Hi everyone! I made it through one of my finals, still have two to go, but I'm officially five days from total freedom. And as promised, I did make a playlist! From the 14 chapters and 1/2 that I've written so far, I pulled my favorite songs from both the chapter titles and ones I used for general inspiration. If you would like the link, please send me a message! I'm having a hard time attaching it as a copy/paste.
The song this week is "Mr. Sandman" re-imagined by SYML (who just released a new album, for those of you as obsessed with his music as I am). This chapter is actually so thirsty, I can't believe I wrote it and now I'm actually putting it out into the world. So, I hope you guys enjoy it? I don't know. I'll be around sipping tea trying to drown my embarrassment. Thank you Anonymous V and Courtney-Tamara for reviewing on the last chapter! I hope to hear from you all in the reviews!
-lightinside
05. | Mr. Sandman
The following evening, Birdie readied herself for dinner with her childhood friend and her boyfriend with less than usual gusto. Dinner was meant to be an exciting excursion. Birdie usually couldn't wait to have an excuse to dress up and go out on the town. But she wondered what exactly it was that she was in for.
Bill was probably perfectly kind and respectable. He had to be if Sookie was dating him. Sookie didn't tolerate any underhanded behavior for very long at all. But beyond the prospect of not knowing what to say, as was the case anytime Birdie met someone new, there was the problem of the bleeding hearts stashed on top of her fridge. She had been over a thousand different scenarios in her head all day and still was unsure of whether to let the invitation lie or confront the one who sent it.
She absolutely could not skip dinner. She wouldn't do that to Sookie, or even Bill though she hadn't yet met him.
But she could take a detour.
xxx
Halfway to Shreveport, Birdie dialed Sookie's number, half hoping that she wouldn't pick up the phone. But, of course, Sookie picked up on the third ring.
"Birdie?"
Birdie bit her tongue to keep from sighing. "Hey, Sookie!"
"You're cancelling." Sookie said.
"Oh my god, no!" Birdie exclaimed, mouth falling open. "I just need to budge dinner by about an hour. Is that alright?"
Sookie sighed, obviously relieved. "Yes, oh my goodness. I was so afraid you weren't coming for a minute."
"I would never cancel on you, Sook. I know how important this is to you." Birdie promised. "I just need a little breathing room to take care of something."
"Are you alright?" Sookie demanded. "Do you need me to come get you?"
"I'm fine." Birdie hushed her. "Good gracious. I just have to… get tampons." She glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror, gaping. Why tampons? Why would she say that? Going to see a vampire in Shreveport versus heading to the store for tampons.
"Oh!" Sookie laughed. "Alright, okay. Just be careful and we'll see you in an hour?"
"An hour." Birdie said and hung up after saying goodbye. She hung her head and groaned out loud. "Tampons." She muttered. "Unbelievable."
Birdie pulled up in the parking lot outside Fangtasia in record time, having pushed the speed limit the rest of the way to Shreveport. She didn't give herself time to debate. She didn't even sit in the car long enough to cut the A/C. She cut the ignition and threw her feet out of the car and onto the pavement, slamming the door closed without looking back.
Birdie walked with purpose, checking her pocket discreetly as she went. The same bouncer from her first visit stood adjacent to a velvet rope, looking her up and down. Catcalls rang out from the left as Birdie faced him down.
Her skin felt hot, her pulse thrumming in her ears as she clenched her jaw and motioned to the door.
"I'm here to see Eric."
"I know." The bouncer grinned, showing off teeth that had been filed into points. A mouthful of fangs. She didn't remember that from before. The surprise had the effect that he wanted – Birdie was terrified. "It's just nice to see a little color in your cheeks."
"Let me through." Birdie insisted and then thought better of it. "Please."
He removed the rope and swept his arms into a mocking bow. "After you."
Birdie ignored the insult and swept past him and away from the drunks that still called after her, even as the thrum of the music washed their voices away. She strode into the nightclub with purpose, not interested in a drink this time. Penny waved to her as she passed, and Birdie inclined her head in hello even though she never stopped walking. She pushed her way politely through the people dancing and paying her absolutely no mind. But there were two people that Birdie knew were watching her every move.
