Not If You Were the Last Vampire on Earth (5 page)

“I will most definitely be here tomorrow. Enjoy your cartwheels.”

“Ugh.” I hung up on him but I was smiling.

Chapter 13

Her

I never cared about how I looked. Not after The Sweep. When living becomes the priority, mirrors fall into the background. Today he finally asked the question I had been wondering myself about him. And yet I was still startled when he spoke it.

“What do you look like?”

We’d been talking for two months at that point. I had my reasons for avoiding it. Not knowing what he looked like meant that my imagination could run as wild as our aliases.

I sucked in a breath and touched my shoulder length hair. My fingers ran over scratchy knots.

“I’m tall for a woman,” I started. “Or used to be when there was a group to be compared to. I’m kind of a mishmash. My mom was black and my dad was white so I have a mix of features. I’m tan. All the time. My hair is a rat’s nest of frizzy black waves. My eyes are brown. I’m wearing a yellow AC/DC tank top I swiped from some girl’s bedroom. And combat boots because they’re easy to walk in and last longer than running shoes.”

“Did you paint the AC/DC girl’s life?”

“Yes.”

“How tall is tall for a woman?”

“Five seven.”

He was quiet.

“Hello?” I asked to check if he was still on the line.

“Shhhh. I’m picturing what you look like.”

“Uh, okay.” I felt a little awkward.

“I’m five eight,” he broke in suddenly. “And a half.”

“Is the half necessary?”

“It’s a strong half.”

“So it’s my turn to ask a question…” I thought for a moment. “What’s your favorite mode of transportation?”

“I have a car I’ve been restoring for years. Even before The Sweep. It’s a 1991 z28 Camaro. I’ve collected quite a few spare parts to keep her running all these years. Also, I prefer motorcycles to get around. I have a pretty sweet ride I’ve been using for a couple years now.”

“Men and their cars,” I chide.

“I’m half Asian.”

“What?” I was taken aback by his sudden switch in topic.

“My dad was white. My mom was Korean. You can see it in my eyes. They have a hint of her slant. I wish I had more. They were the most beautiful thing about her. So expressive. My sister was lucky to inherit them. I did get her long eyelashes, though. I have dark hair, all black. I keep it short. I like to wear T-shirts and shorts most of the time. Houston is hot almost year round. Except in the hospital. No amount of tampering will stop the cold from blowing in here. I’ll wear jeans if I’m on my motorcycle. My lips are full, like my dad’s. And I got his large hands, too. I like using them. Probably why I love fixing cars. My skin has color to it but not as dark as yours from what you described. And as I said before, I’m an inch and a half taller than you so if we were standing face to face with our eyes closed, my lips would be brushing your eyelids. That’s why I told you to be quiet. That’s what I was picturing for a moment.”

It was hard to breathe. Every word he spoke, the visual pieces he stacked in front of me, and the sensual images he pushed into my mind with his eyes and his large hands and his lips on me stole more and more of my breath until I thought I would burst.

“I didn’t ask you,” I told him breathlessly.

“And you wouldn’t have. But I needed you to know.”

I took in a much needed drag of air, not sure how to respond.

“Today was another first round day for my set ups so I have to get back to the lab,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Okay.”

“Call me tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” My responses felt robotic.

“Or it doesn’t need to wait. I’ll be around tonight.”

I gulped. “Um, okay.”

We’ve never done a night time phone call.

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

A night time phone call? It seemed so…personal. What was happening?

The phone slid from my ear before it started doing that angry hang-me-up-damn-it beeping after a few moments of neglect. I replaced the receiver and flopped back on the couch. My mind was a mix of jumbled thoughts.

But I needed you to know
.

The words sounded so intimate. I felt my pulse twitch when he spoke them. He used his faraway voice when he said it and I closed my eyes as I felt it. For a moment it seemed like we were in the same room. I had ached to reach out and touch him. Thanks to his blabbermouth, I could now imagine where my fingers would go. They could play with his dark strands. Or feather over his long lashes. Or pad his full lips.

