I stared at nothing in the elevator, still entranced by Eric so my eyes saw nothing but his eyes on my body, my skin felt nothing but his mouth on my neck, his hands on my hips.
"Snap out of it," I breathed, the words barely audible. This was ridiculous. There was no feasible reason to get hung up on a guy who wouldn't think of me. Ever.
My hands had found their way to the extra fabric of my dress and were twisting it distractedly; I was flustered, couldn't believe what I'd almost let myself do. I was never that kind of woman. And even if Eric wasn't paying me for sex, he had already paid for my body, my blood. There was no clarity in this situation; the lines of propriety were blurred and I couldn't honestly figure out if sleeping with Eric would have made me feel cheap, used. I'd wanted him; my body had ached for his touch, but there was an odd sort of master/servant vibe that just didn't settle right with me.
My thoughts were interrupted, thankfully, by the elevator's abrupt stop. The doors opened to the basement office, which was empty. I didn't know where Randy was, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get out, to drive as fast as possible, to get as much space between the hotel and I as possible. I stepped out of the elevator, into the too-bright room, my heels clicking in a hollow reverb that made the room feel even emptier. I went to my locker, quickly entered the access code, and took my purse from the small safe. I turned, walked out of the room, down a long, empty hallway, and then through the back door, into thick air that might as well have been water the way it swam down my throat, pooled on my skin.
I hated this weather, loathed the inescapable heat of the south. But I couldn't go home, couldn't go back to the north. Not yet. I reached my car, unlocked it and just sat for a moment, gripping the steering wheel, and asked myself if my dreams were worth the struggle, this constant fear of my clients, for my safety.
"Just stop it." I repeated this a few times until my mind began to quiet. I started the car, shifted into first and pulled into traffic. The rhythmic hum of the motor kept me busy. I sped up, the tachometer climbed. Clutch, shift, gas, repeat. The pattern got me home.
I'd made the trip in fifteen minutes; the roads had been oddly clear. I got out of the car heavily, like my body had been weighted down without me noticing. I went inside my apartment, locked the door, and collapsed into bed, entering into fitful sleep. The dreams I had were vague, but the taste of a chase filled my mind; the feeling of gliding around dark corners, my body just ahead of a shadowy figure whose face was obscured by darkness, but whose blonde hair shone pale white, illuminated by some unseen light
I woke slowly, languidly, to darkness. I blinked a few times at the screaming red letters of my bedside alarm, which told me it was 6:30 pm. I'd slept through the entire day. At some point during my comatose marathon, I'd kicked off my sheets; the evening air was cool on my skin. I stretched, felt the burn of pleasure in my muscles and curled onto my side. Though I'd slept for longer than I ever had before, I wouldn't have minded rolling over and letting myself slip away once more; but the responsible part of my mind ordered my body up. I went straight to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took a long, deep drag from the milk carton inside.
Mmmm. I sighed, satisfied, and put the milk away. My purse sat on one of the chairs surrounding the kitchen table; I pulled it out and slid my contract law textbook out to review terms for the quiz Friday.
Anticipatory breach: an unequivocal indication that the party will not perform when performance is due, or a situation in which future non-performance is inevitable.
I repeated the definition out loud, then in my head. But my mind just wasn't having it; the words on the page blurred in front of me, making memorization a futile hope. Fictitious trade style and garnishee did no better. Instead, my thoughts weaved images and ideas; Eric was painted in front of me, his kisses and touches of last night replaying like a film.
As I stared at the term 'marginal business,' (A sale made to a credit risk from whom payment may be delayed because the business may not have sufficient operating capital), fantasy-Eric snuck up behind me, grasped my arms and pulled me toward the bed. I felt his teeth in my skin when I flipped the page and saw 'No asset case.' I shut the book entirely when the memory of his mouth, searing across my skin toward my lips washed over me. Even if he'd been conflicted, not entirely focused on me, his style had been better than anything I'd ever known.
Eventually, I made it through most of my definitions. When I collapsed once more into bed, noting that it was becoming something of a habit, the pink fingers of dawn had just begun to creep over the horizon. With a last look at the rising red orange, I pulled a sheet over my head, sighed, and fell asleep.
***
The shrill ring of my phone abruptly jolted me from the boundary of sleep into wakefulness; I tumbled, limbs not quite working correctly, out of bed and raced for my phone.
"Hello?" I said, my voice thick.
"Elliot?" A voice asked.
"Yeah?"
"You ok? You sound tired. It's Randy." I covered the mouthpiece of the phone, cleared my throat and tried again.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm good, I was just up late studying."