The blonde met her before she could even take a step up to where Eric Northman lounged languidly, as if he had known Birdie would come looking for him. "That's far enough." The blonde drawled flatly, taking hold of one of Birdie's arms.
Birdie glared at her but didn't struggle. Eric surveyed them both and then, with a wave of his hand, the blonde let her go. "That's not necessary, Pam." He said without raising his voice to be heard over the music. "Miss. Chapman and I have business to discuss."
Pam dipped her head in acknowledgment even as she cast a disgusted glance at Birdie before floating away. Birdie shifted from foot to foot, suddenly aware that she had Eric's full attention. And for a moment, she wasn't quite sure what to do with it. She cleared her throat. "How do you know my name?"
Eric's eyes drifted to the bar. "I have very competent employees."
She forced herself not to look back toward Penny. Instead, she squared her shoulders and took a step toward the throne. "Did you send this?" Birdie asked, pulling the note from her jacket pocket. As if he wouldn't know what she was talking about.
Eric's expression never changed. He merely looked at her. It was the stare of an immortal, something infinite and eternal that made her bones quiver. She was small and insignificant in the crosshairs of that stare. She was dust. And he was making sure that she knew it. "Are you displeased?" He murmured finally.
"Confused." Birdie replied. She forced herself to hold his stare. "I confess that I don't really know what to make of it."
He hummed. A low, contemplative sound that came from the back of his throat. Gooseflesh sprung up all over Birdie's arms. "What would you like to make of it?"
She found herself shaking her head. "I don't know why I came here."
"Don't you?" He half-asked, cocking his head to one side. It was only then that he leaned forward, studying her in a way that was almost animalistic. Birdie steeled herself, refusing to let him intimidate her. She didn't budge an inch. "My offer is as stated. I am at your disposal."
Birdie blinked. "What?"
"It is purely selfish." Eric promised, leaning back once more. "I confess that you have captured my curiosity. It is not often that humans hold any interest for me. Consider this a trade. I will help you put aside all those things that make you so mortal. And you will allow me your company. It would be of mutual benefit."
"That's all you want." Birdie said incredulously. "A warm body."
"A curious mind to study." As he spoke, Eric's eyes pointedly roved her body. "Anything else is… coincidental."
Birdie felt lightheaded. This was certifiably insane – by all rights, she shouldn't even have been there. She thought about turning and running for the door. "And how exactly would you know what makes me mortal?"
Eric said nothing.
Birdie raised an eyebrow, waiting. He waited. And then it hit her. "It isn't polite to eavesdrop on people's conversations."
He'd been the presence that made her flee the cemetery. The watchful eye that she had never been able to name. Birdie couldn't even be angry. Shock, shame, embarrassment – these were the things that held her in their iron claws.
"You and I have very different definitions of conversation." Eric said. "Evangeline. Your mother?"
Birdie's jaw locked into place. She didn't know whether to scream at him or dissolve into tears. Everything she said that night had been deeply personal. No wonder Eric was so intrigued by her – she was a sideshow act for him. Vampires claimed to have lost their ability to feel deeply the way humans did. Grief was such a changed concept for them. It was fleeting, minimal. As was everything else, apparently.
If Birdie had been in Eric's position, she would have died of shame before listening to a second of someone's personal admissions.
"Yes." She ground out between clenched teeth. "My mother."
"I seem to have upset you." He observed.
"I shouldn't have come here." Birdie said by way of reply. She turned to leave just as Eric's hand shot out, fingers wrapping loosely around her wrist. Only to catch her attention, never to force her to stay. Birdie knew this, could sense it, even as her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. She turned her gaze toward him, fear flickering in her green eyes.
But there wasn't a trace of anger to be seen on him. That surprised her.
"If you should warm to the idea of our arrangement, I would like you to know that you would never become my human companion. You will be free to live your life as you wish."