I didn’t realize my hand was between my legs until I felt the warm liquid coating my finger. I squeezed my eyes shut like someone just caught me sneaking booze out of a water bottle. I peeked an eye open, feeling ridiculous. The only watchful stare was Baloo’s.

But it was too watchful. Like he knew I was doing something private. I’ve humanized these friends of mine way too much. Because I swear, he
does
know.

I scowled at him and removed my hand. It’s better that I don’t go down that path anyway.

Only, now that he described his face, I couldn’t stop myself from standing at the front of the path and peering down it. And then taking a small, tentative step onto it. And then digging my toe in the dirt, looking around over-innocently like I’m just hanging out on the path to pick a few berries or do a little bird-watching, no biggie.

I shook off the mix of feelings and busied myself with chores. The seeds I’ve been drying needed to be prepped for freezing. I was out of flea pills and Bagheera’s been scratching. I could use some new music. I’ve never raided Eastside Hills for their iPods.

But these chores only warded off the temptation temporarily. Three hours later, I was running down the path. I was sprinting. I had my underwear around my ankles, imagining his voice in my ear, his laughter tingling my spine, and his dark eyes locked onto mine as my hand rubbed furiously until I was yelling out incoherent praises to a god I don’t even worship.

Chapter 14

Her

I poked through the cosmetics aisle at the pharmacy. A rainbow of human colored powders was spread out before me. I chose one that looked like the tone on the back of my hand (that was the right way to choose foundation, right?) and took off the clear safety wrap. I swiped a streak down my cheek but the aisle was too dark to know if the streak left a line of improvement on my face. I threw it in my pack as well as two shades to the right and left of it as well.

I also grabbed mascara, eye liner, lip stick, and blush. Today I was going to experiment. On the way out, I walked down the hair products aisle and after a short muse I also grabbed a pair of cutting shears and some red hair dye.

Back at my cottage I studied the products warily. It had always been me and my dad so I never did much in the way of altering my looks. The few times I did get decked out, my friends had a hand in it. I played with the different powders until I ended up blending two of them together to match my color. They softened some of the rough lines on my face and added a glow to my complexion.

I tentatively swiped some mascara over my lashes. I didn’t see much difference so I grew a little bolder and applied more. I chose the darkest of the red lipsticks and stained my mouth a deep maroon color with brown undertones. The result was a dramatic look. A bit too much.

I blotted away some of the color and rubbed a towel over my cheeks.

Better.

My hair could not be saved. It was a cross between my father’s straight locks and my mother’s curls. It was wavy near the roots and frizzed out towards the ends where the moisture was lacking. I had long given up on it since attending to it took up too much time to waste on something no one would ever lay eyes on.

I took the red dye and chose a few sections to highlight, blocking some streaks and going thinner on other strands. After washing it out, I spent twenty minutes in the shower under a deep conditioning mask trying to revive the strands.

Even with my efforts, the ends were still knotted and no comb was going to break through. I took the shears and sliced them off. I cut all of them out, creating a haphazard short look. It appeared at though I pissed off Edward Scissorhands and he attacked my follicles.

With I sigh I went shorter and shorter until most of my wayward strands were cropped around my ears. Running my fingers through it, I decided I kind of liked the effect. It had an intentional bed-head feel to it and gave me an edgier look.  I put the scissors down before I could second guess my final product and bald myself trying to make it perfect.

I glanced at the clock. Eleven thirty-six. I still hadn’t called him.

I pulled my boots on and slipped out of the cottage past my sleeping dogs. I didn’t want their company for this walk.

I didn’t go out after dark very often. Not since the wolf attack. With humans gone, night time creatures encroached further into the city, claiming the concrete and bricks for their own. I carried a flashlight in my hand and a gun tucked into my back waistband.

Every day I looked forward to picking a spot in the early afternoon in which to get comfortable and make my call. The surroundings where I settled starting picking up grains of him. What I was looking at when he shared a story or what was in my view that inspired a conversation soon etched a memory of him in that object or that space and I enjoyed passing it some time later and remembering.

