if you love something
Allison and I naturally spend a lot of time together that night. I bring water, toast, sweet weak tea. She is bright enough for a baked potato at lunchtime. I share my iron supplements. You would not believe the dose I’m on.
God, come to think of it, where does it all go? You must have ingots of iron inside you. I’ve just googled. When you suck someone dry you might be consuming three-and-a-half grams of iron. Do you pee nails?
Sorry. I guess I’m still a little light-headed.
My recovery films are Nightmare Before Christmas and The Intern. Nothing at all happens in The Intern, it’s the most amazing waste of time. Allison sits curled up in your scarlet blanket, holding a mug of soup, and watches in perfect silence.
Until she speaks. I pause this absolute beige unit of a film.
“Am I in danger?”
“No, you’re definitely past the worst of it now. Though tell me if—”
“—That’s not what I meant. I mean, … is she going to kill me?”
“Oh!” I carefully constrain my smile. Acting too blasé about death is a surefire way to spook her. But… I’m fond of her. The way she touched you and offered herself to you yesterday moved me. If I’m honest with myself I don’t want to take away her freedom to sacrifice herself.
If I’m really, really honest, I want to make sure you have someone who could look after you if you take me.
“Okay. Right now, no. I don’t think that she could trace you if you ran. Don’t quote me on that. I don’t know the half of what she can do.”
“Okaaay… And if she turned up right now?”
I mull it over while I sip my tea. “I’m not going to lie to you. You would be in a fantastic amount of danger. She is extraordinarily dangerous.” Another sip while I watch her blanche. “We are what she eats, after all.”
She takes all this on board and looks like she’s struggling to breathe again. “You’re so calm. You’re safe?!”
“No. One day it’ll be my time. I like to think she’ll be gentle, but she needn’t be. And it won’t change the end. I’ll… we all suffer for her, before the end. But!” I lean forward in my chair, a tight smile on my face. “You saw her last night. You felt it too? More than alive. She mixed your death and your bliss and drank it down and the undertow didn’t take you. When did you last feel that alive?”
Allison doesn’t give an answer, instead staring into space. Memories and emotions and the be empty spaces where health and self were drained. She has a lot to process. I resume the programme.
She speaks again. “Does she… eat often?”
I chuckle. “You saw her. Felt her body. Sank into it, even. What do you think?”
“But… how many?”
After a little consideration, I shake my head. “There are some things you’ll have to ask her.”
“It must be thousands! To be that fat on blood. Unless she stores it in her body, but she was firm. … What is it? Why that smile?”
This time I laugh. “Nothing. She’s just pretty fascinating, right?”
Allison shouts at first: “She’s a vam—” then she cuts herself off and continues in a stage whisper, like she’s afraid to be overhead. “She’s a vampire. Undead! Evil people-eating monster!”
Perhaps my smile becomes a little fixed, because she remembers whose house she’s in and whose lover she’s speaking to. I let the silence stretch on a little while, during which she wraps herself tighter in your blanket.
“Is that what you believed last night? When you willingly fed her your own life?” When she doesn’t answer after a while, I murmur, “Her heart beats. She saves and takes lives. She can be vulnerable and goofy and silly. She laughs easily and she’s very fond of Chartreuse. She eats people and she still hasn’t beat my time trial on Sonic and Knuckles, even if she’s practising when I’m not around and she doesn’t think I know.”
Allison is frozen, like Mr De Niro onscreen. I let it play on.
The film is winding up. This time I’m the one who interrupts it. I pause on Anne Hathaway’s realisation about family vs. work priorities and turn to Allison.
“You asked how many. I will say that you’re the first she’s ever asked me to take care of. The first she kept once they had submitted to her hunger, barring me. So she must have seen something in you. Some reason to keep you around. But I don’t think I’m meant to cajole you into staying.
“Allison, if you want to go, I will help you go. Even try to cover your tracks. If you stay. I want it to be because you understand. How special Raven is. How she’s none of those things you said, even if by her very nature she ends life. Just say the word and I’ll… call you an Uber.”
I press play. After a thoughtful ham sandwich, Allison speaks, slowly. “I can’t. I can’t do this. I need to leave.”
It’s difficult for me to let her go. I keep picturing your face, how angry you might be. But I pack her some food, give her an extra layer in the form of one of my jumpers, and confirm the pick up location for her Uber. She’s chewing her lips as she climbs in. We don’t speak.
She drives off and I watch her go.
You are… strangely sanguine about the whole affair. When you get home it’s like you’re not interested in discussing her at all. I’m so much waiting for the other shoe to drop that you get annoyed about that and tell me to relax.
We spend the night relaxing. I order pitta gyros from a fantastic Greek restaurant I discovered. You demolish four meat-packed pittas with Greek salad and oregano chips (the tzatziki is packed with garlic so goes untouched). My hands are on your from the start: gentle worship of your tummy, thoughtful and loving.
A few days pass. You challenge me to a time trial on Sonic and I win by only a slim margin. You shit-talk me mercilessly and I kiss you.
A week later, there is a knock on the door. You open it to find Allison there, hugging herself. She looks petrified but can’t take her eyes off you.
“I’m sorry to call so late. I’m just… Raven, I can’t get you out of my mind.”