"I would never become your blood bag, you mean." Birdie nearly spat the words at him, though she never pulled her wrist from his grasp.
"However you wish to see it." Eric amended. And then her wrist was free. "When you come to me, it will be of your own free will." When Birdie didn't move to leave or speak, he leaned back in his chair. The music came rushing back into Birdie's ears, almost startlingly loud. "Think on it."
She turned on her heels and rushed from Fangtasia, stumbling several times over her own feet. She didn't stop until she reached her car, hurling herself inside and locking the doors. Breathing hard, Birdie leaned her head on the steering wheel. It was only in the quiet that she realized she was trembling.
When you come to me.
Not if. Never if, not when Eric was so used to getting what he wanted. And he knew that it was a matter of time. Did she?
When.
It required strenuous effort for Birdie to remember to breathe.
Minutes passed. When her hands stilled and the tears that stung her eyes disappeared, Birdie took a deep breath and cranked the ignition.
xxx
Birdie was twenty minutes late to dinner. She had forgotten all about her excuse of buying tampons and rushed to Sookie's porch without her purse. Sookie happily ushered her inside and introduced her to Bill, who smiled politely and shook her hand to maintain a respectful distance. When he excused himself to set the table, Birdie was left alone with Sookie.
She perched herself at the kitchen table, watching Sookie put the finishing touches on a roast chicken. "You didn't have to do all this, you know. It's only me."
"Well, it's our first dinner together since you moved back home." Sookie shrugged. "I wanted it to be nice."
Birdie smiled. "It's like something your Gran would have done."
"I guess it is." Sookie agreed shyly, smiling back. "I don't know if it'll be any good. We'll soon find out, I suppose."
Birdie's mouth went dry. Her thoughts flew immediately back to Fangtasia, to Eric. She got up from her seat and fixed herself a small glass of water. "It's nice." She said absently. "That I still know my way around your kitchen."
"I couldn't bring myself to change anything." Sookie said. "It just didn't feel right."
"I put out Mama's furniture last night." Birdie admitted.
Her friend whirled around, carving knife in hand. It was very Norman Bates. Birdie would have laughed had the conversation not been so serious. "No!"
"I had to. It was time for me to make the house my own. Living in it any other way would have driven me crazy." She sighed. "Besides, I have too many books. I had to make room for them."
Sookie scoffed. "Oh, don't be silly. That's not why."
"It's nice to lighten the mood every now and then, Sookie." She said pointedly. Thankfully, her friend took the hint. She turned around and continued cutting the chicken that Bill would never eat and made lighter conversation about work and their friends.
Dinner was a quaint affair. Birdie was pleased to find that her assumption was right; Bill Compton was a perfect gentleman in every respect. And Sookie was obviously head over heels in love with him. It seemed that the feeling was mutual.
Birdie studied them as close as she dared. Vampires were not supposed to feel as deeply as humans. But that theory clearly was shit. Perhaps it was that most chose not to feel deeply. It occurred to Birdie that maybe, when faced with centuries of life, it was easier not to feel very much at all. It was easier not to make connections that might be severed with time.
Or to make those connections immortal.
She wondered if that was Bill's plan for Sookie. Neither of them mentioned it. Neither seemed concerned with it at present. But surely one or both of them had thought of it. Birdie had to think that if she loved someone that way, she would want to spend forever with them. But hadn't she already wanted it? And had that dream crushed?
Her heart spasmed with an echo of pain. She tried not to wince.
If ever you should need to forget.
Birdie took an exceedingly large sip of wine. How would Eric Northman know that? Yes, he'd heard her that night at the cemetery. And now he was privy to information that no one but Sookie knew. It was a bizarre feeling, to have a stranger be so informed regarding Birdie's personal life. She didn't know what to do with it. Was she supposed to allow him full access? Let him pick her brain about Oliver and her silly mortal life with its mortal problems?
Birdie couldn't imagine that Eric would concern himself with details about her ex-fiancée. What exactly was it that he wanted to know? It was an absurd thing to think that he was lonely. He had the blonde, his friend Pam. Well, whatever she was to him.
