13th

In celebration of Friday the 13th, my most beloved of days, I give you the aptly named "13th", a happy little macabre drabble I've just written. Please, lovelies, enjoy.



             They call them Blood Burrows, a rather poetic name for the fancy rooms established throughout the city to be used as dens for the skulking-about snakes that take to the night. They exist for the users and abusers, the givers and takers alike, all stepping from the dark into the posh dens for one reason: the hot sticky liquid that gleams ruby in the dim light, that vibrant vibrating blood that throbs through your veins and thumps in your body. I’ve tried to stay away, tried to deny the itch beneath my skin and the insatiable craving in the pit of my stomach that sets my nerves on fire. It has been weeks since I was here last, and I can no longer tolerate the suffocating bump of my heart in my throat every time my eyes catch the flash of a neck beneath a shirt collar, knowing how the stinging prick of sharpened teeth feels when they pierce the flesh and open a vein.
             I descend the stairs that lead to a windowless door sunken below street level. I rap on it in a coded way that has the guard inside opening it without hesitation, nodding when he sees me standing in the low evening light and moving aside to allow me entrance. I step in, listening to the click of the lock behind me, and pause a moment, wrestling with my dizzying conscience. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t throw away my months of effort for a few hours of mindless indulgence. I should turn around and run from here, run from this city and run from everything that I am.
             But I don’t. I step forward, drawn in by the delicious moans and happy shrieks of pleasure that twist in the air, dark ribbons of temptation that bind my conscience and pull me in like a puppet.
             On either side of me are doors, leading to a set of familiar rooms where willing participants are waiting, ready to give or take, to abuse or be used. Six doors on the left are painted red, the colour of the reason we are all here, while the other six to the right are white. None of these rooms will serve me. I’m neither red nor white. I’m black, and there is no door down this hallway for me.
             “You’re back,” comes a rolling seductive voice from behind me. I turn to see her leaving a room on the left, Ana, my companion from the days when I was content to run this life. She closes the door behind her and walks towards me with a drunken sway in her step. “Although, this visit is quite unannounced.” She smirks, stopping just feet from me, unsteady on her glossy high heels. “I don’t know if we have what you want right now.”
             My fingers twitch at my side and it takes great effort to not form a fist and strike the smug words from her mouth. “Of course you do,” I spit. I hate Ana. I hate all that she has done in the past, to me and to others. I hate what she has made of me. “Spare me the I-told-you-so’s. I want to get this over with.”
             She throws her head back and laughs, her red lips pulled back in amusement to expose the tiny sharpened canine teeth in her mouth. It takes her a moment to compose herself, a chuckle still stuck in her lungs when she speaks. “Come,” she beckons, walking past me and pulling back a curtain that separates the hallway from the rest this den. “We still have your room ready and waiting.”
             I follow, walking through the curtain of black silk and letting it fall back into place. This side of the den is different then the rest. It’s warm and closed in and silent. “Why?” I ask as she leads me further into the back, down a bare narrow hallway and around a corner.
             We reach the end of the hall, where a black door stands as the only possible destination. “Because, Ethan,” she says with a sinister grin, “we knew you’d be back.” She pushes the door open, holding it for me. Wordlessly, ignoring her snide comment, I enter the room. “Boy or girl?” she asks. She needs only my glare as an answer. “Boy, then.” She snakes away from the door, pulling it closed after her, and I’m left alone in my old room, bare except for the leather couch that takes up the length of the far wall. Strangely, though I loath the fact that I’m here, the room is soothing. I sit on the couch and close my eyes, slowly giving into the urge throbbing in my body.
             Moments pass and I’m just beginning to wonder if Ana was able to find someone when the door opens again. I slowly slide my eyes open as a young man, caramel hair and skin like cream, steps into the room. Instinctually, I know that he’s young, fresh to this kind of world and likely naive. Ana stands behind him, framed in the doorway, and watches with a satisfied smile as I gesture for her pick of the litter to join me on the couch. My heart pounds in my chest, the strong steady beat of a desire that runs much deeper than anything simply carnal. In the seconds it takes him to take his seat on the couch, my body is aflame with this need.
             I shove my arm towards him. “Do it,” I command, a heated growl to my voice. I watch as he smiles, his pupils widening until the icy iris of his eyes disappears, and the pinprick canine teeth in his mouth pull down into their proper place. His mouth is on the crook of my arm without hesitation. I close my eyes and heave a sigh as my flesh is pierced, and my head swoons as I feel the burn of blood being pulled from my veins. His mouth is greedy and hot, and pushes further into my arm, my desire rising with every surge he drinks. I lean back and try to resist the appetite that’s quickly growing in my chest. His body is firm and warm beside me, pushing and pulsating as my blood feeds his own fervent need. I moan aloud as he takes one long burning drink, and suddenly, my feral instincts take over.
             In a second, I snatch him by the neck with my free hand and shove him back into the leather, easily overtaking and straddling him on the couch. My own teeth move in my mouth and I’ve torn into his throat before he can even shout in surprise. The blood spills from his jugular, and I clamp down harder, reveling in the heat of the liquid, salty and satisfying. Behind me, I can hear Ana’s self-satisfied chuckle from the doorway.
             “You’re an enigma in this place, you know that?” Her voice is laced with the irony of me, the vampire who takes pleasure in both being fed to, and feeding from, other vampires.
             I force myself away from the young one beneath me. His eyes have rolled back and his heart gives a few more weak pumps of life. I’ve destroyed him by letting myself give into this broken desire of mine.
             “Yeah,” I whisper. “I know.”