My Death and My Love
I do not own the vampires, Anne Rice does. I used some parts from "The Vampire Lestat" as well.
Let's just suppose that the amazing Lestat/Louis scene in the graveyard didn't happen…
Everything is different. Lestat is different. I do not like this at all. That is not what I've been expecting.
So many vampires wanted to kill him. And I was so worried about him, looking for him anywhere. And that blessed night that I found him, we touched each other's face, embraced as never before, walked and talked as we used to do decades before.
And I did not doubt the reality of that night for one moment. And when Lestat kissed me before going on stage, I was in a heavenly state of bliss.
I could still taste him when we were trying to save ourselves.
I could still taste him when he was gone.
And now he is just as gone. He's still here, somewhere in our new big house. But he's not himself anymore. This is not my Lestat. It can't be my Lestat ignoring me, barely talking to me, feeding on me and making me weak, sometimes even locking the door of my room.
Akasha's blood changed him, I am sure of it now. She used to be a statue, not caring about a thing around her, trapping her faithful servant Marius in ice. She, the Mother of all vampires, the Queen of the Damned, killed her own king and husband, most of her children, innocent people. She could have killed me.
But what did she do to Lestat?
I can tell the changes on the outside. His skin is even whiter and sometimes hard as stone. But he can't turn into a statue as well! I'll be lost if he does.
What's going on the inside is what really troubles me. He seems bitter, disappointed, angry. I do not know why. I want to know, but he won't open up to me. And now more than ever, I want us to talk. I don't care if we end up fighting. I just want to understand what's going on. I need him to tell me so that I will help if I can.
Someone else might have left him. I can understand why. And, perhaps, in some other time, I would have left him myself. I would have been angry and tired of his behavior. I would have abandoned him, leaving him alone, with no other children to take care of him.
But not now. Oh, no. I know Lestat now. I know who he really is. I have seen his loving side, his vulnerable side. I know all about his past –yes, I have read his autobiography and I was surprised, moved, flattered. I will never forget what I read about him. All those words about a life I already knew will never leave my mind.
Shortly after reaching the colony, I fell fatally in love with Louis, a young dark-haired bourgeois planter, graceful of speech and fastidious of manner, who seemed in his cynicism and self-destructiveness the very twin of Nicolas…
Yet Louis gained a hold over me far more powerful than Nicolas had ever had. Even in his cruelest moments, Louis touched the tenderness in me, seducing me with his staggering dependence, his infatuation with my every gesture and every spoken word…
But I loved him, plain and simple. And it was out of the desperation to keep him, to bind him closer to me at the most precarious of moments, that I committed the most selfish and impulsive act of my entire life among the living dead. It was the crime that was to be my undoing: the creation with Louis and for Louis of Claudia, a stunningly beautiful vampire child…
I had what I wanted, what I had always wanted. I had them. And I could now and then forget Gabrielle and forget Nicki, and even Akasha, or the icy touch of her hand or the heat of her blood…
Yes, of course, Akasha. Can it be that Lestat is grieving, mourning her? I'm sure he felt something when she died. All this time together must have created a bond between them. She loved him. And Lestat must have felt the same. I don't want to believe it. I know that it is true, but I do not want to accept it. I love Lestat.
Merely a few seconds after making that thought, Lestat appears in my room. This time there is no doubt concerning how he feels: he is angry. His beautiful, blue eyes are focused on me and cut me like a knife. I feel like Lestat can see inside my very soul –if I have one- and manipulate me in any way possible. He can manipulate me, use me, do anything he wants, as long as he talks to me.
"What did you just think about?" he asks coldy.
I'm taken by surprise. Not because of his icy voice. As my maker, he is not supposed to be able to read my thoughts. Sometimes this is a blessing. But there are times that it is a curse.
Akasha's blood. He can read my thoughts because of it. Because of her.
"What?"
"What did you just think about?" he repeats through gritted teeth. "That you love me?"
I do not reply. I simply rise from my bed, not sure what to think of this new connection. If Lestat can read my thoughts, then he will be able to know how I feel about him without me saying anything. There is some comfort to this. Maybe now that he knows that I truly love him, he will open up to me.
Lestat has approached me without my realizing it. He really is more powerful. But he's still so beautiful. He shouldn't be calling me "beautiful one" anymore; it should be the other way around.
Not that he has called me "beautiful one" lately.
"You love me?" he asks crossly. "You love me?"
Lestat looks like a madman, like he's gone insane, like a man possessed. I do not know or understand why. All I do know and care about is that this is not my Lestat, that something is wrong with him and I'm scared for him.
He slaps me. I cry out. He is really strong now. My bottom lip is open and bleeding badly. Surely a bruise is forming on my cheek right now.
He throws me on the bed and sits on my thighs. For one crazy moment, I wonder what it would be like if vampires could make love. If we could make love, on this very bed or any other bed. It would be perfect, I believe. The two of us becoming one. Two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, fitting perfectly.
Of course, Lestat has no intention of ravishing me. He punches my already hurt cheek, making me scream.
"You love me, huh? You don't, you fucking bastard!"
His hand tightens around my neck. I try to fight him, but he's too strong for me. I can't believe it. Lestat will be my death!