Friend, employee… what did it matter to him?
"Birdie?" Sookie was gazing at her worriedly, brows knitted together. "Are you okay? You went somewhere just now."
"Fine." Birdie nodded. "I'm just not feeling so well, I think." She turned her attention to Bill and smiled. "How is Jessica? I can't wait to meet her."
Bill chuckled lightly. "She is… spirited, to say the least."
Birdie nodded. "I gathered that. Sookie hasn't had to go looking for anyone since Jason graduated high school and stopped drinking so much."
Sookie groaned, dropping her head into her hands. "Oh, my lord, don't remind me. To her credit, Jessica isn't even half the problem child that Jason was. Gran was always bailing him out of trouble."
"And so were we, if I remember right." Birdie laughed out loud. "God, do you remember that time that he thought he lost his keys partying at the football field and walked all the way home? And your Gran found them in his jacket pocket the next morning."
"I paid Hoyt twenty bucks to nick them from Jason's pocket." Sookie admitted, blushing wildly.
"You never told me!"
"Hoyt brought 'em by after Gran went to bed. I was the one who put the keys back in his jacket after he passed out cold in his room."
Birdie and Sookie dissolved into giggles while Bill looked on, grinning from ear to ear. Birdie wiped tears from her eyes and bit back a snort. "I can't believe you did that. Does he know?"
"Of course not." Sookie said. "I'll never tell him. I'll let him keep thinking that he learned a lesson before I admit I set the whole thing up."
They talked of Jason and Tara, of Hoyt and Maxine, though Birdie skipped over the exchange she shared with them the day before. That was something she didn't wish to relive anytime soon. And Birdie found that she enjoyed giving Bill a glimpse into who Sookie was before they met. Before vampires came out of the coffin.
Around the time that lightning split the sky late into the night, Birdie stepped out onto Sookie's porch and said her goodbyes. When Bill stuck out his hand, Birdie shook her head. "No, no. We're acquainted now," and pulled him into a friendly hug. "It was lovely to meet you."
Sookie was beaming at her friend as she took her place at Bill's side.
"And you as well, Birdie." He said, ducking his head. The perfect picture of a southern gentleman.
She hugged Sookie and promised that they would do dinner again soon and dashed to her car just as the rain came pouring down. It was a lot like Portland – a floodgates opening sort of rain. It was surprising and inconvenient considering that Birdie couldn't see very well because of all the water. And it was because of this that she couldn't wait to get home.
By the time she pulled up in her driveway, it was two a.m. The rain kept pouring, growing worse as the minutes passed. She sat in her car, hands on the steering wheel, staring at her door.
For some reason, she couldn't make herself go inside.
Maybe it was the rain. Or the wine. Or the full moon. But Birdie sat, listening to the idling of the engine and imagined pulling away from the house. She closed her eyes and imagined the roads she might take – all the possibilities that lead nowhere.
All but one.
When.
Thunder clapped, reverberating in Birdie's throat. She opened her eyes and slowly, she put the car in gear.
xxx
This time, Birdie pulled up outside Fangtasia calmly. There was no sense of urgency, no fear that she might be found out. No excuses to make. And, as if he were expecting her, the frightening bouncer from before allowed her through the rope without a word.
Soaked to the bone, Birdie Chapman stepped inside to meet her fate.
She found him in an instant, shadowed only by Pam as he looked out over the nightclub. Birdie stood perfectly still, taking him in like she had never seen him before. She committed the scene to memory because, whatever happened, there was no going back.
His eyes met hers and all thought vanished from her mind. Music pulsing in her veins, mixing with fear and adrenaline and euphoria, she traversed the sea of bodies in seconds. Abandoning reason gave Birdie a rush that she had hardly ever experienced. It was intoxicating enough that it granted her the boldness she needed to speak.
"You made me an offer." She said, not bothering to raise her voice. Birdie well knew that he could hear her perfectly.
