Hugs and Kisses

I know it is difficult to believe a story staring vampires, but I assure you that it is true. Mine is a story about the cruelty of the world, and the death of a loved one, and the meeting of a vampire.

My name is Grace. It was in my twentieth year when my little sister, Eve, died. And it was in that year that I met my very first vampire. I was half way through my post secondary studies – English Major – and she was in her first year of University studying to become a fashion designer. We lived in different cities, but we talked over the phone religiously. My little sister has always been the most important person in my life. I have destroyed friendships for the protection of her. When we were in Elementary School I bullied her bullies; when we were in High School I had her cheating ex-boyfriend beaten up by a friend. If she ever needed anything, she came to me. I protested her leaving for school, but she wanted to experience new things, new places, and she left. It was hard to let my little sister go so far away, where I could not protect her.

One spring evening the two of us were talking over the phone about her new boyfriend. She was going on and on about his “sexy body”, and exactly what he could do with it. I just listened, laughed. To be honest, I was envious. Everyone who met Eve loved her, and she wasn’t even trying. The boys from my past were nothing like hers. I’ve been known to date weirdoes, men with no future. She almost always dated strong, intelligent, handsome men, who treated her with respect and kindness.

“And he’s so good in bed!” she giggled.

“My sister, the slut,” I joked, “So, where is your dream guy now?”

“He’s at work, until four… oh wait. I think I hear him now. Babe?”

I then heard her scream, and my heart dropped. She demanded to know who a mystery person was. I heard the dark voice of a man, but I could not pick up on the words. She must have dropped the phone, and I just listened to everything. I heard Eve try to scream again, but it got caught in her throat. Then there was a strange noise, a wet noise that I could not identify – that I now know was the vampire tearing into her neck. I began sobbing, clutching the phone to my ear. I fell against the wall. My darling Eve needed my help, but I could not give it.

“Eve!” I demanded, “Eve, talk to me! Oh God…”

“I’m afraid,” the man said into the phone, “that Eve is indisposed,”

I could hear his smirk in his voice. What did he do to her? Was she still alive? Could I negotiate her freedom over the phone? Many panicked thoughts went through my mind at once. There was nothing I could do, though. I knew that.

“What did you do to her?” I whispered.

“Oh, I killed her,” he calmly said, “Out of curiosity, how am I speaking with?”

“Her sister,”

“Ah, that is unfortunate. I am truly sorry that you had to hear this, sister,”

“Why did-?” my voice cracked.

“Youth, as they say, is wasted on the young, and I wish to keep my youth forever,” and he hung up the phone.

By the time the police showed up to her apartment, her chest and neck had been torn open, like he had been playing in her blood. We could not even give her an open casket funeral because her wounds were too drastic to hide. We were forced to have her cremated, so I was unable to look into her face one last time before we buried her.

The day before her funeral I got my first, and only, tattoo. It was a ladybug with her name written under it. Eve’s nickname growing up was ladybug. I got it on my left breast, over my heart. I cried the entire time I was getting it done.

Her funeral was huge. She knew so many people, had touched so many lives, that there were not enough pews in the church, and some people were forced to stand. I sat in front beside my parents. My little sister’s urn stared me in the face. I didn’t hear what the priest said, I didn’t hear anything. As far as I was concerned, it was only my sister and I sitting in church. I imaged her tanned face and bright hazel eyes, her long blonde hair. I remembered how she could never sit still during Mass, and I thought about how embarrassed I’d feel sitting near her. I thought about every nasty thing I’ve ever said to her, and wondered if they outweighed the loving words I’d given her throughout her life. My father gently touched my shoulder, snapping me from my daze. I had not noticed that I was crying. The priest was looking to me sympathetically. I realized it was time to speak. Hesitantly, I stood and walked to the front of the church. I looked into the faces of all the people there to honour her life. I saw her best friend from childhood. I saw teachers from our Elementary and High school. My gaze met my grandmother’s, who was sobbing uncontrollably. I breathed in slowly.

“I don’t have a great speech prepared,” I said quietly into the microphone, “Which is odd, because I love to write and talk. No, it was impossible to write anything for this day, because this is a day that should not be. Eve should be alive. She should be at school, with her friends, and I should be calling her about something I saw outside my window, but instead I’m forced to think of something to say as a goodbye?” I wiped my eyes, “I… was forced to listen to my little sister die over the phone. I was helpless, she was helpless. Of all the people in the world who deserve to die, Eve was not one of them. She was the best friend to many, the love of others, and my favorite person. So I can only say that I hope they catch the evil man who did this to her, and I hope I’m allowed to watch him die, just as I was forced to hear her die,”

I walked to her urn and kissed it gently. I wobbled on my legs and I felt sick. I was suddenly very aware of the eyes in the room. My parents were on their feet, trying to help me to my seat. I was certain I would die there with her. My body seemed to want to give up.

I was escorted for the rest of the day by my father. I was not allowed to be alone; they were frightened I would do something to myself. We followed the hearse to the cemetery, where a small hole was dug for my sister. I put the first shovel of dirt over her, I dropped the first rose, and I was the last to leave. I fell asleep beside her fresh grave. My father carried me to his house, and I slept in my old bedroom.

I had terrible nightmares. The evil man was in every one of them. He would sit on my bed, smiling. He never said anything, nor did I. We simply looked at one another. I dreamed him to be a very handsome man. He had black hair that was slicked back, except for a lock of hair that fell into his face, over his deep eyes. His jaw line was strong, and his smile was cruel. He would reach for me, and I would wake up. Nothing dangerous ever happened, and still, those were the worst dreams of my life.

