Shadowed

I run my fingers over the velvet, drinking in the ink that lies beneath. A mystery of itself, the book seems near haunted. Holding life within it’s pages, daring me to be drawn within. I flip through the pages deftly before returning my gaze to the cover. I read the gold aloud, hoping to drink in some of its power.

Vampire.

The title is cruel and simple. I wish desperately I could be drawn in, that I could be a part of the world I hold so dearly. Literature: a thing of itself that contorts my world. I hold the book to my chest, willing the universe inside it closer to my heart. If only the words could spring to life, could encompass what little existence I take up. I wonder at the world nestled between my hands, the pages that tell stories of death and love. What would it mean to truly become a part of it. A modern day death eater; maiden lovers.

Quarter of, the proclamation from across the room stifles my thoughts. The daily taunt of ‘school or no school’ resonates throughout my small cell. Fifteen minutes until a bus finds it’s way past the library. I should go.

I preen through my small suit case of clothes, slipping the book beneath the night stand. I search out a dark red jacket, throwing it across my shoulders. My clothes are far too large for my frame, the coat well past retirement. But to go home and replace my wardrobe would mean to be swallowed in times past. Memories I have worked two years at burying simmer just beneath those floor boards in a place out of reach.

I examine my choice in the mirror, not completely willing to see the image that stares back. Long black hair drifts off slender jutting shoulders. Small vaguely shaped arms drag beside what was once considered a waist. My legs hardly compare, a small wonder that they still support my body after the apparent famine that has ravaged the rest of me. My seclusion has cost me a few more pounds then I would like to admit.

But it is not the bones that worry me most during these brief morning memories of loss, it is the death emanating from the hollowed out face that captures me. Pit-less eyes of dull brown burrow deep into my skull. Cheeks that traded their fullness for a dark, haunted flush stand stark against the dwindled luster of my skin. How long have I looked this way? A week, a month, perhaps a year now. The time has blurred well past my desire to recognize it.

I don’t wish to dwell on such thoughts. I climb the stairs leading to the main chambers of the library, shouldering open the swollen door. The day breaks through the glass panes nestled about the rooms, brilliant and shining. I hesitate only a moment before grasping the bag hidden behind a series of biographies. At the front desk Jillian is settled with her hair clasped seductively behind her back, legs tucked delicately beneath herself. Jillian’s eyes are a delicate emerald green, as soft and open as her creamy complexion. Long brown curls cascade around her face, licking across her neatly glossed lips. She is a tall elegant woman, sassy and brazen in nature but appearing much like Bell from Beauty and the Beast. Today she is nestled in her normal spot, eyes scanning a list of future prospects for her vast collection of personal stories.

Jillian looks up from under her half moon glasses, smiling as I approach. I return her sentiments hesitantly. I have no reason to be cold to Jillian, for the past two years she has sheltered me in the library basement that was once used as a book store. Since I left my father’s home she has acted as my guardian, enrolling me in school, claiming custody, feeding, and clothing me. She has been nothing but helpful since I became a resident here, even after I turned 18 she refused to have me turned out. I have come to think of her as more of a mother than the woman who walked out on me as a child, which perhaps explains my hesitance towards her.

“Good morning sunshine. My aren’t you up early. You might actually make it to school if you starve yourself.” Jillian says smiling. I resist the urge to tell her I can’t remember the last time I managed to keep anything solid down. “You should grab some toast at least.” I grab at the pile of books behind the counter, dodging Jillian’s effort to push back my hair.

“Aren’t you supposed to do that for me.” I tease. Jillian runs a strand of hair behind her ear, tapping her cheek bemused.

“I’m too old and feeble to pull that kind of manual labor off, in a couple of years you’ll have to put my food in a blender just so I can continue to breathe.” Jillian says. I snort, snapping the zipper closed on my pack

“Since when was 30 considered old and feeble, toss me the note book behind your head will you?” Jillian obliges me, smirking. She grabs a soda from under her desk and tosses it at me. I catch it out of reflex, sticking the can into my bag blindly. “Bus.” I announce, throwing my back pack over my shoulder before Jillian can begin barraging me with food.

“There’s a twenty in the front pocket, buy something at school.” She calls after me.

“Nag!“ I call back, ducking out the door with a brief wave. I flag down the bus driver as he rounds the corner, racing in front of the bus. I climb aboard, searching out the nearest seat in hopes at least one will be open. It’s common enough that most bus seats are filled by the time my stop rolls around, and just as likely that one or five students are already standing. Today I have the good fortune of a seat secluded in the back being vacant. I can only hope the rest of the day proves to be
this fortunate.

I near fall into it, the bus careening over the most terrible holes and bumps back roads can offer. It unfortunately gives me the disadvantage of seeing my landing place before I’m thrown at it. Or to be more precise, before I’m thrown on him.