Eric never shifted in his seat, even as he ran his eyes over every inch of bare skin, still beaded with the rain. Birdie should have been many things. She should have been cold. She should have been worried. She should have been terrified. But there was something there, something molten that lounged lazily in the space between them, that sent heat sneaking up her arms, her legs, down her back…
"That I did." Eric murmured finally. "Am I to assume you have an answer for me?"
Birdie blinked, rain dropping from her eyelashes. "Please." She forced the word out breathlessly. "Please."
She watched, waited, but those eyes betrayed nothing. Until, after a moment, he reached for her. Slowly, he ran his hand just underneath her fingertips. A whisper of a touch, but a promise nonetheless. A guarantee of more. Birdie bit back a shiver. She withdrew her hand gently, causing him to still. There was no question, no surprise. Only calculation.
He wanted to know where she stood.
Eric sat still and waited for Birdie to cross the line.
"I expect you to be true to your word." Birdie whispered. She allowed her hand to relax, falling at her side so that it brushed his again. No biting.
Silence. All Birdie could hear was the wild rhythm of her heart, filling her ears like a drum. There was no one else. No music. Nothing. All she saw was him.
And then, Eric Northman stood.
Birdie had never been so close to him before. He towered over her, impossibly tall, and had to duck his head to look her in the eye. Looking up, Birdie felt his hand turn underneath hers once. And then again. His fingers clasped loosely around her own, entreating her even as he began to lead her off the platform, away from the throne.
Fire. Flames. Ash.
Birdie followed him without question. She felt like she was floating. Perhaps she was flying. Either way, everything was unreal. And this was probably a terrible decision. Yet, it was the only one that felt exactly right. Her judgement was impaired not because of the drink she had at dinner but because Eric was standing too close to her. And she couldn't bring herself to push him away and say that she made a mistake. She wouldn't turn around and walk out to her car.
She wouldn't be going home tonight.
Eric led her around and then behind the platform to a stairway. From there, they descended, down, down. Away from the first floor of Fangtasia, deeper into the bowels of whatever lurked underneath. It never occurred to her that he might live there. Birdie wondered at the darkness as it opened its maw and swallowed them whole, never once removing her hand from his.
His grasp was surprising. Nothing about it was possessive. But neither did it strike her as innocent. She had already made up her mind that she didn't want it to be.
As if Eric read her mind, he came to a stop outside a final door. Birdie raised an eyebrow. "No coffins?"
"We passed them on the way in." He said. His voice was nothing more than a murmur, a rumble in the back his throat, and sent sparks flying across Birdie's skin. With his free hand, he reached for Birdie's face. Slowly, he brushed a strand of damp hair away from her eyes.
Birdie felt her face flame and hoped that he couldn't see. Reality crept in again, demanding to know why she was still there. It screamed at her, echoing in the quiet. For a moment, panic threatened to set in. And then he looked at her again.
The panic morphed into something very different.
Eric reached behind her, close enough that she could inhale the scent of his skin and opened the door. Half-drunk by his proximity, Birdie drifted inside, pulling him with her as she went. With a flick of his wrist, Eric illuminated the space with light. The room was the size of a studio apartment, complete with a kitchenette and what looked to be a bathroom. Fit for a human. Designed with them in mind. Every other piece of furniture was draped each with their own sheet. No one had stepped inside this place in a long time.
"I'm not the first." Birdie commented, still looking around. There was no surprise in her voice, for she felt none. It was strange, to be immune to the sting of what could potentially be hurtful if allowed. Birdie merely observed. This was not a relationship. There would be no emotional attachment. But there was a promise to be fulfilled.
Eric Northman had promised to help her forget.
"No." He said, lingering behind her. She could feel his breath on her skin.
Birdie took a deep breath as quietly as possible and released his hand. She walked forward without looking back. If she had, Birdie knew they would never make it past the threshold. Methodically, Birdie removed the dusty sheets from each piece of furniture. First the sofa, then the dining table. The chairs. And then the bed.
The stagnant smell of the studio had just begun to slip away just as Birdie felt Eric's arms slip around her waist. Sighing, she leaned into his body.