"Ok," he said. "Hey, I know you don't usually come in until eight, but someone's made a request for you."
"A--a request?" I stammered. My body went cold as adrenaline hit my bloodstream. I felt like I was standing beside myself, that I'd left my body entirely.
"Yeah," Randy went on, oblivious. "A Mr. Northman requested you come in around six, when he rises."
"Oh," I mumbled. My voice sounded far away, worried, even to me.
"I can refuse him, if you like," Randy offered. His unexpected kindness tempted me, but I sighed, and agreed to the job.
"Ok," Randy agreed, and hung up. I looked at the time; it was only two. I wondered what Eric wanted from me, what he could possibly need. Well, I thought of one thing, and it put a smirk on my face. A ghost sensation of his fingers on my legs came over me, and I shivered, though I didn't know if it was from fear or pleasure.
Time moved strangely after the call; I showered, groomed, and picked out something appropriate for work, which took up a good portion of two hours, but I was then ready, far too early, filled with a restless energy that was not satisfied by surfing the web, reading trashy gossip sites, or the continuation of a fluff novel I'd picked up for fun. I flipped through television, unable to concentrate, to find some semblance of focus. I turned it off, sighed, frustrated, in my empty apartment.
After doing little more than staring at the clock for two hours, I figured it was late enough to go to work. I opened my door to that thick, hateful air and felt my hair become weighted down, flat.
"Great," I muttered, and walked carefully in my heels to my car, setting my purse in the passenger seat. My phone chimed from within the fabric of my bag; I had a text message. I ignored it for the time being, started up the car, turned the music on and sang loudly, trying to get rid of some of the tension I felt. The ride was too quick; the hotel crept up in front of me before the forth song on the cd had begun. I pulled into the employee parking lot and checked my phone.
The text was from Randy: Northman instructed me to have you go straight to room 418. Good luck.
Great.
I entered the hotel from the front entrance so I wouldn't see any of my coworkers. I slid past bodies, alive and undead. People in expensive evening wear mixed with others wearing leather and cowboy hats; scents washed over me, varied perfumes and aftershaves, mixing together into one heady scent that made me feel light-headed. When I stepped into the elevator and hit the fourth floor button, my hands were trembling visibly. My heart pounded from within my chest like it was trying to signal someone via morse code; a vampire, a tall, dark-haired man who'd stepped into the small space with me glanced over, looked at me curiously, but said nothing. I willed myself to calm down, to relax, but my body betrayed me. Eric would know I was nervous, scared, because of my very own telltale heart, and there was nothing I could do about it. That fact just made me angry; I hated seeming so weak.
The elevator opened to my floor and I stepped out, gritted my teeth and all but stomped to 418. The door opened before I could know; Eric stood before me, pale as ever, which was only emphasized by the fact that he was dressed entirely in black.
"Heard you from the elevator," he said, leering at me. But I sensed, or saw that something was off. His words, like the first time he kissed me, were automated, said only because they fit his personality, what was expected of him. He was playing a part.
"Yeah, well, being summoned by a vampire will do that to you," I said, chin held up, looking straight, levelly at him.
"You weren't nervous the other night." He reached out to me, touched he back of my neck with cool fingers. With little effort on his part, he pulled me into the room, pushed my back against the door so it shut firmly. He slid his hand from my neck to my hair and pressed himself close so that his lips almost reached mine. But something inside me just knew that this situation was off, that it wasn't right.
"God, what happened?" I asked, reaching up to touch his cheek. The skin under my hand was soft but firm, and had an oddly polished feel to it.
"What do you mean?" He replied, curving his lips into a smile. But vampires were people too, and they make micro-expressions, just like the rest of us. For a split second, his lips had pressed together, thinned, and pulled down. Sadness.
"Look. I don't know you, but I know people. And you're hurting. So what can I do for you?"
His eyes went cold; I froze under them as he stared me down. If he was trying to scare me, it was working.
"How is it," he said, his voice deadly quiet, "that no other vampire, human or fucking telepath can read me as easily as you can?"
"It's none of your business," I said, squirming under his gaze. "I just know people, alright?"
"Not quite." His arms wrapped around me, too quickly for me to respond. They moved slowly up and down the small of my back; the feeling of his fingers through the silk of my dress made my neck snap back as I inhaled loudly, close to his mouth.
"Eric," I said, my voice wavering, "Why am I here? What do you want from me?"
"I think you know what I want," he whispered. His accent was a little thicker, a little more pronounced. It made his words sound smooth, almost serpentine.
"You could have anyone." It's not a question.
"Yes."
"So why me?"