If we were going to include night conversations, it was time to snatch one of these phones and put it in my cottage. I headed for the house on Windsong Road. The woman that had lived there had a few phones like the ones I needed in several rooms. I’d take one of those back with me.

I stood in the entrance way and contemplated which room I would call him from. The study would be the most innocent choice. It was hunkered down with heavy oak: sturdy oak desk, tall oak cabinet, rigid oak chair. All that oak made you sit up straight and keep your logic close. No room for funny business or weird feelings.

The upstairs bedroom had a corded phone on the nightstand. I blushed just picturing me laying on the bed, his voice pressed to my ear in the middle of the night.

Nope. Not happening.

I chose the living room sofa. I stowed my gun and flashlight on the coffee table and kicked my boots off to the side. I pressed in the numbers on the phone slowly. It was almost midnight at this point. He probably wouldn’t even answer. Surely, he didn’t mean call him in the dead of night when he mentioned-

“Hello?”

Oh, crap. He answered on the first ring. I coughed.

“Uh, hey. It’s me.”

My insides were tumbling. That must be why I was mumbling stupid sentences like, “Hey, it’s me.” Like he needs differentiating between me and the zero other girls in existence that call him.

“Hi, you.” His voice was soft. This must be a new nighttime soft.

I let out a nervous breath before speaking. “So…do we pick new names for this call or go with the ones we had earlier? I don’t know the protocol. We’ve never done two calls in one day.”

“Why don’t we skip the aliases for this call? It’ll just be you and me. I am absolutely ecstatic to hear from you tonight, by the way.”

“You are?”

“I am.”

“Oh.”

Quiet hung between us. Where my quiet was a nervous ball of twine, I could sense his was an easy one. I could almost see him stretched out languidly, smiling, enjoying the charged silence between us on the phone.

“I changed my hair,” I blurted out. “I cut it off and dyed chunks of it red.”

“Why did you change your hair?”

“Because I was embarrassed when I described it to you. All tangled and crazy. I had to fix it.”

“I loved what you described to me, even the tangled and crazy parts. Never be embarrassed about your tangled or crazy parts. Any of them.”

This wasn’t working. Everything he said kept having an effect on my body. I squeezed my legs together. “I thought about you earlier today.” I hadn’t meant to say that, but it seemed that it was a running theme today, this unbridled honesty.

“After we talked?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, I think about you all the time on or off the phone so I can relate.”

“I thought about you like…that.”

His breath grew uneven. “Like what?”

“Like…like…” I blew out a sigh. I couldn’t say it. My ears were flaming. How can I let him know without actually saying it? “Like the Divinyls song.”

“Please, please tell me they are the one hit wonder I think they are and they don’t have some other hit I don’t know about that’s not
I Touch Myself
.”

I bit my lip. “Nope. Just that one song.”

I heard him swallow. “My heart is beating really fast,” he said.

“So’s mine.”

“I didn’t ask you to call me tonight so we could…you know. I just love talking to you.”

“I didn’t plan on saying anything I just did.”

“I’m glad you did. You’re not alone when it comes to that. You have the exact same effect on me.”

I hesitated then boldly asked, “Am I having that effect right now?”

“Yes.”

Deep breath. “Are you touching yourself right now?”

He paused. “Yes.”

I screamed silently into my fist.

“Do you want me to stop? I don’t mind.”

Did I? The wetness on my underwear said no. I shook my head then felt like an idiot because he couldn’t see me. “No,” I whispered.

I heard him exhale. “Where are you?” he asked.

“I’m on a couch in a house I frequent. I’m lying down across it.” I looked down at myself. I should describe what I’m wearing. That’s how this goes, I think. “I’m wearing a black t-shirt and jeans,” I added hastily.

“Quit wearing them,” he said with a smile in his voice.

That command sent my pulse into overdrive. I complied, wriggling out of my jeans and whipping off my shirt. The hurriedness mussed up my hair and nearly caused me to drop the phone. “Hello?” I asked breathlessly once I was done.

