Blood Doll (13)

Sunlight illuminates my entire room, I notice when I wake. Had I accepted Ang’s offer to come over, by now I would already be there. More pressing matters must be dealt with, which made it easier to decline. There are four hours left until I must meet Mason.

A note has been left on the kitchen counter, informing that Mother and Father have gone off antique shopping, leaving the house to myself (or me?). The hardly legible hand of my father’s forces me to squint as I decipher the words.

Close to an hour is spent watching a movie to pass time. I fidget and daydream, ignoring the movie until I finally shut it off. Sweat clings to my flesh as I stretch and dance in the Circle until it is time to get ready and leave.

Despite that I should care much less about what I will wear and actually berate myself for how much I do care, more of my time is spent filing through many outfits than showering. In the end, a black shirt that falls from my shoulders is chosen, along with white shorts, layers of ripped tights and fishnets, and pointed witch boots.

After writing a note explaining shopping as my absence to my parents, I make certain my phone is charged before I zip it inside my coffin bag and leave.

Like a hummingbird having overtaken my heart, my pulse surges as I urge my car into the park, then between two vans squatting just across from the duck pond. Head against the steeling wheel, three deep breaths are necessary to calm me even slightly.

Miraculously, I exit the car and take a meandering path to the pond. The sun glitters across the water’s rippled surface, and I regret not bringing a parasol. Once in the shade of a textured oak tree, I curl my fingers around the wrought iron fence surrounding the pond and peer in. A plethora of rainbow fish swirls beneath the surface, and I watch them, allowing my heart to slow.

Children screech while harassing the playground. Ducks and small birds hiding in trees chirp, squawk, and quack. Vehicles rumble as they pass through the park. The fountain in the middle of the pond gurgles when its spray smacks onto the sparkling surface.

Because of all this, I notice nothing until ring-clad fingers grasp the fence to my right. My breath catches. The realization that he has effectively snuck up on me encourages me to face him.

Other than clothes and time of day, his appearance has refrained from changing. Still, he looms over me. His black hair frames his face, his eyes heavily outlined. Form fitting black pants and a black top covered by a trench coat accentuate his svelte form, black boots making him an inch or so taller.

His brown eyes inspect me as mine do him. The attention forces tiny bits of pink to my cheeks. In the end, I lower my eyes to the ground. Curiosity at my actions rises momentarily, but wanes quickly.

“I’m glad you came,” Mason says.

Nodding, I reply, “I gave you my word to hear you out, remember?”

“I do.” A bulbous blonde woman cradling a baby passes us by, her eyes refusing to leave Mason and me. Mason seems to notice this also. “Would you like to go sit down somewhere?” he asks.

“Sure,” I relent. After a moment, I accept the arm he offers, allow him to lead me away from the pond. Caution precedes me; as we make our way through the grass, I scan the park. People are spotted here and there, never in one place for long. It is not set that any will be within hearing distance. Mason and I are in sight, though, I find.

He has brought me to the outdoor stage stationed in the exact middle of the park. On holidays, like the Fourth of July, hundreds of people swarm the grassy area around the stage to listen to festive musicians, while others roam the legion of tents selling an assortment of things, from stuffed animals to candles.

There are no steps in sight, so Mason clambers onto the stage and holds a hand out to help me up. Our shoes echo as we cross the floor to the back of the stage.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t bring any cushions or blankets. It didn’t occur to me,” Mason admits. He sits with the stage’s wall against his back, and I tentatively slip my bag from my shoulders and do the same. Regardless of the people around, the stage is very private. I am not fully comfortable with it, but say nothing.

We sit in silence. Finally, though, Mason situates himself in front of me, his back to the grass, away from the rest of the park. He is maybe two feet from me, his crossed legs near mine. Elbows resting on his knees, he steeples his fingers. We meet eyes for a long moment.

Taking a deep breath, Mason asks, “Will you tell me your point of view of what happened at Drac’s Lair?”

“Why?”

“It may help me better explain myself to you if I know what you know. I’d rather not mess this up because you weren’t informed of something vital,” Mason clarifies.

“What is there to say?” I inquire. “I found the flyer for Drac’s Lair in my bag at my doctor’s office. I went to the party not knowing that I would be handcuffed to a stage, cut up in front of a crowd, or locked up in a stranger’s apartment because he�",” Mason accepts my pointed stare good-naturedly�", “believed me to be high as a kite. Should I say any more?”

“I know you weren’t on drugs, else it would’ve affected me when I drank your blood,” Mason says. “Do you know who put the flyer in your bag?”

“Nope.”

“And you know none of the people that were there?”

Embarrassment encourages my eyes to drop. Though belatedly, I had already realized going alone was something thoroughly regrettable. “No.”

