Velvet

Gareth literally stumbles upon a pretty girl lying on the roadside.

Gareth’s day would have been normal if he hadn’t tripped over a corpse on his way to school.

 

            His morning had started off abysmally even before that.  First his alarm hadn’t gone off.  Wouldn’t you know it, the power had flickered out while he had been asleep, passed out over his English 104 thesis.  Apparently it had flickered back on again three hours and six minutes before he woke, because when he finally managed to open his leaden eyes the digital numbers flashes 3:06 mockingly.  In checking his watch, he was furious to realize class had already started.  His paper was late and so was he.

 

            Then, after cursing up a storm and waking his always-grouchy cat, Bottoms, Gareth had taken a shower.  Or, rather, tried to.  Whatever had caused the power outage had also killed the heaters and the morons assigned to fixing it had yet to crank up a decent stream of warm water.

 

            Teeth chattering, Gareth dried and dressed himself—which proved to be just as aggravating.  His normally cooperative dark hair was getting to that point; when it was too short to style but too long to comb down nicely.  (But the universe had some mercy, thank God, because he managed to hide the mess under a baseball cap, which at that point he had expected to find as Bottoms’ new litter box.)

 

            Unfortunately, there was then the matter of socks.  Falling into a college stereotype, he had ignored his dirty laundry in favor for finishing his paper.  But this made week four with unwashed socks.  Even in college, there was only so much body odor his peers would stand for.

 

            So Gareth put on sandals.  When he opened the door to his apartment, he found it had stormed the night before.  Rain dripped from every ledge and tree branch.  Mud puddles as long as his truck could be seen from his second story balcony view.

 

            The storm didn’t surprise him.  You came to expect this sort of thing in the western rainy part of Washington State.  But it did mean, on a dreary November morning, that the day would not warm up one degree.  So in the end, even his sandal solution had failed him.

 

            His stomach rumbling (he had only milk, V8 Splash, and beer in his refrigerator), Gareth set out to face the world.  He prayed his day wouldn’t get any worse.

 

            When he reached the sidewalk, he stumbled over the corpse.

 

            “Damn!”  He watched in helpless frustration as his papers spilled across the wet pavement.  His thesis, of course, flew straight into the nearest puddle.  At first he believed his neighbors had left a lumpy bag of garbage in a less-than-convenient location.  But when he turned to eye the garbage in distaste, he had to blink.

 

            It was a corpse.

 

            Gareth had to blink again.  Forgetting his already abysmal morning, he crouched beside the corpse.  A strange fascination encouraged him to reach out and touch the corpse’s throat.

 

            A pulse.  Faint, but noticeable.  It wasn’t a corpse, but a deathly pale girl.

 

            His plans flew straight out the window.  Gareth dropped his bag and placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, shaking her gently.  She stirred, groaned softly, and then went still again.

 

            Gareth made a risky assumption:  he decided she was, for the most part, unharmed.  He pulled her into his arms, grunting with the effort, and staggered back up the stairs and to his apartment.  Things got tricky then; he had to balance dead weight in one arm and fish out his key with another.  Somehow he managed to get her through the door without dropping her or his keys.

 

            A part of him knew he should call paramedics, but for some reason instinct told him no.  Instead, Gareth found an extra blanket he normally reserved for late winter nights and wrapped the strange girl in it.  He swept a bag of Lays and some stray dirty laundry off the couch and did his best to make her prone form comfortable.  She stirred again when he tucked the blanket under her, but she did not regain consciousness.

 

            Gareth slipped out of his sandals.  He grimaced as his bare feet came in contact with the linoleum floor.  A quick hunting found him some used—but not terribly rancid—socks.  His feet now warm, he sought out the thermostat.  He hated what it would do to his electric bill, but nevertheless turned it up ten degrees.  Then, after checking her once more, he filled a teapot and waited for it to boil.

 

            As he leaned against the counter, the corner biting into his hip, Gareth grimly wondered what he was doing.  Or why.

 

            Okay, so the girl was pretty, he reasoned.  Even soaking wet and unconscious, like a drowned puppy, she was cute.  She had thick black hair that hung straggled past her shoulders, and long lashes that rested delicately against the curve of her cheek.  And, of course, the wet clothes had left little to the imagination—she was a decently curvy girl.

 

            But she could have drugs on her, or a weapon.

 

            Despite his own inner arguments, Gareth mixed two cups of hot cocoa.  He dropped small marshmallows into one and returned with it to the living room.  He eyed her doubtfully—she was still out cold—but perched on the armrest by her feet and turned on the TV.