“I’m here.”

“Okay. I’m shirtless and jean-less.”

I could hear him groan softly. “God, you’re beautiful.”

“You can’t see me.”

“Your voice is beautiful. The things you reveal to me are beautiful. I’m imagining your body on that couch. In the dark. Whispering to me on the phone with your hand in between your legs. It’s driving me crazy.”

I closed my eyes. My hand drifted to the area where he imagined it. The spot was already engorged and sensitive to the touch. My light rubbing caused a low moan to slip out.

“I love that sound,” he said.

My fingers moved a little faster.

He kept talking in a low voice. “I want to feel you. I want my lips on your body. I want to make that sound come out of you over and over again.”

Faster.

I clutched the phone, breathing heavily. My fingers were dripping wet. The need to touch him was so overwhelming, I tingled with it.

“I want you to know where I am,” I said in the heat of the moment.

I heard him go still. “What?”

My hand paused but my breathing was still rapid. I talked through it. “I want you to know where I am. Really am. I’m ready to break the rules.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t answer for so long, my eyebrows drew together and I sat up a little on the couch. “Hello?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere,” he said quietly.

“Did I say something wrong?”

My heart started pounding forcefully. Something was off. I pulled my underwear back up.

“No. Definitely not. You said something right. Something I’ve been waiting to hear for weeks.”

“Okaaay,” I drew out slowly, not understanding. What was wrong? Was he scared to meet me now that the possibility was real?

“I would love nothing more to see you. In person. But before you break your rules…I have to tell you something.”

“I’m listening,” I said suspiciously.

His sigh was long and hesitant. “Look. Before I say what I need to say, I just want you to know that these past couple of months have been absolutely amazing.”

“This sounds bad.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Jesus, I’m scared.” Another sigh. “Okay. The thing is…I’m a vamp.”

I couldn’t have heard that correctly. That’s not what he said. I looked around the room. Everything seemed gray in the washed out darkness. My eyes flicked to odd details. A tube of Chapstick without its cap. That meant a dried out stick of uselessness. Why am I staring at Chapstick? Why is this the thing I’ll remember when I think back to this moment? The moment my heart crushed in on itself. I couldn’t breathe. Somewhere in this crazy train of thought, I stopped breathing.

My gut. It sucker punched my gut. My gut hurt.

“Hello? Hello?”

He was speaking again, trying to get my attention. How long have I been silent?

“You’re a what?” I croaked out.

“I’m a vamp. My father was a vampire. My mother was human. I was born a hybrid. I grew up with my mother. I’m just like you. Only…different.”

“No, you’re not just like me. You’re a vamp. You’re a different species. It doesn’t get anymore unlike me.”

“I know this is a shock-”

“No, this is more than just shock.” My anger replaced my surprise and my voice grew stronger with the new emotion flooding me. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. I should’ve listened to my gut on day one.”

“Your gut told you to talk to me. I was there. You had the same spark I did.”

My face burned at his observation. “I did not,” I lied. “I hadn’t heard a voice in years and I was desperate. But I’m not
that
desperate that I’m going to sit here and get tricked by a vamp!”

“I’m not tricking you!”

“I can’t even stand to hear your voice right now.”

What I said must have struck a nerve with him because he spoke his next words in low, worried tones. “Please. I get it, okay? You feel betrayed and I’m sorry. You have every right to be mad at me. Just…feel what you need to. When the anger fades, just think about all the things we talked about. All that was me. Our conversations meant something to me. Don’t just shut me out. Please.”

I sat woodenly on the couch. My hand still pressed the phone to my ear but I felt like I was about to drop it any second. His words kept slicing through me. He forced a divide in me that felt like it was going to rip through my skin. The guy I had been smitten over now had to compete with the realization that he was one of
them
. I felt sick.

“I have to go,” I said flatly.

“Will you call me tomorrow?” His voice was a plea.

“No, I won’t call you tomorrow. I wouldn’t talk to you if you were the last vampire on earth. And that’s not a fucking figure of speech.”