"If you truly loved me, you son of a whore, You wouldn't have let Akasha take me! You would have saved me from her!"
So this is what it's all about. Lestat isn't changed. The Queen of the Damned did nothing to his fragile soul. It was me. I didn't do anything back then. And now Lestat thinks that I didn't act because I don't love him.
"You delivered me to the hands of Death three times. You let Claudia kill me. You killed me yourself! And you let Akasha take me."
I can't breathe. I know that vampires can't die like this –at least, I haven't heard of a vampire that died by suffocation- but it's not a pleasant feeling nonetheless. And there is a candle on my nightstand. If Lestat uses that, I'll die. Once and for all.
I have to make him see before he kills me.
I know, Lestat. I was your death. I know and I'm sorry. I tried to stop Claudia. But I couldn't have stopped Akasha all by myself. You have every right and reason to hate me, but I love you.
Slowly, the raging fire leaves his eyes. He lets me go, and I cough. I hope he believes me. It's true. Every word –every thought, actually.
He gets off of me and lies next to me. He looks anywhere but me. He's calm, but he's not peaceful. He has demons to fight, demons that lie in waiting. And I'm there for him. We can fight them together.
"Do you know what happened when I was with her?" he asks after a long moment of silence. He sounds weak, tired. I don't blame him.
"I had her blood, and she had mine many times." , he says, obviously not expecting me to answer. "And I became stronger, more powerful. But I killed. I killed so many for her, Louis."
Even now, there is something intimate about the way he says my name. He rolls it in his tongue like some sort of exquisite wine. He told me once that he was sorry he never got to say my name in that beautiful, intimate way I say his. I disagree.
A slow, hesitant hand strokes his cheek. I expect him to get furious again any time soon, but this does not happen. He merely sighs. He's tired, as if all this time he's been pressed down by the weight of the world on his shoulders. Poor Lestat. He's always been the victim. Nothing bad has ever happened to me in comparison to Lestat's life –human and vampire both.
He leans into my hand and kisses it. His skin is warm, setting mine on fire. He has fed. I haven't. I should. But not right now. I wouldn't trade this moment with anything else in the world. I've missed him. So much!
He rolls to his side and looks at me. There are times that I can't be sure how Lestat feels and what he wants. Now, however, I can read him as easily as my favorite book. His blue eyes are full of desire and love and regret. So beautiful! Au mon Dieu!
"I'm sorry, Louis." ,he whispers and takes the hand on his cheek. I shiver as he rubs my skin with his thumb.
"It is alright, Lestat.", I say, already seduced and drunk by his beauty and his love. "We are fine now."
I am used to it. We have our problems, our arguments. Sometimes we let our pride get in the way , causing more problems and pain to each other. But we love each other, although we have not yet said the words to one another. But what is the point of it? Why speak the words , whereas we are aware of each other's feelings? The feeling is too strong to be put into those three words that people speak so often without meaning them. We feel it, and that's what matters. And the fact that we both feel it is what brings us together again. Always.
Suddenly, he licks my bottom lip, cleaning me up. The wound is closed and I'm sure that there isn't a lot of blood staining me. But I have to admit that I enjoy it. He's lapping me like a cat, in a lazy pace meant to drive me crazy.
And it does. I shiver again and close my eyes for a few breaths. I put my hand on the back of Lestat's head, pulling him closer. I do not have to read his thoughts or look at him so as to know that he's happy and proud of himself. And I'm happy also. I want him. I need him. I love him.
He kisses my lips. It's tender at first, but when I respond, it becomes passionate. I'm afraid that this passion will consume us, burn us. But I do not care. If God exists, he may take me to the deepest pit of Hell, as long as I'm with Lestat. My maker, my father, my companion, my friend, my lover. My Lestat.
Lestat gets on top of me and sucks at my pulse point with dedication and excitement. He doesn't bite, although once or twice his fangs scrape my porcelain skin.
I remove his shirt in no time. I didn't rip it of course, because it is so lovely. White, covered with lace on the collar and the sleeves. It reminds me of the old times. Years that are so far away but feel so close. Lovely years. What would my life have been if Lestat hadn't seen me in that tavern that night? If he hadn't given me his immortal kiss?
He rips my sweater in half –he doesn't like the way that I dress in this century. His lips trail lower, planting soft kissed kisses on my chest and my abdomen, while his fingers skillfully play with my nipples. I arch into him, closer to him, moaning, unable to control myself.
"Lestat, you bastard, you're going to kill me!"
He rubs my nose with his and smiles, showing me his fangs. I love this smile. I love this face. I love his blond hair, locks of which are caressing my skin, almost tickling me.
"I want to eat you up", he whispers seductively in my ear. "I want to kiss you breathless. I want you, you fool!"
I smile and tickle his sides. He laughs, and it's sweet music in my ears. I don't know if he really is ticklish of if he laughs because he I've made a move or because he loves me. Maybe because of all that. I just like making him laugh and I love him too much, that's all I know.
If only we weren't vampires and could make love! If only we weren't dead just for this one night! I feel like my lust and love for Lestat could kill me. But I am already dead. And although my lover is dead also, he feels more alive than any human I have ever taken. Our love for each other rushed life in our dead bodies.
Reviews, maybe?