2 - Syrsee
Nothing but a hen.
He’s hungry. I can see it now. I’ve spent the last two weeks feeding him and there is definitely a pattern of behavior that only occurs when he needs my blood. It’s nothing as obvious as bloodshot eyes or pale skin. It’s more like an energy coming off him. A vibration, almost. It’s always there, but when he’s hungry the velocity of the wave increases.
Wow. Velocity. Not a word typically found in my vocabulary. I know what it means. Speed. But it’s a very specific kind of speed that pertains to waves and…
I shake my head to stop this train of thought.What the hell, Syrsee? No one cares.
Anyway. When he’s hungry this wave vibration is more urgent. I can’t explain it, but I can feel it and it’s happening right now.
It comes with colors too. Like the purple letters that came with the phrase ‘blood lovers’ back when I was first turning into… well, whatever it is I am now.
I haven’t had much time to think about the changes happening inside me. I can feel them. But I can’t explain them. I just know I’m not the same person who walked into my grandma’s cabin on New Year’s Eve. The moment I walked out, and she was dead, everything about me changed.
And that’s just the beginning. Who the hell knows what was done to me while the blood orgy happened up in that tower room at Paul’s compound.
I close my eyes in this moment when Ryet’s back is to me and he’s closing the cabin door. Then I take a quick breath, give myself a speedy pep talk—which amounts to nothing more thanDon’t think about it, Syrsee—and force myself to smile so when Ryet turns back to me I don’t come off as resentful.
Even though I feel some resentment about this whole situation.
The little neighbor welcome wagon down the hill was a nice distraction. And it’s all been fine since Ryet woke up and we started heading to West Virginia. It was a relief, actually. For him to take over and start making decisions so I didn’t have to.
But reality won’t wait forever. And my pep talks suck.
Bright side—Ryet’s hunger is distracting and imminent, so I don’t really have the luxury of dwelling on my insecurities. The color of the wave coming off Ryet is not purple. It’s yellow. Kind of gold, actually. Which is good. Because I’ve got enough purple going on these days and having a separate color for this particular event—or behavior, or whatever you want to call it—should make it easier to determine which state of insanity I’m currently residing in.
Purple equals past, present, future. Also sex dreams. Which aren’t dreams, but kind of are… so… yeah. I’ve got way more purple than I need.
And now, gold equals food. As inIam the food.
“So.” Ryet is smiling and walking towards me. He pans his arms out, presenting his cabin. “What do you think?”
“It’s really nice.” I look around. Turning in a slow circle to take it all in. And itisnice. It’s very log cabin-y on the inside. Wide-plank wood floors, cotton-rag rugs, couches that don’t have drink holders, and an entire color wheel of neutral colors. Browns, and warm grays, and off-whites.
Even though we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, it’s the kind of work I’ve come to expect from him. Lots of wood paneling, and logs, and it’s clearly been made with care.
Care is a good word for Ryet. He’s careful. Very careful. He likes details. Not just in the craftsmanship of his woodwork or bathroom renovations, but in his choice of words, the way he approaches people, and how he, even now, keeps a certain distance from me.
I look back at him and that gold wave is coming right at me with an ever-increasing intensity. “You’re hungry.” I don’t ask it as a question. I already know and I don’t feel like wasting time with words that don’t matter.
He doesn’t say anything, just shrugs up his shoulders while looking me in the eyes.
“It’s OK. I get it. You need to eat.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I wish it wasn’t like this.”
“But it is.” I offer him a smile. It comes out small, so I make it bigger. None of this is his fault. It’s not my fault, either. It’s just… reality now. He needs to eat and I am his food. “Where should we do it?”
Ryet looks around, then offers up the couch. “How about right there?”
It’s as good a place as any, so I walk over and sit down as Ryet crosses the room and joins me. Feeding him was different in the truck. When he was asleep, he would wake up just enough to grab at me. He wasn’t strong enough to force me to feed him. So he didn’t… like… pull me out of my seat, or anything. I just leaned over, and he just latched on to my neck. The feedings were quick, too. Painful, as well. But it was a minute or two of sucking and then he’d be full, or whatever, and he’d slump back into his seat, falling back into unconsciousness.
But since he woke up the feedings have been different. They’re still short. He doesn’t take a lot. And if he hadn’t been doing that all along, I’d assume that he was cutting them short on purpose for my benefit. But they’ve always been quick, so I don’t think he needs much blood. He just needs it frequently. They’re less painful, at least. In fact, sometimes it’s a little bit erotic. The feeling of blood being pulled out of me… I dunno. It’s a trigger, I think. Something hormonal, maybe. Because it makes me want him. It makes mewantto feed him.
There’s a bit of awkwardness as we look at each other, neither of us really sure how to make this less uncomfortable.
Ryet tries a smile. “Hi.”
