postcard amelie 12
You know of only one way to make someone like you. And that’s to devour them. Hard to be more like you than when they’re part of you, hugging you as tight as fat beneath your skin.
You never got back to sleep. You don’t sleep well unless you’re full, yet here you are with a belly groaning through the final stages of an immense feed still unable to sleep.
Amelie’s breathing gets lighter as the morning draws on. She finally switches to silent, waking breathing around nine. You sense her heartbeat pick up. She’s here with you, not out wherever she went dreaming.
Her eyes flutter open. You’re the first thing she sees. Her heartrate increases again and her gaze roves over you. A crooked smile forms on her face but falters when she sees your expression.
“You look serious.”
When you don’t speak straightaway she sits up on one elbow. The thin Spanish duvet slips from her shoulders and your eyes leave her body undevoured.
“Raven, what’s wrong?”
You reach out a hand and stroke her cheek with the back of chubby fingers. Even scared in the moment, even aware of how deadly you can be, she unconsciously rubs her cheek against your caress.
“I have an offer for you.”
She freezes, then scrambles to her knees. Your hand she grasps between her own, holding it to her chest. Her expression is pure, desperate pleading but she doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she can’t bring herself to ask for fear of a rejection.
You speak instead. “I will make you like me.”
She lets out sob of relief and kisses the back of your hand. You experience a strange power rush: it honestly looks like she believes you’re saving her life right now.
Then, a hesitance stills her breathing, and you see a dull fear pollute the brief elation. “I’m ready. For… whatever you’ve decided.”
You try a comforting smile. “This is dangerous. I don’t know if it will work. It’s not how I achieved the change. But there’s a chance. Okay?”
“Wait.” The fear is actually vanishing from her expression, chased away by some hope whose source you can only guess at. “Wait. This is really happening? You’re… not going to turn around and eat me?”
You smile and shake your head. With your eyes closed you look regretful. “I want to. You’re delicious. But I don’t think I can anymore.”
A beat while this sinks in, then you feel two hands stroke either side of your face. Your eyes meet hers, cloudy green in that tanned, elegant face while she scours yours, seeking the truth of your words among the red and the violet she can now perceive.
She believes you. You can tell because she collapses at once across you, ugly-crying. Feeling a little embarrassed you stroke her back while the paroxysm abates. “I’ve been so scared,” she says in between sobs. “So scared you were tricking me with double-meaning and I was going to end up like the others, like my brother’s friend, kicking and screaming in the dark…”
You recall her running mascara, evidence of secret crying, and wonder how she’s been holding it together. “Why didn’t you get away if you were so scared?”
“Because I—” She picks her face up from where it was smooshed into your belly and laughs, wiping her eyes with her fingertips like she’s afraid of ruining makeup long wrecked. “I think I’m falling for you, Raven.”
A poorly-timed glorp from your industriously working gut makes her glance down and start absently massaging your tummy, long slow circles that knead your skin like proved dough. It gives you a second to collect your thoughts.
You let the explanation slip by. It’s dangerous to get invested at this point. “You won’t leave this room like you are now. You’ll be changed. Are you ready to do something dangerous? And something others might call terrible? Be certain. You might wish you’d crawled down my throat and given me one last orgasm.”
You feel the shiver pass through her at the image. “I’m certain.”
“Then know that you’re not whole. When I drank your blood, I supped also on your soul.” You ignore her gasp. It’s hard not to feel pain when she draws back, but she stops herself before she stops touching you. “You’ll never get that part back, it’s mine now. But it means there’s space in you. That I can fill. Come here.”
At your gesture she moves up the bed till she’s kneeling by your hips. You shuffle to sit up against the headboard then raise your wrist to your lips. The pain of biting is as sharp for you as it is for any of your prey.
A couple of drops of blood patter down on your belly. “Drink from me.” When she hesitates, just watching you, your voice turns sharp. “Drink!”
She leaps to it. Her lips feel soft against your skin and the suction is distasteful: you do not enjoy being fed upon. It helps that you had to command her. But you let her take back the five swallows you took, though you pulled so much more from her.
When you pull away she licks her lips, and again. The sight of your lover with blood on her teeth kicks your heart racing. A keen feeling of kinship arises, strong enough that you worry briefly that you have somehow bound yourself to her, but no: it’s just the feeling that here is someone who can know the world like you know it. Who perhaps could be with you beyond any mortal span.
When you kiss her she yields like a virgin, shy but willing. You taste blood in the heat of her mouth. A small part of you craves more, to find the river of her life and drain it away, but that part is silenced easier and easier.
She makes a small uncertain sound. You withdraw, looking into both her eyes. They are a little unfocused, and she puts her hand to her stomach. “Feels funny.”
“Shh, it’s okay,” you say, less certain than you’re letting on. “Relax. I’m helping your body learn how to take what it wants.”
Your enhanced weight is no match for your concern and your raw strength. You sit up and last Amelie on her back. She looks pale, slightly black around the eyes, and her heart is beating shallow and thready. “Don’t leave,” she says, grabbing your arm.
“Not going anywhere.” You stroke her hair.
The rigours last an hour. Amelie is hot, cold, thirsty, hungry, sick, by turns. For half an hour she is buckled up with pain that you know is hunger but which she is learning for the first time. Then the hunger gives way to giddiness and laughter.
“Order me room service. Biggest bellhop they got.”
“Shh. You need to start smaller.”
All of a sudden the manic energy leaves her. She sinks into semi-consciousness, stroking your hand on her chest and unable to communicate.
The next step presents itself to you. “Rest, Amelie. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, with everything you need.”
Amelie’s stroking becomes slower and slower until she is asleep. You are charmed to notice that she snores exactly as she did before your blood spread through her system and widened the cracks you put in her soul. Yours was a different path, but you know just what to do next
You carefully climb out of bed, dress in silence, and slip out into the hotel.