It became too much, and one night I found myself driving to the cemetery. I was still in my pajamas – black yoga pants and a green tank top – and my bed-head hair was thrown back into a messy ponytail. I didn’t cry until I got there. The sun was long asleep, and technically I was not allowed in the cemetery at such a late hour. Whatever, I thought; I just wanted to talk with her.

I found my way to her gravestone without trouble. The stone was white marble, and in the shape of a heart, with a young angel sitting beside it. On it was a smiling picture of Eve, with a poem:

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.

I ran my fingers over her picture and along the words. I sat beside the tomb, feeling more serene than I had for a long time. I was with her. I breathed in and tried to feel her with me. When I reopened my eyes, I smiled at the tombstone.

“I miss you,” I whispered, “More than I have ever missed anything in my life. I’ve thought about killing myself… I know I can’t, though. It would kill mom and dad. It’s just not fair… you were stolen from me. I wish I could go back in time and keep you from going away to school. I wish I could go back and visit you that weekend, so I could have been there to protect you,”

“It would not have helped,” said a man.

I screamed in surprise and looked up. I could not make out who it was in the darkness, but I assumed a cop. I stood guiltily and was about to apologize, when I looked into his face. It was the man from my dreams. The killer.

“But…”

He smiled and grabbed my throat. He tossed me aside without effort. I let out a cry and fell against a tombstone, knocking it over. Pain shot through my body. I groaned and tried to stand, but he kicked my chest and I fell down again. I tried to crawl away, and he grabbed my ankle. The man pulled me through the dirt, I started screaming. He stopped and was suddenly on top of me. He put one hand on my mouth, and held a knife in the other. I stared in horror, and then had to look away.

“Happy day,” he said, “That you and I finally get to meet in person!”

I could not believe that this was happening, but the pain I felt from being thrown was incredibly real. He was exactly as I’d dreamed.

“I had felt bad that you heard your sister die, and so I attended the funeral as to show my respects. Well, I hid on the top floor, but I could hear and see everything. Your speech was fantastic. It is why I decided I wanted us to meet. You are so passionate; you must be a writer,”

He lifted his hand from my mouth, as if waiting for me to speak. I said nothing. What was I supposed to say? I wanted to kill him, but had no weapons – now I know that no weapons would have worked anyway.

“Such beautiful girls, you and your sister,” he whispered in my ear. His breath on my skin gave me goose-bumps, “Except she had hair like the sun, and you have hair like fire,” He ran his fingers through my hair, brushing it off of my neck.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“Your sister was nothing personal,” he told me, “I wanted you to know that,” his lips brushed over the skin of my neck and I tensed up. He noticed, and lifted his head, “Are you afraid?”

“Yes,”

“I can tell,” he lowered the knife and traced his fingers along my jaw, down my neck, and to my chest, where my heart pounded violently. He rested his hand over my ladybug tattoo, and just listened to my heart.

Suddenly he sat up, and he pulled me up to sit with him. I still couldn’t look at him. I wanted to die, and it seemed fitting that I should die the same way as Eve. I was ready. He took my chin gently in his hand and forced my gaze towards him. It was breathtaking looking into his eyes. I found that I could not look away if I’d wanted to.

“I am sorry for your sister,” he said, “I did it because I have to,”

I looked confused and raised a brow. The cruel creature I had met was suddenly gone, and was replaced with this soft man, who was giving a genuine apology for the murder of Eve. For a brief moment, he seemed human. But when he smiled, his features filled with wickedness again. He picked up the knife from beside him, and slashed his wrist. I was horrified, and I backed away, but he held my arm and kept me close. He offered his wrist.

“Drink,” he ordered.

“Are you insane?”

“I’m helping you. It will take away all your pain and guilt. Drink.”

“No!” I struggled away.

“Drink!”

His voice was huge and evil. It rang in my head and echoed through my body. I froze, and looked into the face of the handsome monster. His grip on my arm tightened, and I gasped when his fingers bore themselves into my flesh. Blood seeped from five holes past his hand.

“Oh,” his grip loosened, “I know…”

He lapped at his own bloody wrist, keeping eye contact with me as he did so. I felt sick. He smiled, his teeth were red. He pushed me back onto the ground and jumped on top once more. He held my face, and forced my lips against his. I tasted the blood, it was liquid iron, and it disgusted me. I tried to scream, I punched at him, kicked at him, but he refused to budge. He deepened the kiss, I squirmed more.

And then I stopped fighting him.

I felt something in me change, and I found myself kissing him back. I was craving him. I wanted more. A part of me shouted to stop, but I ignored it. My eyes closed and I wrapped my arms around his neck. He noticed I had succumbed and broke the kiss. I gazed up at him. He said nothing, and tilted my head back, and bit down hard. A small noise escaped my lips, and I gripped the back of his shirt tightly. He drank my blood, but he was not killing me. He was simply tasting. It did not hurt me, as it would a human. It was a pain that only humans felt – to vampires it is an ecstasy that I welcomed.

When my parents noticed I was missing, it was too late. The sun had risen, and I was hiding. They found a note that said I went to be with Eve, but they never found a body. There was my blood by her grave, and police suspect I cut myself and stumbled away in a haze. They searched for a week, but did not find my corpse. My tombstone was erected beside Eve’s, despite the fact they did not have a body to bury. I’ve visited it before. Looking at one’s own tombstone is dizzying. Every year I visit mine and Eve’s graves, and I leave a red rose for my beloved Eve.

I do not feel as though I have betrayed my sister. I am in love with my master, and he has given me a wonderful gift. One day, when I join her in the next life, I am certain she and I will laugh over the silly emotions of the living.