Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Title: Your Blood Screams for Me
Author: Flyer
AN: This follows my other fic, What's It Like?, although it isn't necessary to read that one first. This may feel a little disjointed. I wanted it that way because Tracy is feeling a little unhinged. We're in her mind and often the mind has no set direction on where it will go and no obvious connections on how conclusions are reached. Well this is my second outing into the world of FK fanfic writing. This isn't beta'd so all mistakes are my own. Please read and review for me. Thanx
Your Blood Screams for Me
The word of the day is rationalizing. It's an innate talent of humans that has long since been perfected by vampires and small children. We all believe ourselves to be above fate and its machinations. It's the way we are raised, especially in America. We're taught that each and every one of us is a special individual's who are destined for the abstract idea of greatness. I am no exception. I thought this way for the longest time. Really, why is it that everyone always believes that they will be the exception to the rule? No one ever believes it will happen to them until it does. They're blindsided and are so surprised. I saw it so many times as a cop. The 40-year-old smoker who has smoked for the past 22 years never believes that he will get cancer. The teenager who tries drugs for the first time never thinks that this one time will be their doom, either in death or addiction. The only time that you have unprotected sex results in disaster. Is it a disease or a baby or maybe both? And sometimes consequences just happen. It's life. All I can do is stand by wayside incredulously because what do these people think will happen? And if you can answer that question maybe you'll answer this one: What did I think was going happen when I allowed myself to love again?
Did I believe that he would look past my current state of not living and love me the same? Did I learn nothing from Nick's mistake with Natalie or Vachon's mistake with me? Maybe I thought that I could possibly control myself and not let him in too deep? That's what is call wishful thinking. In any case, I tell myself that it was love that drove me to such a state. Isn't that what everyone seeks in this whacked out thing that is affectionately called life? Isn't it so romantic and cute? I yearn for the feel of a warm hand to caress my own. I want the feeling of another's heartbeat to drive me to passion that is not the bloodlust or calm me in its reassurance. I rationalize what happened and in the dark of night believe it.
The night makes equals of all humans. I like knowing that on some instinctive level, humans have enough sense to fear me. It's the bad girl in me. Existence is a series of events that is preceded by anticipation. I was once told that blood talks. Lacroix probably told me this; he loves to wax poetic on the joys of blood. It gives away the life and times of it's owner. It tells me who is a junkie and who is not. It whispers sweet nothings in my ear. It speaks of past experiences that curl the toes and sends a rush of blood to the head. And sometimes it screams its delicious fury.
I can't escape the mad reasoning that comes upon me. Did he know that he reminded me of another love, another time and place? Did he know that in him I saw Vachon? Would the outcome have been different if I had told him? I can't escape him. But in the end do I want to? I want his anger. I want his wrath. I loved him. I hated him for his weak, human shell. I hated him for making me love him. I hate this feeling of darkness inside that won't let me go, and calls to me in an endless seductive whisper of promised delights. I want him back.
It hurts to remember, to see it again. It was inevitable that it would end as it did. How was I supposed to know that he would follow me that night? That he would see me as I am? I thought I was the exception, that I was different. I tell myself that Nick would be tolerant of this one transgression, but I'm uncertain. What if he isn't? I had to fix my error. It's against the Code to let mortals know. They, the Enforcers, would come. They would make it right if I could not. He was no Natalie that earned their respect. But I rationalize it. I had no choice. If I refused, another would be charged with the task to end him. They would not be as gentle. Cold hands that cared nothing for him would deliver his fate. I had to; it was the only way. His blood screamed for me and I had to silence it. I have to believe this, my sanity will allow for nothing else.