Took longer than I expected, but here it finally is.
My Midsummer Vampire
By Xephia
It was a Summer night. A hot, sweltering Summer night. And I sat alone in the middle of a meadow, surrounded by dry grass and dandelions. Waiting.
I could smell the dirt, my sweat, the dry leaves of the forest trees surrounding. I dug my fingers into the ground, and pulled out a clump of grass, roots and soil. The grass cracked in my moist palm. It sounded loud in the near-silent night. Near-silent, because I could hear my beating heart. So loud, so desperate. Almost beating painfully fast in anticipation.
I closed my eyes and listened, trying to block out the sound from my chest and focus on those of the forest. There were none. Not even the cry of a nocturnal bird, or the singing of cicadas. Nothing. I flexed my fingers, nervous, excited. I was also afraid. I was always afraid.
I knew that I wouldn't hear him come. I never did. Not last year, or the year before. I never could quite grasp how he did it. How he could cross the meadow, always so dry that I couldn't move an inch without making a sound, so silently. But he was always so quiet. To this day, I haven't heard him speak.
I knew that when I opened my eyes again, he would be there. I always left them closed longer than I needed to, in case he needed more time. I didn't know what I'd do, if I opened them and he wasn't there. So I gave him all the time that I could bring myself to, just in case.
My eyes flickered open, and he stood over me, blocking out the full moon, the cloudless sky. The Summer heat seemed to melt away in his presence. I smiled at him, and lifted up my hand, which he took in his. His fingers were so cold, so white, so delicate looking, but so strong. They wrapped around mine, and I felt the pace of my heart begin to quicken. My breath hitched in my throat. He pulled me to my feet.
He was a lot taller than me, and I had to tilt my head upwards slightly to see his face. It was as beautiful as it was every Summer. Pale and perfect. I often tried, but I could never find a single flaw in his features. Except for his eyes. They were a deep, suffocating black. They were terrifying eyes, but I could never draw my own away from them.
I didn't move as he stepped forward, but melted into his embrace as he wrapped his slender arms around me. I couldn't hear his heart, but I could still hear mine. I could never hear his heart, and it always worried me. Sometimes I wondered if he was really alive, or if he was just a beautiful, seductive corpse. I don't know how much it would have mattered to me if he wasn't. He reminded me that I'm alive.
He kissed me. His lips were as cold as his hands, and gentle but hungry. I felt faint, and tried to force my lips to move with his, to respond. My hands trailed up his back. I could feel his cool skin through the fabric of his shirt. Exactly what kind of shirt he was wearing, I had no idea. Whenever I think back on it, I can never remember. Maybe it's just that I never pay any attention to what he is wearing.
I closed my eyes, and realized that my feet were no longer touching the ground. He held me in the air as though I were weightless. To him, I probably was. His tongue, cold as ice, darted between my lips. Tasting my warmth. Stealing it. I sighed, and wrapped my arms more firmly around him.
The forest was still silent but for me. Whenever he came, all creatures seemed to disappear. All creatures but I seemed to fear him. No, that wasn't true. I feared him. I feared him more than I feared anything else in the world. But I was to addicted, to in love, to afraid, to leave.
He was everything to me. I had no friends, no lovers, no life. Not any more. I lived for this day every year. The 23rd of June. On every other day of the calender I was an apathetic zombie. I woke up in the morning, went to work, spoke only when spoken to. And replied with only the bare minimum. It's a wonder that I still know how to speak. Then I went home to my empty house, had a simple dinner and went to bed. I had no husband. We divorced thirteen years ago, in the same year that I started seeing him. I didn't even know his name. He'd never told me. I never asked.
Somehow, I knew from the start that our relationship was non-verbal. It was the year 1995, and I had come to this meadow, on this day, to watch a meteor shower. But when I arrived, I had already missed it, and he stood there instead. A black silhouette. A beautiful, perfect silhouette. I stepped up to him, without even a word, and he caught me in his eyes. He was so much better than a meteor shower. And so it had begun.
I could feel the intensity of lips, and his movements, and braced myself. I knew that I was quivering, both from fear and excitement. I think that I was still in the air. I could feel the strength of his fingers as he held me around the waist with one am. His other hand came to my face, and he cupped it in his fingers. So cold.
He pulled his lips away, and I whimpered. I wanted them back. But I made no more protest. I knew what was coming next, and I wanted it more. I lived for it. His lips contacted my neck, and a shiver went down my spine. I felt them prise open. I felt no hot breath on my skin. Just his cold, dry lips. And something sharp.
And suddenly, pain. Pain so sharp, so piercing, that I screamed. I felt myself heating up. Pain and pleasure seared through my body. I shouted, I cried, I moaned, I smiled. In those few moments, I felt every possible emotion. Love, hate, desire, fear, sadness, joy... I could go on. It's an experience that anyone would die for. In fact, I often thought I would die from it. And I'm usually surprised to find that I don't. Sometimes I wish that it would kill me, so that I wouldn't have to wait another year to feel it again.
And suddenly, it was over. I felt faint, as though I were in a dream. I closed my eyes. I was barely conscious of the thick, sticky substance running over my collarbone. I could feel him lowering me, I could feel myself hitting the grass. I could feel his tongue at my open wound.
And then it was gone. I was suddenly enveloped in heat again, and I wondered to myself, not for the first time, who was this man who could stop Summer, life, everything, for a night?
I opened my eyes, and he was gone. I lay alone, in an empty meadow on a midsummer night. I rolled over and, a small smile on my lips, but tears running down my flushed and bloody face.
For another year, an entire year, I would be looking forward to this day. June the 23rd, when my Summer Vampire would return to me.
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