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They roll over again and run out of bed. To the floor they tumble, to the sticky, stained carpet, the sheets spilled over the edge of the bed. “Am I ruining you, Tristan?” asks Kyle, his mood shifting suddenly. “Letting you bite me? And taste me? I made a promise to keep you human, I remember, I—”
What harm’s a little drop now and then?
Kyle swallows. “Can you … Can you describe it to me?” Kyle buries his face into Tristan’s neck, digging for kisses. His hand reaches down between Tristan’s legs, discovering him to be just as excited as he is. They’re both starved for it. “Describe what it’s like. My blood.”
The more I have, the less human is left of me. When I taste it … Tristan groans. No, never mind.
“When you taste it …? Tell me.”
I don’t want to be the salesman of your tragic ending. Tristan shakes his head. Don’t put that on me, please, Kyle, just enjoy this.
The boys flip again, rolling upon the floor. Kyle is on top. “Tell me what it’s like to have my blood. To taste me.”
Tristan peers dolefully up into Kyle’s eyes, defeated. Then he slowly closes his own. A broken smile twists his lips.
I feel … alive.
Kyle listens, waiting.
All of my emptiness, gone. Every crumb of loathing I bear for the world, for myself, for everyone I have ever known, loved, or hated, it is all burned away at the taste of blood.
When his eyes open, Kyle is there, staring down at him, in a state of amazement. A droplet of blood lets go from his neck, drops onto Tristan’s bare chest, a bright red drop in a pale sea.
For a moment, a spell of peace, bliss, sweetness.
Then there is an urgent beating of fists at the door. “This is the police department,” booms a voice. “A disturbance was reported at this unit. Open up.” Bang, bang, the fists come once more, shaking the room. “Open up. This is your last warning.”
Tristan bites his lip and squints at Kyle. I think Ms. Nanette tattled on us. The cops are here to give us a spanking. Should we let them? Are you into it? No?
Half an hour later finds the boys walking together through the woods. Kyle is only in his new jeans, his dark red shirt left behind at the motel. They left in such a hurry.
Don’t worry, we’ll get you more clothes, promises Tristan.
“Is this what your life was like? Constant movement? After you killed your abductors?”
I didn’t have someone at my side, admits Tristan. This part is new. I lucked out, becoming a student at your school and meeting you. Tristan smiles as he playfully leaps over a knobby branch on the ground, pirouettes, then throws an arm around Kyle. Things are a little trickier nowadays. Easier to get away with murder in the 30s.
“30s?” Kyle blinks. “How old are you, exactly?”
Probably eighteen. That’s my permanent age, I like to call it, the age I seem. And in this world, that’s all that matters. Do I look that age, would you say? Maybe nineteen? I’m so glad we met. Tristan lets out a mirthful giggle. More I think about it, the happier I feel. After all this time, someone to face forever with. Do you want to find a house, by the way? A real one, of course. It’d be nice to have a home. Somewhere wooded, shaded during the day, sweet and safe.
“Sweet and safe,” murmurs Kyle thoughtfully.
Wouldn’t you like a real home?
Kyle wonders what it felt like for Tristan to point a gun at his evil kidnappers, to find silver bullets somehow, to load that gun, point it at them, and squeeze his little finger. Twice.
Kyle knows what it feels like to merely touch silver.
But for a bullet made of the metal to pierce the skin and lodge itself inside the body, burning from within like a demonic intruder, a raging, screaming silver-hot kiss …
We should find somewhere to stay soon, suggests Tristan. The sun will rise in a few hours.
Kyle stops at a small clearing, his eyes on what’s left of the moon, hanging low. All he can feel is the breeze on his sensitive skin. Nothing touches him. Even when Tristan comes to his side, he feels alone in the world, lost in a dark place in his mind.
“Is it always going to be like this?” asks Kyle. “Darkness? The stars and the moon?”
You will learn to treasure the night, my love.
“Can our bodies really turn to ash in the sun?”
I suppose. Maybe after a little while, for us, we disintegrate, then blow away like a sandcastle, perhaps, I’m not sure, I simply imagine.
“Have you seen it happen?”
No. I haven’t known anyone like me, other than the man and woman who took me. They told me of others they once knew, but … I doubt there are very many of us free spirits left out there in the big wide world. I killed two, so … two less in the world now.
