The First Vampire
I eat cheap hazelnut chocolate and cry. I've cried so often that it doesn't hinder me in licking out the chocolate goo from inside the harder shell. I'm so desperate to be thin that I'm already contemplating vomiting even as I eat but I know I won't. The rain shower has almost stopped and the air is beginning to smell rich and ripe and like fresh sown earth. The birds are twittering inanely and beautifully and I don't know whether I love or hate them. I squash the chocolate wrappers between my fingers and stare out the rain dotted window into the grey sky.
She is wearing clothes in colours so bright they make her skin look like turned milk, and her hair is dyed bright red. There are freckles still on her face and she is almost obscenely beautiful. She is talking to a girl who looks like a carbon copy of every other one and she doesn't want to see me but does and then it's like always too much for her, and she's burying her head in my shoulder, and breathing into my neck, and the chocolate turns round and round in my stomach and I beg silently for vomit. It doesn't come. She backs away from me and is torn between my hunch shoulder, self-effacing figure, and the little girl with the scruffy hair that she just wants to lick.
She lies on my bed with her hand on my stomach, and I imagine she is silently checking to see whether it is fatter than hers. I want to bury my head beneath the pillows, but she has already done that, and I pull them off her and ask what it wrong, what is wrong.
"Nothing," she says, as I expect, and hides her head deeper farther.
"Love, what's wrong?" I say my voice mimicking my mother's which I never found very comforting but I don't know whom else to mimic.
"I'm so tired, I don't understand what's going on, and I hate myself for being a mess of petty clichés, but mostly I just want to lie still in the silence and cry or maybe die."
I'm now not sure who's speaking, me or her, but I reach out and brush her hair away, and she takes my pillow back and rests her head on it.
"I just want to be comforted," she says, and I shake my head, because I can't even comfort myself let alone her. All my lovely sweet foods don't fill up any of the empty spaces, and the sour bitter vomit only forces me to realise how vile and acidic everything that makes me is. All sweet things are bitter when they turn around inside me. My mind is dead.
"I don't think I have a brain," she brushes back her hair, and pouts at me, her bone structure far too evident behind the invisible visage of freckles. "All I am is bones. Even my eyes are hard marbles." And I wonder why she is speaking in my flimsy imagery.
"Did I make you up?" I ask because that is a sudden all too probably all too metaphorical fear, and she laughs at me, and presses her head into me and her hot breath tickles me all over.
"No," she says, and closes her eyelashes and I hear a crack as the fragile stone meets, and the pieces fall away like fragments of clay.
"Lilith," I say, desperately, "Lilith, Lilith, Lilith, Lilith!"
But Lilith is the name of the very first vampire, and she turns around and bares her teeth at me, which are blunt and like a herbivore's, and pouts and smiles and says, "I'm blind."
But she's not blind because her hard eyes are looking at me and I grab her in my hands and she is all bones and hard contours and she is as cold as ivory.
"What's happening, what's wrong," I whisper desperately, and she buries her face in my hair and shivers and shivers, her body all bird bones. There's more chocolate beside my bead, dark squares, Aztec chocolate, Mayan, thick and rich, I crumble it between my fingers and press it to her lips, and she spits and hisses and moans, and lies still again, her bones poking out at odd angles.
"Lilith, Lilith," I croon, and look at her and realise that she is sucking the life out of me. She is so beautiful, and I can't even touch her. I reach out for her beauty and she crumbles beneath my hand.
"I love you," I tell her and it's true, because I never had any friends, and now I can look at her and try not to adore her.
I lick my chocolate-coated fingers and then spit because the taste clings to the roof of my mouth and I cough and hiss. It's dark here now and Lilith is cold and silent, like a dead thing, and she is a heavy like an anchor on top of me, so cold, and I think she is dead, I think that I killed her, but every time I move she peers at me with her fine boned face her beauty symmetrical and obsolete, her red lips making a snarl. I struggles and her marble structure breaks apart above me, but the heavy lumps of rock cling to my limbs and don't let fall off and don't fall off.
"All I asked is for you to comfort me," she says. "To hold me and kiss me and foster me because I need you and can't even look after myself. Why won't you do that, why won't you?"
"I am, I am, I'm trying," I plead, and struggle with my dead arms to put Lilith's beauty back together again, but every time I try her clumsy fine structure breaks a little more and I can almost see past her eyelids.
"You're failing, you're failing," she tells me softly, snidely, and cuddles deeper into me.
My head spins, and I lean over the side the bed which is now hers and vomit the last of the chocolate, vomit and vomit until I am completely empty, my limbs are white and pure, and I am like marble. Now I'm cold and hard and angular too, and our bodies mesh together, and I give her comfort, comfort and love. Together, we make a beautiful gossamer latticework of fine lines, an imposing sculpture. Alone, I am nothing but a girl eating and eating and staring through a window covered in drops like tears and seeing absolutely nothing.