The Love Abominable
TODAY’S BREW: Santa Nuts. Or, hazelnut mingled lovingly with Santa’s White Christmas blend.
Here’s a little ditty that I have been dying to write. The first short story based on characters from my beloved Running Home and work in progress, Running Away. I am really excited to give a little insight into the mind of a secondary character, who also happens to be Kristen’s favorite. Enjoy! Jeffrey Donovan of Burn Notice, pay attention. You’re playing this guy in the movie.
The Love Abominable
This entire state was beneath me, with its moose and bears and flannel shirts and Live Free or Die license plates. Boston was perfect. When it was time to kill, there were just enough willing bodies ready. Masshole women flocked to me like lemmings to the cliff. Pathetic, how an Italian suit and the word “attorney” catches the heart of a woman with nothing to live for.
I kicked snow off my shoes in aggravation as I entered. The “law office” was depressing. A glorified old country house bristling with old men and the smell of mildew. A surge of anger stifled the sadness as I recalled the office I left behind in Boston.
I had to get away from the other vampires. Fate reared its ugly head when I was offered this job. I was hoping it would be close enough that my Creator felt he could watch me intently, but far enough that I could do as I wished without his interference.
I could not handle any more stifling interference. I was a force that needed to run free.
And here I was, a god among men, degraded into a petty job for the sake of running away. I was a child, desperate for freedom at any cost. It was all I could do to retract my fangs, because I knew I would not be able to hold up the shield in my fury, to hide them from the useless mortals that would work side by side with me. People with no fate, living without reason.
I knew my reason. And it would be the death of them.
“You must be Chris.” I smelled her behind me. Peonies. In the dead of winter. She was strong and unassuming. I knew this before seeing her.
I spun to see what creature could catch my attention in this beehive of worthlessness.
Fiery locks licked her shoulders. Petite, with stunning curves and alabaster skin, she was a porcelain doll that I longed to break. Her eyes flitted with hummingbird life that I wanted to watch die.
For that briefest of moments, I didn’t hate moving to this hick New Hampshire town.
I didn’t give her the smile right away. That smile sealed more deals than I could remember. I wanted to savor this one. I let her look into my eyes with her own chocolate browns, wanted her to fall for the intensity she would see there. When I gave her the smile, she curled in on herself a little, lips twitching.
“I’m Chris Lynch. And you are?” Formal words, but with a secretive gaze. It pulled her to me.
She gathered herself, and held out her hand. Warm, soft, childlike. I wanted to grow her up and make her mine. I wanted her death to taste like pure need of me.
“I’m Kat, the receptionist here.” Her lips moved with such frosting softness, I could tear them off and eat them. She gave me a manila folder, telling me details of things I would never need to remember, and would not be able to. Gorgonized.
Her softness was savage. I would brand myself into her.
“Let me show you to your office, Mr. Lynch,” she said, breezing past me with the slightest whiff of hothouse flowers, peonies on fire.
I trailed her through the dingy “office,” nodding politely at the geysers who brought me here as they pored over papers on old desks. Archaic all around.
“They gave you the good office,” she said with a toothy grin.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “This is the only office.”
“Well, there is that.” Her smile was electric, stinging of vivid sex appeal. Everything about her was dark pastels, creamsicle orange, jellybean lilac, spring grass green. I could taste her sunlight. I would eat her alive.
She sat in my chair, back to the windows overlooking yet more woods, grinning with childlike ferocity.
“Does your wife like it here?” she asked knowingly, meeting my eyes, twisting a strand of hair in her fingers.
I smiled wide, making her head cock to the side with a flirtatious vulnerability at my charm, and called her out. “She likes it just fine.”
Her face fell, her fingers stopped moving, the slight rock of the chair stilling.
“Gotcha,” I said, waggling my eyebrows.
The laugh she possessed was a work of art. Honest, feminine, completely unselfconscious. Gorgeous. I would strangle it from her when we kissed.
“Did you leave someone behind in Boston?”
Images of screaming, bleeding, bruised and defiled women overcame me, bringing a smile to my lips and a song to my heart that I could not push away. “I imagine I left several someones behind, but none of them mattered.”
She blinked, unsure. I gave her the winning smile that made me the attorney I was, that made me ladykiller I was. No pun intended. I strolled to the desk, her scent getting closer with every step. Throwing the file folder on it, I sat on the desk and watched her. I watched her breathe. I watched her blood pump under the skin of her wrists, her lips pucker and relax, her eyes dilate and undulate.
“I live all alone in a great big house,” I said with mock sadness. Her glimmering teeth answered me.
“You just moved here. I’m sure you will meet a great girl in no time.”
“Maybe I already have.”
Kat’s blood flooded to her cheeks, brutally innocent. Intoxicating.
“I—“ she broke off her sentence with a nervous giggle. “That’s very nice.” Her tight lipped little smile was equal parts beautiful and unlike her.
I already knew it was unlike her. The thought boiled me. I imagined her head lolling backwards, almost severed from her body, soupy scarlet life bubbling and frothing all over her pastel perfection.
She giggled, snapping me back. My fangs were pricking my lip. She didn’t see.
“Sorry to be so—I feel like I am being very unprofessional,” she said, sitting up straighter. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
“No, it’s refreshing.” And I kept talking, despite myself. “You have a certain natural sophistication that makes you both stand out and blend in.” Fingernails on my soul to have said such a thing and meant it. Vomit and torture and peeling the skin back.
Kat’s face softened to a heart-revealing realness that made her the most extraordinary fantasy creature that I had ever seen.
“Thank you,” she said, seriously and with a hint of sadness.
When she shifted, I could smell her peony perfume, flowers reaching to a heaven that didn’t exist, scrambling for a fate they would never meet.
“Kat, I have an invitation to extend to you.”
Want more? Check out part two here.