Baby, don't leave me
Disclaimer- Nope, I don't own them yet. Never have, and never will.
Rating- R
Notes- This is another challenge fic- answering the turning challenge in the MLL Writer's Circle. Sarah's POV of her turning
"Charles, darling- you promised…" I tell him, pouting and sitting down on the satin sheets I'd bought with my monthly allowance from my father this afternoon in the hopes that he would keep his promise.
"Sarah- I know we talked about this… but you're not ready yet."
"If I'm not ready, why are you baring your fangs?" I ask, moving closer to inspect them up close, and not for the first time.
"Because I want it- damn it, Sarah, I want it more than you can even imagine. But I have to know you are going to be OK if we do." He says, visibly disturbed.
Instead of answering him, I simply turn and pull him close, kissing him and letting one of his fangs prick my tongue just enough to bring a few drops of blood. He'd told me once that the blood of someone you love is sweeter than anything I can imagine- hopefully that will be enough to bring him around to my point of view.
Sure enough, I watch in awe as his whiskey colored eyes turn to silver and the fangs become more prominent. "Now. Are you ready to listen?"
He doesn't say a word, but his fierce visage mellows a bit. "We've talked about this."
"No. You've talked about this. It's my turn. I love you- and I don't want to make you suffer, watching me slowly die. I can't imagine that you want that either. So we need to do this. And we might as well do it now. I want it, you want it…"
"Sarah, this sort of thing takes time to prepare… you're a well known woman in New York society. Are you ready to leave all of that?"
"For you, I will. We can just elope … that seems like the easiest thing."
"It does."
" And they're gone tonight. We should do it now."
"Let me make a few calls and set this up, then…" He says, trepidation writ all over his face as he walks to the phone and passes a few moments in conversation with what sounds like several different people. Then he turns back to me, taking my hand and pulling me up from the bed, then wrapping his arms around me.
"OK." He says, speaking quite close to my ear. "Before we do this- I want to know that you are sure… you know you can't take it back, Doll."
"I am. I want this, Charles. More than anything."
"Alright, then." He turns my head just a bit so that he has better access to my neck, moving my hair out of the way. "I love you, Sarah Whitley." He whispers into my ear, soothingly. The bite itself is a model of efficiency- there is no pain, only a quick sting and then waves of pleasure wash over me as he begins to drain me. His arms hold me close, his hands massaging my knuckles in the most soothing way possible, and I know I am safe.
Before long, my body can't stay upright, and my mind fades to black. My heart is struggling to beat, and I know I am close to the point where he'll have to do it. There's no turning back now- and I can hardly wait. He carries me to the bed, placing a soft kiss on my forehead as he lays me there. I can hear him moving around me- then sense a drop of his blood on my lips- then a slow torrent of blood. Just as I'd been told to expect. But I can't move to swallow it. It trickles down my throat, and I feel the transformation begin, but my body won't respond to my mind's commands when I try to move. The transformation continues unabated, however. At first, I don't think too much of it- after all, I've never been through this before. Terror rushes in in waves, though, as the first moments stretch into a quarter hour. This can't be right- but I can't even speak to tell him what is going on. I'd scream, but I can't.
For an hour, I lay there… listening, feeling, but unable to respond. I have never been more frightened, but there is no way to express that. At first, before he realizes that there's something wrong, he simply holds me, whispering the plans he has for us- apparently assuming that this is the normal sleep that occurs with new turns as they are transitioning. But there's something dreadfully wrong, and it doesn't take long for him to know.
I can feel the moment that his initial self- delusion wears off. The air seems to be sucked out of the room, and he begins to sob, begging me with every fiber of his being to please talk to him, and crying out to a God he claimed he no longer believed in, intermittently begging for me to be returned to him, and railing at the fate that he sees ahead if I'm not. He blames himself- though we both know it isn't necessarily true. The self control of which he is capable is gone at that moment, and I can hear every shred of heartache in his voice. I wish I could soothe him, but my body simply will not respond as it should.
He feeds me more and more of his blood over a couple of hours, until the bed next to my face is covered in it, all to no avail. Finally, he brings in an IV pole, so that I can have transfusions of what my body needs, inserting the needle himself so that I won't be hurt. Through it all, the plea in his voice is the same "Baby, don't leave me." And I don't… I never will.