Feliz Vampyre
Hand in the Wind
The small plastic wrapper, no bigger than the size of a Kraft cheese wrapper fell to the floor and pain erupted from my arm. I wasn’t sure if we were both looking at the wrapper, filled with splinters of the fragile food and powder….or my hand laying on the floor in front of my feet. I kneeled slowly, unworried in my emotional state of the angry vampire in front of me, and picked it up.
“Leave me please…” All at once he threw me into the fridge and came dangerously close. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt me or the fridge, but he was trying to prove something.
“What is your use to me, you can’t cook, you can’t serve me…” he hissed before I interrupted him, cradling my hand in my other palm, bleeding the way that we bleed.
“I am your wife.” I whispered, staring at the mess on the floor, the counter, the boiling water…..
“You didn’t want this marriage!” He snarled before finally leaving.I shut off the stove and sank to the gilded floor, into the puddle of blood. It was strange, to see your insides and to feel this pain that you never felt before….I don’t think he meant to do it.
Cruztan pizza?
I looked around the already messy kitchen after he had gotten angry over the sandwiches I had offered to make him, adding an extra ingredient to them that I always added to mine. Which he didn’t want. I was already in tears from the day we had, marrying in the register office because of what I did to the first wedding. I flipped the small fragile package over to read the directions before his hand smashed into mine.
I pulled from the cupboard next to me a small first aid kit, which it was not. It only encased needle and thread and a vet wrap substance. As I began to start the stitch to put my hand back on, I was flooded with more memories. He had destroyed my left hand, with the very large diamond and his family crest on it. I’m surprised he had allowed me to wear that ring that I had picked out of the box of rings like I knew the English royalty did. Every stitch just hammered in the fact that I ruined my family’s reputation by shear panic.
Stitch 1, realizing in a room of a million people that I was being walked down the aisle by the man I thought I loved, in gilded halls full of high society that I didn’t know hardly anything about.
Stitch 2, realizing minutes after causing the huge disturbance that I didn’t actually know what love was and that he most certainly did not love me at all.
Stitch 3, My sister screaming at me that the Romero family now demanded a Dowry and that they would not pay for my education.
Stitch 4, in my childlike innocence, thinking I was dying of a broken heart while a man that I did not realize had feelings for me farther than the reason we were forced to wed, telling his family that he would not accept money from my family, that he would single-handedly pay for my education, and that he would still marry me.
Stitch 5, marrying him…sad, crying, trapped.
Wrapping my wrist with the oiled cloth, I remembered how we met.
“Leave me please…” All at once he threw me into the fridge and came dangerously close. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt me or the fridge, but he was trying to prove something.
“What is your use to me, you can’t cook, you can’t serve me…” he hissed before I interrupted him, cradling my hand in my other palm, bleeding the way that we bleed.
“I am your wife.” I whispered, staring at the mess on the floor, the counter, the boiling water…..
“You didn’t want this marriage!” He snarled before finally leaving.I shut off the stove and sank to the gilded floor, into the puddle of blood. It was strange, to see your insides and to feel this pain that you never felt before….I don’t think he meant to do it.
Cruztan pizza?
I looked around the already messy kitchen after he had gotten angry over the sandwiches I had offered to make him, adding an extra ingredient to them that I always added to mine. Which he didn’t want. I was already in tears from the day we had, marrying in the register office because of what I did to the first wedding. I flipped the small fragile package over to read the directions before his hand smashed into mine.
I pulled from the cupboard next to me a small first aid kit, which it was not. It only encased needle and thread and a vet wrap substance. As I began to start the stitch to put my hand back on, I was flooded with more memories. He had destroyed my left hand, with the very large diamond and his family crest on it. I’m surprised he had allowed me to wear that ring that I had picked out of the box of rings like I knew the English royalty did. Every stitch just hammered in the fact that I ruined my family’s reputation by shear panic.
Stitch 1, realizing in a room of a million people that I was being walked down the aisle by the man I thought I loved, in gilded halls full of high society that I didn’t know hardly anything about.
Stitch 2, realizing minutes after causing the huge disturbance that I didn’t actually know what love was and that he most certainly did not love me at all.
Stitch 3, My sister screaming at me that the Romero family now demanded a Dowry and that they would not pay for my education.
Stitch 4, in my childlike innocence, thinking I was dying of a broken heart while a man that I did not realize had feelings for me farther than the reason we were forced to wed, telling his family that he would not accept money from my family, that he would single-handedly pay for my education, and that he would still marry me.
Stitch 5, marrying him…sad, crying, trapped.
Wrapping my wrist with the oiled cloth, I remembered how we met.