“Do you know why you were handcuffed to the stage?”

Despite the annoyance pent up beneath my flesh, my mouth remains closed. The knowledge that I could snap at him neglects to arouse pleasure. Instead, I merely inspect his boots before shaking my head.

A length of hush encloses the two of us.

“I wasn’t informed of anything at all,” I finally admit. “The only thing I can say I honestly know is that,” I pause, persistent in inspecting the stage floor, “I’m still afraid of you, but I’m trying to get over it.”

Neither of us moves until Mason touches his hand to my knee. I stiffen, scrutinize how his vintage rings shine minutely. His hand is warm through my ripped tights and fishnets. “Don’t be afraid of me. I’m not worth it. I’m different, but not something to fear.”

“Different how? Do you think you’re a vampire or something?”

A chuckle leaves Mason’s vocal cords. “You’re getting warmer than deranged-cannibal-psycho-killer�"which, I admit, I deserved�"but not quite. Try Sanguinarian.”

“Are you going for the ‘happy’ side of that, or the ‘blood’ side?” I inquire, though I infer the answer quickly enough.

“Blood. I have to drink it to survive. There are others out there like me; you were in the midst of at least fifteen last weekend. We’re harmless, I promise. Only when we’re deprived of blood for lengths of time does it get a bit bad. The effects of not drinking, not feeding, rise. It’s different for everyone.”

“What are yours?” I ask dubiously.

“Mostly, the sun hurts my eyes more, I get migraine-like headaches, and the want for blood is so much that I’m not as harmless as I’d like to be. I’m not deprived now, though, don’t worry.”

“How did you get to be…like this?”

“I wasn’t turned, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s a myth better left for vampires. In fact, let’s just get the myths out of the way now. Combusting in sunlight: myth, though some do burn easily.”

“Garlic?” I supply.

“Myth, unless the Sanguin really does have an allergic reaction to it.”

“Crosses?”

“Myth.”

“Stake to the heart?”

Mason raises an eyebrow. “Would you die if I shoved a stake into your heart?” A shy smile is his reply. “Yes, I will die if you stake me and or cut off my head. And, no, I’m not dead.”

“Prove it.” My face portrays dead seriousness as Mason examines it carefully.

“You don’t trust me?” he teases.

“Take it as potentially spurring on a first act of faith,” I reply.

Lips curved upward, Mason guides my hand to the side of his neck, just under his jaw. He leans forward slightly, and I mimic him, which brings out faces closer. Our eyes stay on one another’s until the pads of my fingers detect it. Protruding beats pulse under his skin.

“I am very jealous of Aaron right now,” Mason sighs. My fingers are released good-naturedly when I begin to withdraw.

“Can I be frank with you?” I ask.

“Please do,” Mason acquiesces.

“I don’t know who this Aaron is. At Drac’s Lair, people kept referring to him before I was…handcuffed onstage. I assume he’s the one you mean. I’ve only met one Aaron in my lifetime, and I know he would never be caught dead at Drac’s Lair.”

Of the times Mason has looked at me between a week ago and today, now is the first that I feel he is truly studying me as if my words are untrue. There is no reason to be doubtful of me, and so I merely hold his gaze with a blank expression.

“I guess I have to take your word for it all.”

“I don’t lie,” I say before reconsidering. Just a couple of hours ago I had lied about meeting Mason. “At least, not much.”

“Good.”

“Why do you say that?”

Smirking mischievously, Mason replies, “It gives me more of a chance than I assumed. Unless you have a boyfriend?”

Heat sifts to my cheeks, and I shake my head. Out of the corner of my eye, relief is apparent in both his posture and face, though I feign ignorance at this. Instead, I ponder something he has brought up. “You said something about donors.”

“We have to get blood somehow,” Mason informs me. “By donors, animal blood, or autovampirism. Autovampirism does pretty much nothing for satiating the Beast, in my opinion, which is a commonly used name for the ‘Thirst’ Sanguins get. It’s when you drink your own blood. To me, it actually makes the need for another source skyrocket.

“Animal blood and donors…You can acquire animal blood from a slaughterhouse, and it’s fresh and relatively inexpensive. People don’t look twice at me if I’ve brought some god awful recipe that calls for goose blood or something.” Fidgeting with an earring, Mason continues, “The most common around here are cow, pig, and deer. It disgusts me to drink it, so I only do it when I’m desperate.

“Lastly, there are some people willing to give us their blood. Of the three sources I’ve told you about, this is definitely the most satiating. A few were at Drac’s Lair. Three that you might remember would be the people on the stage with you.

“You know, I’m not even sure why those people tricked you into going up there; no offense, but you could have a various number of blood diseases. How could anyone be sure you aren’t diabetic or anemic?”