 

            Typical weekday crap, he decided quickly.  All the cartoons were preschool shows and after the Colbert Report, there was nothing else interesting on until mid-afternoon.

 

            He took a sip of cocoa and checked his watch.  10:47.  He was definitely screwed.

 

            Now, of course, there was the matter of what to do with the girl.  Gareth eyed her again, frowning.  Some color was returning to her cheeks, and her hair was beginning to dry.  Whether she was still unconscious or now simply safely asleep remained to be seen.

 

            He used his free hand to reach out and nudge her shoulder.

 

            The girl’s eyes snapped open before he even touched her.

 

            Gareth started.  Or rather, panicked.  He jumped off the armrest, the mug slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor.  The smell of steamed chocolate filled the air, strangely soothing in the abrupt tense atmosphere.

 

            The girl remained in her man-made cocoon, staring at Gareth with surprisingly intense brown eyes.  He realized he had never before considered brown eyes to be intent—usually they were gentle or guarded.  But hers glimmered with grim, piercing coldness.

 

            Finally, Gareth let out a slow, heavy breath.  He tried to make his voice soothing, but found it came out wary and tense.  “Relax.  I didn’t do anything to you.”

 

            She shot him a look of exasperated suspicion, but seemed to calm somewhat.  She wriggled into a sitting position, despite the blanket.  Slowly she surveyed the apartment.  When she at last seemed satisfied, she looked at him again and said quietly, “You brought me here.”

 

            Gareth wasn’t sure how to respond to that.  Hesitantly, he said, “Sort of.  I found you outside, by the road.  I just brought you inside.”

 

            The girl said nothing for a minute.  She continued to stare at him uncomfortably; almost as a child would to a relative he hadn’t ever really met in person before.  But when she spoke next, there was a hint of gratitude.  “Thanks.  I guess.”

 

            Despite himself, Gareth found his mouth twitching into a smile.  “You’re welcome, I guess.”

 

            To his surprise, she returned the smile.  It vanished quickly, but it was enough for him to determine that it, too, was pretty.  She had generous lips that stretched out, showing a slight gap between the two front teeth.  It was an endearing, if childish, smile.

 

            Gareth started to take a step toward her, but was instantly reminded of the spilled cocoa.  He cursed and hopped back on his dry foot, wrestling off the ruined sock.  “Excuse me,” he muttered.  He hobbled into the kitchen, almost dropped the sock in the corner, but rethought and made the three-second trip to the hamper.

 

            The girl said nothing as he cleaned the mess.  When he bothered to look at her, she was always watching him steadily.  Perhaps he should have been concerned, but Gareth shrugged it off—for the time being.

 

            With the mess wiped up and the second mug of fresh cocoa, Gareth returned to his perched position on the armrest.  The girl had to wriggle quite a bit to get her arms loose from the cocoon.  He couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

 

            “So what’s your name?” he finally asked.

 

            She blew on the cocoa, watching the steam curl from the mug and toward the ceiling.  Then she said, “You first.”

 

            He should have known.  “Gareth.”

 

            “Velvet.”

 

            Gareth arched an eyebrow in question.  Velvet grimaced and, refusing to look at him, said, “It was chosen for me.”  She tilted the mug toward her lips and cautiously sipped.

 

            He decided to let it drop.  “What were you doing out there?”

 

            Velvet shrugged and sipped again.  “Dying.”

 

            Clearly she wasn’t the talkative type.  That was fine with Gareth.  He preferred succinct answers to long and complicated tales.  But he wasn’t fond of cryptic comments, either, and it seemed like she had something to hide.  Which was ridiculous, he thought.  He’d just saved her life.

 

            When she chose not to elaborate, Gareth said, “Okay, then.  Why were you out there?”

 

            Instead of answering, Velvet looked him in the eye and said mildly, “Do you have a change of clothes?”  Gareth blinked.  “Mine are still wet,” she pointed out dryly.

 

            Gareth sighed and rose once again.  “Nothing clean, really,” he grumbled.  He opened his closet, peering at the barren hangers.  He leaned in, looked both ways, and found a pile of old clothes on the floor.  He’d worn them in too well, and had never exactly gotten around to bagging them and dropping them off at Goodwill.

 

            He fished out a pair of baggy khaki pants and a casual white collared shirt.  In the living room, he tossed them to Velvet and said, “Here.  Go ahead and change in the bathroom.”

 

            Velvet nodded and untangled herself from the blanket.  Gareth waited until the door closed firmly behind her before he picked it up.  He walked to a closet with folding doors, opened them, and stuffed the blanket in the dryer.  Since he was already moving about, he figured he might as well do laundry.  He grabbed a pile of clothes from the living room and dumped them in the washer.

