Chapter Four

"Between me and the moonlight flitted a great bat, coming and going in great, whirling circles."

- An excerpt from Bram Stoker's Dracula

 

A short entry by Patrick Symmonds

I’m an expert at staring into space. It’s a daily occurrence, some days I make it an event. Sometimes I go down to the city’s one art museum and stare at the acrylics, the oils, sometimes the prints. The ghosts in Edvard Munch’s paintings, the monsters in Caravaggio’s, and the w****s of the Edo Period paintings... I could stare at them for hours. And after hours you can almost feel them staring back.

 

Most days, I take the 20 minute bike ride to the themed gardens and watch ripples in the Japanese garden’s Koi pond. That’s where I spent most of Sunday; two days after Hayley and I had our first kiss. The nights that followed were excruciating. All I could do was replay it all in my head; the way she had pressed her hands against my thighs, the way she had pushed her fingers through my hair, and the way her tongue tasted as she threw her body against mine. She was so rough, and yet every part of her was so delicate and soft... I wondered for a moment, as an orange Koi bumped its head against the surface of the pond, where had she learnt to act like that? It scared me a little. Not so much the fact that she was obviously much more physically experienced than I was, but more because of the way she made me feel when she did the things she did.

 

 

I closed my eyes for a moment. I could feel her... pushing her knee between my legs. I shook my head and tried to count cherry blossoms to distract myself. With a sigh I pulled my hat lower and leant over the rails of the bridge that crossed the Koi pond. This is bullshit I thought, I bet no one in Japan even has a garden like this. I used a dead branch to prod the surface of the water, making small ripples.

 

 

Hayley was always asking questions about me, and she tried to keep it a secret but I knew she had read every single vampire history book in the school library. Probably every single one at the City Library too... “If I let you... would you bite me?” That was a new one. I felt a shiver run down my spine just replaying those words in my head. I wanted to...and that scared me. After years of learning the hard way and being bent to the rules of this so-called society... I’m still so much like my forefathers.

 

 

“Patty!” I heard my mother’s voice calling me. I was 5, and it was a family friend’s party. I remember wearing a blue Batman pullover, but for some reason whenever I recall this memory- I see everything else in sepia. My mother’s curls waving back in the wind as she ran towards me from the picnic table. Kimberly’s mud covered dress; and the tears that ran down her face as she held on to her wounded knee. The tray of cupcakes her mother dropped as she gasped and tore off her apron to run towards us.

 

 

The only other colour in this memory is red; the red on Kimberly’s knee, and the red on my hand after I had tried to help her up. Bright, cool red... like poster paint or a candy apple... the sight drew me in and held me hostage. I stared at it. And it stared back.

 

 

I placed my fingers to my lips just as my mother’s hands came down on my shoulders.

 

 

That was the only time I had ever tasted another person’s blood. And incidentally, the last time I ever saw Kimberly and her family. My mother was always ashamed of what we were, and always tried so hard to pretend to be one of them. It’s a difficult game to keep going, and so we moved a lot, for a lot of reasons... and that one time, the reason was me.

 

The fourth time we moved, we left dad behind. Either that or he just didn’t want to come... I can never remember.

 

 

“Patty?” I turned and saw Hayley standing at the other end of the bridge. She looked sad and lost, hugging herself as she stared back at me.

 

“Hey,” I replied as she walked towards me.

 

 

She stopped. “Are you avoiding me?”

 

 

“What?” I looked at her, then dropped my gaze, “No,” I said, “Of course not,”

 

 

“We haven’t spoken since Friday,” She said. I could hear the disappointment in her voice, and it weighed me down.

 

 

“I’m sorry,” I said, “I’m just...” I trailed off.

 

 

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” I felt her hand on mine and looked up at her again. She smiled softly, “I didn’t mean to,”

 

 

“You didn’t,” I lied, and smiled back weakly, “I’m just- I... I don’t know how to...” I paused and let out a heavy sigh, “I’m afraid,” I finally said.

 

 

“Of what?”

 

 

“Myself,” I said, and she looked confused, “I don’t know what will happen if I... If I were to... bite you. What if something bad happens?”

 

“It won’t,” She said, and placed her hands against my cheeks, holding my face in her hands. “Patrick, I trust you,” she smiled, pushing my hair back and lifting my hat a little, “I’m sorry if I made things weird,” our foreheads touched and I slid my eyes shut to breathe her in.

 

“Me too,” I replied and cupped her face in my hands, tilting her chin so her eyes met mine. She smiled softly and leant forward to kiss me. I liked the way her lip gloss tasted, and the way it stuck to my lips. I felt her tongue push its way into my mouth, and the sensation gave me an instant head rush. I could feel my face burning red.

 

We broke apart when it started to rain, giggling at each other. She rode my bike back to her house, and I ran alongside her, laughing as we dodged joggers in raincoats. I liked the way she periodically glanced back at me with a warm smile that took my breath away; like she was constantly making sure I hadn't dissappeared, that I was real. She was perfect; her dark red lip gloss and black lined hazel eyes... her charcoal cardigan and deep red tartan skirt... and her mud covered doc martins that squelched through the puddles outside her house as we ran inside, slamming the bright green door behind us in a fit of giggles.

 

When I recall this memory, it'll play as it was. Nothing will be in sepia.