Birdie had never known anything like it. His skin was firm – marble and steel. Hers was supple, breakable. It was a reminder that she was only human. And this was dangerous and stupid. He was dangerous, and she was stupid. But even if Birdie had been devoured on the spot, there was nothing in her head to remind her to care.
It was an exhilarating thing, to be so near to death. To dance with it.
Her friends would be furious. Her aunt would have been appalled. Their displeasure was the fuel to her fire, burning brighter and brighter as Eric brushed his hands down her body – unbuttoning the front of her dress as he went. His fingers were steady. Birdie's were not. They trembled along with her breath as she turned, still cradled within his arms, and began to remove his shirt. It was difficult to think, difficult to breathe, especially with Eric watching her as he did.
This was only a tryst, she reminded herself. They didn't know anything about each other. None of it mattered. And even so, she could see Eric taking note of how she responded to him. The strings of a cello at the mercy of their master. It didn't occur to her to be embarrassed. Perhaps later, when the air was not crackling between them and her blood no longer sang at his touch. Then she might blush at her audacity. Maybe not even then.
As Eric freed her from her dress, Birdie felt a weight lift from her shoulders. It was a breath of fresh air. A moment of clarity. She stepped away from it, reaching askingly for his face. He stilled. Waited.
Deliberately, Birdie traced the curve of it, the outline of his mouth, of his eyes. Learning him, even as she swore to herself that this would never happen again.
Tara was right.
She had always been a terrible liar.
Eric closed his eyes as she ran her fingers through the fine silk of his hair. A small sound escaped her mouth, her suspicions confirmed. There was not one part of him that didn't intoxicate her. At this, his eyes opened. In them, a hunger so intense that Birdie once again found it impossible to breathe. She clenched her hands into fists against his shoulders.
A tryst. An affair. Nothing.
It could never be more than this. Birdie would never ask for more, told herself that she would never want it. It would only ever be this. Hidden away, stealing moments from days in which the people they knew were so busy that they never noticed either of them missing.
Forget.
It was working already, the potency of his promise working its way through her as he brushed his knuckles along her spine. Birdie looked up at Eric from underneath her lashes, hesitating for the first time since she had decided to go to him. It was not true hesitation. Only a brief flash of the shyness that had evaded her, pushed aside by adrenaline. She knew what she wanted. And as she brought her lips to his, she claimed it for her own.
The flame ignited.
His touch was neither objective nor calculating, as she expected. He did not play her just to hear her sing but was just as much a participant as she. Neither held back or gave in to reason. This was not nothing. It was something.
An accident, a gift, a mistake, an answered prayer.
After, when they'd had their way with each other several times over, Birdie lay in the bed staring at the canopy. It was just after dawn. Eric had excused himself quietly to slumber in his coffin, for though they had shared more than most strangers, it seemed that he did not trust her enough to sleep in the open space beside her.
Birdie wondered if it was habit. Stay, he'd said by way of an offer. Sleep, if you wish.
Sleep never came.
She traced the edges of her cheeks, her lips, and hid her face when it turned crimson from the blush that worked its way down her neck and up to her ears. What had she done?
"I'm ruined." She whispered to no one. "Utterly ruined."
Not in a way that made her feel dirty or used. Not in a way that made her feel spent and miserable because of the night's events. But in a way that Birdie knew there was no way back from. Shipwrecked on an island with no way off and no reason to care. The prisoner of the most exquisite and terrible dream, fearful that she might wake. She was addicted to the sensation of losing herself within someone else. It didn't matter if it meant nothing, if all it would ever be was sex. Eric had fulfilled his promise and made her forget everything for a few blissful hours. And she was addicted to the freedom of it.
Birdie forced her eyes closed and relaxed. As she fell finally into the embrace of sleep, the dazed smile that she could not seem to will away slipped from her face. And for the first time since coming back to Bon Temps, Birdie dreamed and dreamed in the pale light of the morning sun.
That was the first night she spent with Eric Northman.