 

            “You can dry these, too.”  Velvet’s voice made him jump.  Angry at himself for letting her startle him, Gareth turned and took the offered wet clothes without thinking.  He let her street clothes join the blanket.

 

            When all was said and done, he had a pretty and mostly-dry girl sitting on his couch, wearing his old clothes, looking cute in them, and watching mindless television with him.

 

            Gareth checked his watch every other commercial.  He couldn’t quite place his anxiety—maybe it was because it looked like he’d be missing a full day of classes.  Or perhaps it was Velvet.  As mild-mannered as she seemed, something strange about her set his nerves on edge.  And yet he had no valid reason for feeling that way.  After all, what was there to fear from a slight girl who looked like she couldn’t hold her own in a fight?

 

            The dryer noisily clunked away in the background.  He noticed Velvet tilt her head toward the folding doors.

 

            A pretty but weird girl, Gareth concluded.

 

            In the middle of a catchy commercial jingle, Velvet said, “I haven’t eaten in a while.”

 

            Gareth tore his attention from the screen.  He frowned.  “Why didn’t you say so?”  He moved to rise.  “What do you want?  I don’t have much, but we can order pizza or take-out or something.”

 

            Velvet moved with quick sureness he would never have expected from her.  She blocked him from standing, using her temporary height leverage to push him back to the couch.  She deftly removed his hat and pressed her lips to his forehead.

 

            It was impossible to explain in human terms what happened next.

 

            Later, when he had time to gather his thoughts, Gareth would say it felt like she was pulling at something from inside.  For a moment it hurt.  Then there was the strange release of pressure, like taking off a painfully tight Band-Aid.  Something like a billion softly glowing fireflies seemed to erupt in frenzy from behind his eyes.

 

            When she pulled away the tugging persisted for a moment, almost as though there was a thin string connecting Velvet’s mouth and wherever the fireflies came from.  Then she clicked her teeth softly and the phantom string snapped.  The remarkable sensations vanished.  Gareth stared at her blankly before collapsing against the old, rough cushions.  The world seemed to shine around the edges.  He dimly wondered if this was what being on serious drugs was like.

 

            Velvet touched his cheek, her eyes serious and a little sad.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

            Gareth blinked hazily.  Was it just him, or did her skin seem flushed?  She certainly wasn’t pale now.  Even her hair had mysteriously dried, falling in soft waves around her shoulders.  And her eyes weren’t brown anymore.  They were a clear shade of blue-gray.

 

            She passed her fingers over his eyelids, and Gareth felt no desire to go against her wishes.  He allowed himself to relax.  He was tired, anyway.  It wasn’t like he’d slept much the night before.

 

            Again, there was a gentle touch to his face.  Her fingers were slim and warm.  He liked that.

 

            “I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice no louder than it had been a moment ago.  “But I needed the energy.”  She kissed him again, pausing to nuzzle his hair for a moment.  She ran a hand through it, massaging his scalp.  Gareth felt himself falling even deeper into the pleasant sensations.  A nap sounded wonderful.

 

            She pulled away.  Gareth immediately missed her warmth.  But she wasn’t gone long.  He heard her pad back to him and felt her tuck his now-dry blanket around him.

 

            “You just need sleep,” Velvet murmured.

 

            Gareth mumbled an agreement.  He only somewhat heard her thank him for helping her.  She padded away again.  Moments later the front door shut with a certain finality.

 

            As he drifted off to sleep, Gareth was a little disappointed knowing he’d never see her again.

Author's Note

Just as an aside, Velvet's actions will make the most sense if you're familiar with the concepts of both "psychic vampires" and the "third eye".

Reviews

[Kara Emily Krantz]

wow. this is really well done. i dont think i've ever read anything like this - never really got into it. but you make it fascinating. thank you for sharing something that's obviously a passionate interest for you :)

"The smell of steamed chocolate filled the air, strangely soothing in the abrupt tense atmosphere."

that was a fantastic line!

" He decided to let it drop. "What were you doing out there?"



Velvet shrugged and sipped again. "Dying."


how awesome is that? i love the cryptic way you occasionally write, even if through your characters.

really impressed with this :) you made some fascinating characters here. i would love to have it continue, actually! ??

hugs

[Melissa]

Wonderful story, it might just win the contest.

[Emily B]

You might look at the sock in the cocoa. He wasn't wearing any earlier. He had on sandals.

Good story. I wasn't expecting the end.