Page 8 of You Only Die Twice

Glancing down, I watch as Jackson takes my length into his mouth, shudders racing up my spine as his tongue drags along the underside. I groan as his throat tightens around me. Who thought it would take a matter of days and a few threats to turn him into an oral aficionado? True, my whores upstairs could do so much better, but they would suck me willingly.

It’s the fact that Jackson pleasures me to keep Katrina safe that makes it all the more poignant, decadent. His rage flows over my cock as lips skim my balls. He hates me, resents me even, but he’ll never harm me. Not while Katrina is still alive.

Deep down, he knows he’ll never win. I know his thoughts like they’re my own. I taste his malice as it fills the air. As long as he never gives voice to the traitorous thoughts, I’ll allow him to live. The moment he steps out of line, though, Katrina will pay the price.

He knows this. He hates that knowledge as much as he hates himself. If I feed from him, will I taste his self-loathing? Will it make his blood taste better or worse? I wonder. Gripping his hair, I hold him down, choking him with my cock. His throat spasms about me as he fights for air.

Gloria spasmed so similarly to him, that human need for survival turning her brain into goo. I feel that same struggle with Jackson. He fights me, his hands clawing at my thighs, but I don’t let up. Gloria learned after a while, Jackson will, too, eventually. Just because vampires don’t have to breathe doesn’t mean the human instincts aren’t still there. Grunting, I rock my hips back and forth a few more times before spurting deep inside his throat.

Jackson gags as my cum chokes him some more, his pitiful esophagus fluttering as he tries to expel me. Chuckling, I let him go after ensuring my cum sits heavy in his stomach. He pulls back, his sputtering cough turning the chuckle into a full-on laugh.

The newly turned are always so amusing. Soon, though, I know the amusement will give way to boredom. Such is the lot in life of anyone who’s lived as long as I have. Hopefully, they will be different. Hopefully, Katrina will be different. I’ve already begun to despise Gloria, and I’d hate to feel the same towards the unconscious human being carried to her new room.

My plan is pure genius. If we drive her slowly insane, she’ll be more inclined to come to us willingly instead of fighting at every turn. I will make it so that each time we come together, she’ll greet it with enthusiasm and not dread. She’ll beg for the depraved things we do to her.

“Go get ready for tonight. Katrina will need a distraction from her boredom.”

Murderous thoughts fly through Jackson’s head as he gets up from where he was kneeling. Soon, he’ll come around. Once I can tie Katrina to him for eternity, he’ll never cross me again. His life will be irrevocably tied to hers as his is tied to mine. Whether I kill him or he kills me, she will end up dying, and he will never allow that to happen.

CHAPTER FIVE

Katrina

My stomach flops about as I crack my eyes open. I’m back in my cabin, my new prison. Knowing it and allowing myself to believe it are two different things. I glance towards the large windows and take in the still ocean. That’s odd. Even if we’re stopped, wouldn’t the water still move?

Condensation drips down, blurring my view, and I look away. Nothing good will come of me looking outside. It will only remind me that I’m trapped on this large ship in the middle of an even larger body of water. A shudder flits through me as I slip out from under the covers.

The closer I get to the windows, the colder I feel. I reach out to brush the water away, but nothing happens. There’s no moisture. No cold water meets my fingertips. Instead, a faint buzz floats through me, so subtle I can’t even be sure if that’s what I’m feeling. Pulling back, I draw the curtains closed, making my way around the room until just the lights on the inside illuminate everything.

I glance over at the door separating Lizzy and me. How bad would it be if I checked on her? Creeping over, I lie my ear against the wood and listen. Nothing. It’s deathly quiet. Is she even okay? I knock then listen again. Still, nothing stirs.

Perhaps the doors and walls are soundproof? It would make things less awkward, I guess. No hearing other people having sex. Truth be told, I don’t even think I’d care. At least I’d know she’s alive. It wouldn’t be some nebulous question that’s up in the air.

Reaching down, I lay my hand on the doorknob. Cold. Frigid. Another shiver wracks my body, and I pull my hand away to wrap my arms around my waist. Perhaps I am sick. Or, perhaps nothing is wrong, and it’s all in my head. What was it, she said? Delirium? How will I even know that I’ve reached that point?

What if it’s a slow descent into madness? My mind churns as stories from American Literature creep into my brain. The one that stands out the most is “The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Who would have thought that one of my favorite stories could turn into my very waking nightmare?

I scan the room, noting the furniture lining the walls, not giving me clear access. Well, that’s a relief. At least they won’t find me in here rubbing a groove into the paneling as I crawl around the room. Another shiver nearly bows up my spine. No one believed her either when she tried to warn them about the figures crawling about in the wallpaper. Soon, no one will believe me if I go crazy. They’ll just blame this sickness, whatever it is.

She never even gave me a name for it. I don’t even know what to call it. What if I die, never knowing what it was that killed me? My fingers slide up to my throat as hysteria once more threatens to overtake me. Closing my eyes, I sink to the floor, willing The Yellow Wallpaper to flee my brain.

Whatever made me think of it. Now that it’s lodged in my mind, I can no longer unsee the comparisons. My only hope is to keep the curtains closed so I can’t see outside. That’s at least one step in the right direction. Next would be to occupy myself, so the quarantine goes by in a blur. Besides, they said I couldn’t see anyone; they didn’t say I couldn’t talk to anyone.

Elation fills me as I rise up from the floor and run to the stand near the bed. I can call Lizzy. That will help me know she’s okay! The drawer rattles as I pull it out and grasp the only piece of technology I can control. Smile on my lips, I hit the home screen only to have my world plummet. No signal.

What am I going to do? How am I going to pass the time? I note the remote for the tv still in the drawer, and I pull it out. Is this how I’ll occupy myself? There’s got to be something else. I never really watched TV, even at home. I was too busy with work and school to even think about it.

TV was a luxury that I could never afford. By the time I got home, I was so tired I simply collapsed into bed. Now, it’s ironic that this might be my only salvation from going crazy. Lizzy insisted that I watch some things with her, but I never made the time.

Tears slip down my cheeks. What if it’s too late? What if she’s sick? I know the nurse said I wouldn’t die if I got it, but what about Lizzy? Guilt slams into me as I make my way back over to the door. I have to try. I have to let her know I love her. I need to make sure she understands that she’s the world to me.

My hand once more tenses on the cold metal, but I push past and depress it, waiting for that tale-tell squeak of the door opening. Nothing. The handle doesn’t move. Did she lock it? Did they? I rattle the knob, hoping the sound will at least get her attention, but nothing works.

Sobs fly from my lips as I sink to the floor, my hand never leaving the knob. It isn’t fair. Why would she be sick and not me? At least that way, we’d be in the special ward together. With a loud cry, I slam my fists against the wood, willing it to either break or have her hear me.

Neither happens. Reaching up with my wrist, I run the sensor over every area I can think of, but it doesn’t help. There’s no magical release, no sounds that indicate anything worked at all. With a loud scream, I fling myself away from that door and go to the main one.

As I near it, fear slams into my chest. I can barely breathe. My vision swims as I reach out my hand. Dread, like cold fingers digging into my heart, grips me and doesn’t let me go. I’m unable to move. Glued to the spot, I stare at the one thing between people and me.