Cosmopolitan Blood Loss.

Chapter 7

Perhaps it had been the huge blow I'd received when thrown head first onto the Cathedral's floor or maybe it was just my mind set the way it had always been, but after the whole ordeal, I still found myself worrying less about myself again and more about Shant. Mainly, what was under those tight black pants he now wore, gripping like a second skin along those perfectly toned calf and thigh muscles. But more especially, his gluteus maximus.

I couldn't remember much after Mister Collapsible Corpse, as it appeared I'd had been knocked into a semi conscious state after he threw me on the floor. At least, I was drawing conclusions from the sagging cot I woke up on in a little puddle of my own drool; a common thing I'd found after I'd either A) Drank myself stupid or B) Became concussed. Either way, resorting in a huge memory lapse. And also, the giant lump I'd found on my head that throbbed, just in general, probably didn't help anything.

All I could pull from memory, was the epically long train of varied language curse words Shant spewed upon finding me covered in plaster dust and a little of my own blood on the Cathedral's floor. Then, there was the ride on his shoulder, to the back of the Apocalypse stained glass room. I wasn't sure if I put up a fight or not. And finally, there was the snapping back to reality in pain, in drool, and in what appeared to be an oversized men's plain black tee to find Shant looming over a stove in this tall ceilinged stone room, lit only by the small fire under the cast iron burner. His hips swirled in motion with the spoon he stirred something in a pot with. The rhythm was melodic...until my dry throat scratched a small cough out of me.

Shant turned, illuminated with the faint glow of the fire, even more handsome then I'd remembered.

"Welcome back." He smirked, gesturing in a low bow, spoon still in hand. He eyed my bare legs as I sat up, feet touching the floor.

I threw him a look, through the pain of my throbbing head lump, posing the question, "Did you dress me?"

"I did it with my eyes closed, if that brings you any consolation. We're...or rather, you're having minestrone soup. It was the only thing the corner convenient store carried that I thought was suitable enough for a dinner. Though the baguette I bought is fairly stiff." He frowned, apologetically, turning back to the soup.

"Oh, uh...you're making me dinner?" The gesture was bizarre. Not more than...well...I'd lost track of time. But, regardless, I'd been kidnaped by a vampire, and was now receiving a little hospitality. I was concerned, to say the least.

"Well, I can't have you die on me. You still haven't told me all about your little cigarette break."

I groaned, flopping back down on the pillow. It was bad enough having to endure what happened tonight, but God forbid, I had to retell and relive it all over again.

My skin quivered as Shant's impossibly cool hand lain upon my calf, pushing it along the sheets to make a seat for himself at the foot of the bed.

I sat up again, staring at Shant. He was smirking, that eyes half closed, very predatorial half smile he was fond of making. He handed me a bowl of the steaming soup.

I picked the spoon from the edge and sniffed the soup. Not that you could smell most modern poisons, but Shant wasn't a real modern guy. After a good minute of interrogation I drank the first spoonful.

"You know what? This is pretty good. What brand is this?" I asked, through two spoonfuls of minestrone.

"Generic."

"Doesn't taste generic, tastes fantastic!" I couldn't ingest the soup fast enough, it was nearly running down my chin.

"Well, I did add my own spices...." I sat back from the soup to question the poison theory again. He glared. "...basil, for heaven sakes. Can we get to the story now, Scout."

I finished the last spoonful of my soup, sad to see it go, but feeling better already. Shant took my bowl and placed it on the floor beside his foot, his eyes urging me to go in to the story.

"Ugh. I don't want to talk about it, 'kay? I don't need to slip anymore into these freaky delusions I get because of you."

Shant rolled his eyes. "Tell me. For your own safety."

The last bit had me shivering again; I figured I'd have to tell him something. I inhaled deeply. "I'd never seen anyone kill themselves before. This blond guy just jumps off the Cathedral, right above my head. Lands in the street, mangled, like I sometimes see jumpers on the slab. But I'd seen him do it, it was just....wow. Just wow." I mouthed, the tingly feeling of hopelessness washing over me.

Shant surprised me again, his hands reaching out and pulling me to his chest. I didn't even notice the absence of a heartbeat, proving Shant wrong about at least one of the Vampire Folklore.

"Come on, try to continue." Shant urged.

"He was sprawled out in the street. Nobody was around to help me..."

"Why didn't you get me?"

"I thought about it. I was scared, I guess. I wasn't thinking logically. So I went to him, looked for a wallet or something, call family or someone. But, he wasn't dead. Well, he was...but he wasn't." Shant opened his mouth again to ask a question, but I stopped him, my finger running over one of his vampire canines. I felt his body go rigid then. I must have answered his question, so he yearned for more of the story now.

"What happened then?"

I winced, trying to forget, but being forced to remember. "He snapped himself back together, like a set of Lincoln Logs. Just got up, followed me up the steps, and had me by the hair." My eyes tightened as did my throat as I forced out the last bit. "Said he was an old friend come back. Said he was going to roast you alive, while I watched."

I knew Shant had already figured out what had happened; I could tell by how perfectly still he sat and how locked his muscles were, but he still sat with me and I asked no questions, grateful that he didn't push me more on the subject so I was free to try and forget about it. Though I wondered who Shant had up for suspects.

Just as I was starting to get comfortable in his arms, he released me, much to my dismay.

"I think it's time you take a nap. You've endured so much. I'm sorry I put you through this."

I didn't really think he was sorry. I still didn't know why I was here. Right now, I just really wanted to be curled up in his arms again.

"Uh, I think my little concussion coma was all the sleep I need and I think the soup really refreshed me." My tone was less than friendly as I recognized the signs of someone trying to leave me out of something.

Shant smiled, actually smiled, not one of his smirks, but it fell to a frown. He nodded over his shoulder.

I saw now a single narrow, arched window set in the stone wall behind Shant. The light behind it was growing brighter. The sun was rising.
"Believe me, we both need the sleep. You're a surprisingly sharp pain in my ass."

The admiration I'd been kindling for Shant diminished.

I huffed, falling back on my pillow again, rolling in the other direction, away from Shant. He laughed, the weight shifting and the springs popping as he got up off the cot.

He paused by my pillow.

"You'll be safe here. Faust wouldn't dare return, not with me so close."

I shivered. I supposed Mister Collapsible Corpse had a name to go with the horror. And I realized that Shant really wasn't that close either, being at the other end of the church.

Suddenly, I felt breath on my ear again, though this time it was Shant's, warming my ear lobe.

"Goodnight Scout." He whispered, just like the time I'd imagined he had when I'd been so tired, I couldn't walk. Just as sweet.

His lips pressed down against the rim off my ear.

When I turned to stare at him in shock, he'd already left.