Humor lights my face. “Because the day I found that flyer was one of the days I was at the doctor’s for blood work,” I offer. “I know that I have nothing wrong with my blood. I’m not diabetic or anemic, and I’m fairly certain there’s no transmittable disease running through my veins, else I wouldn’t be able to donate to the Red Cross. No, whoever gave me the flyer knew that my body actually produces more blood than I need.”

“How does that work?” Mason wonders.

“It doesn’t.” Duh, hangs unsaid at the end.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” he admits.

“I didn’t know that…Sanguinarians were possible, so I guess we’re even.”

“Yes. I suppose so,” Mason agrees. Obviously much more comfortable in each other presences than before, he and I watch the other openly. Our silence is considerably less awkward and tense. We sit across from one another, uncertain what to say or do, though content in our hesitancy.

Not long after, the realization occurs that few children, if any, can be heard shrieking. In fact, the entire park is relatively serene. Possibly, this is due to the fact that the sun has lowered below the horizon, casting shadow to Mullberton Park, to the rest of the city.

Regardless of our close proximity, Mason can hardly be detected now, excluding his pale face and hands. “It’s getting dark,” I observe. “I believe I should go.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” Mason stands, then offers his hand. When we are both standing, he says, “Your hands are freezing. Are you cold?” My stammered objection goes unheeded as he shrugs off his trench coat, enwraps me delicately within it. Pride helps me neglect to confess I was, in fact, freezing, but I cave enough to accept his coat. The interior retains the heat his body emanated enough to suppress my chills.

“Won’t you freeze?” I ask. Hand lightly pressing my back, Mason guides me to the edge of the stage.

“I’ll be fine,” he assures me. He hops onto the ground, grass crunching under the impact of his boots, then hovers to give assistance as I sit on the end of the stage. I allow him to take my waist in his hands and help me down. “In any case, frostbite gives you a reason to call the cops.”

“It’s not nearly cold enough for that,” I protest. “Besides,” I add softly as we begin our diminutive trek, “I’m not going to call the cops.”

The entire park seems long vacated by the time we reach my car. One other vehicle perches within view, a dark, curving outline that I infer is Mason’s. What many people here the couple of hours Mason and I had been gone have disappeared, taking families with them, along with the cacophony of noise. The fear of my companion harming me in any way is depleted fully, though. Miraculously, no sense of fear or awkwardness resides in my body.

I turn to him, crane my neck to meet his eyes. “Thank you for meeting me today,” Mason says. “You can’t begin to understand how much it means to me.”

“You’re welcome,” I reply.

“I know it’s a lot to take it all at once,” he persists, “but I need to know that, even if you don’t�"I’d rather you tell no one about what I am. If the wrong person finds out, it could screw my life up so badly.”

“Your secret is safe with me. I promise.”

“Thank you again.” A short breath of satisfaction streams from his nose. For a moment, I merely watch him bite his bottom lip. Finally, he says, “I’d like to see you again sometime.”

“This is a lot to take in all at once,” I remind him tentatively. “It may take awhile to process it all, but, honestly, I believe I’d like to see you again, too. Plus, you have yet to tell me of your happenings at Drac’s Lair.”

Mason nods his consent. “Unless you deleted the numerous times I called, my number should still be in your phone.”

“It is.” To conceal my slight embarrassment as this admission, I turn to unlock my door. “And I will. Call you, I mean. Though I can’t promise exactly when it will be.”

“Soon, I hope,” Mason says. There is nothing more I can reply with, and so I make to return his jacket. “Hold on to it,” he insists. “I don’t need it right now.”

Without protest, I shrug it on again. Once I have tossed my bag into the passenger side seat, I face him once more. Though his eyes clearly inspect me, waiting, I cannot force myself to meet his eyes as I timidly settle a hug around his waist.

Hesitation is prominent in him for only a second before his arms surround my frame in return. My face presses into his chest; the mysterious scent enveloping his trench coat and sheets clings to him.

Immediately after breaking away, I scuttle into my car. “Can I ask you something?” I ask after a moment.

“Shoot.” He takes a step closer, his hand touching my door, and bends to easily meet my eyes.

“How do you have my number? I’m fairly sure I didn’t willingly hand it over, or hand it over at all.”

A wince crinkles Mason’s features slightly. “I probably shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry I invaded your privacy, but, honestly, I don’t regret it.”

“You went through me phone.” I allow a smile to grace my lips. “I figured something along those lines.” Blindly, my fingers fumble to insert the key, then turn it. When the car starts, I meet his eyes once more. “Goodbye,” I say.

            “See you,” Mason returns before closing the door for me.

            The only time I am able to take another glance at him once I have pulled out of the parking slot is through the rearview mirror as I start for home.