to avoid looking into his
lifeless eyes. I know such an action
would produce no ill effect, yet I feel a certain stigma in it.
I gently lower him to the
ground and lean him against the wall.
He looks as if he were a life-size rag doll thrown haphazardly to the
floor. I quickly edge my way into the
crowd, as to avoid detection. A
pleasant tingling races through my body as his blood reacts with my own. Such experiences make living without any
mortal pleasures seem almost worthwhile.
I make my way through the
dancers to find Leontes staring at me with an irresistible grin. I smile back uncharacteristically and sit
beside him. He reaches out and touches
my face. His hand feels almost cold to
my skin, now coursing with hot, mortal blood.
“Beautiful.” He
whispers into my ear, his face now pressed against my own.
We hold each other for a
tender moment before pulling away. I
lick my lips and look back to the dancers.
The sly smile returns to my face as I look back at him.
“Your turn.” I say, my smile widening.
A wicked expression comes
over his face as he stands and adjusts his jacket. He gives me one final look of boyish excitement before
disappearing into the crowd.