And drank like the monster she'd become...
Al brought down her fist, whirling and kicking and pirouetting like a graceful, elegant soldier. He raised his hands against the attacks, but to no avail. Lincoln made Frank bleed. Lincoln made Frank scared. Lincoln made Frank weep. Lincoln was evil. Lincoln to die. And, since she was now his equal, [no, she was so much more powerful than him!] she now had the might to carry it out. Midnight rage pulsed through her and her clenched fists. She'd make him hurt. She'd make him disappear like a magician on a killing spree.
Something foreign in her arteries forced this thirst forward. It was this strange source that kept her going, kept her strong and ferocious. Hard, electric revenge pumped her onward ...ahead...to crush...to kill...to destroy! Ah, yes. The perfect shudders travelled up her spine and into her brain, obliterating all reason like a power surge wipes out an entire city's computer networks. All but one thought was ejected from of her out-of-control system - Him.
She could see Him out the corner of her eye, but every time she spun around, He vanished. Like a guardian angel...or a warden of torment...it was impossible to decide. She was sure she saw Him look at her achingly [perhaps with a hint of adoration?], and it just pushed her bloodlust for Lincoln's sweet-tasting life further. His frame lay before her like a banquet, satisfying and rewarding. Ignoring his pleas, her lips closed over his throat like a passionate lover trapped in the moment, but then the yearning for his blood became uncontrollable and she sunk her teeth into his flesh. He grabbed the back of her head and attempted urgently to pull her off. Her hand rose and smashed into the side of his face, discharging rapid blood and ooze. The craving took over her skeletal system...and her circulatory system and every part of her...like a wave of purest delight and lust...she grinned malevolently.
And drank like the monster she had become...
"No fucking way." Al breathed. Frank looked at her wilting, pale face as it gawked at him in horror. No scream. No crying. No attempts at killing herself. She was handling it better than Frank ever did. His body was scarred from his many efforts at ending his eternal existence. He didn't know what action he'd take if Al did such a horrible thing as suicide. Ever so slowly, he raised a hand to her cheek, which was a confused artwork of white and healthy pink and puffy dribbles of red from her weeping. Frank whipped out handkerchief, delicate, lacy and black, from his shirt pocket and pushed it into her hand. She clung to his fist and they both gripped tightly, tissue forgotten, falling to the floor. The bizarre comforts of their hands grazing together [like cold hard slabs of precious stone] made Al slow and hush her crying. "I'm sorry, Al." Frank whispered in a hoarse tone. She caught one of his salty tears on her finger. It rolled off and onto her neckline, where it continued down to the now-faint scar on her chest. She'd changed from her bloody nightshirt into a square-collared, half-lacy black top, so Frank could chase its progress downwards until he wrenched his eyes up to hers.
"I'll kill him." She choked out finally. "I'll tear him limb from limb and leave him to bleed in the gutter!" After their hours of immersed conversation earlier in the night, Frank felt like he'd known her forever. He guessed he had...the Dreams and the connection were proof of that. And he hated seeing her like this...warped into the monstrous 16-year-old fiend he'd been forced to live as. Frank let his head fall onto her shoulder; his heart cleaved into innumerable pieces as he heard the faint, weakening beat of her pulse, her last connection to humanity. She felt so nice under his cheek, soft and exposed. Al lifted a leaden hand to his head, and stroked his soft hair. She exhaled a shuddering sigh. It had all happened so quickly. Lincoln, unguarded, enraged and thirsty, had fortuitously let his vampiric venom seep into the wound. Such a swift second, that should turn her from human girl of normality to vampire of the darkness in a horrible instant. That was why Al could knock him out so efficiently...it was a miracle that she didn't kill him. Or maybe it wasn't.
They were interrupted in this melancholically lovely moment by a moan at their feet. Their eyes shot down in unison at Lincoln's frame shaking. Fuck. He was waking up. His body rose and fell and writhed on the floor while Al raised the twisted hunk of her blade, ready to strike him back into his state of comatose if he awoke. Frank was already at the other side of the room, searching for places to hide her in the open home. "He'll smell me." Al said, following him as he rushed into various rooms of the house. Frank shook his head desperately as he lifted the top off a large wooden chest. He plucked out the blankets already inside there and threw them into the laundry through the doorway. Busily scurrying with the lid, he said, "You've been blooded. First human thing to go is your scent." Obviously, he had no time for full sentences. His beautiful, perfect digits pointed into the chest and he demanded. "In." Al shook her head. Like she was going to leave him now! Frank grunted exasperatedly and swept her up in his arms. Al protested loudly as he bodily threw her into the trunk and closed the lid. There were a few seconds where she struggled noisily through the spicy aroma of the box, and then she heard muffled conversation going on outside. She froze. Her heart fell to her feet, forced itself through her toenails and into the blankets, where it pulsated feebly. No! Frank!
Lincoln made Frank bleed. Lincoln made Frank scared. Lincoln made Frank weep. Lincoln was evil. Lincoln to die.
Al lifted the lid of the box a tiny bit and stole a look at the lounge room. Frank was sitting on the box with a coffee [How did he get that so fast?] and his legs crossed stiffly, as if he'd been sitting there forever and a day. She had to commend him on that act...even to Al it was nearly believable. Frank, ever the performer, became rigid as Lincoln sat up and hurriedly went to his aid. She could see them, a twisting, swaying silhouette, against the pre-dawn. "She got away." Lincoln slurred finally, stumbling over to the lounge. "Strong little fucker." He pointed to the fridge. "Get me ice, Frankie Boy." While Frank went for the ice, carefully glancing at the box, Lincoln looked at the smashed family portrait on the floor. After studying Al's face [though from nine years ago; she seemed even younger now that she looked sixteen] in the portrait, he lifted it up and hung it calmly on the wall. Slowly, after running a finger over frame, the entire mountain of pieces collected into the frame and melted together, fusing and growing where parts were missing. Al looked at her hand, which still clutched a slice of glass. It tugged towards the slitted opening of the box, eager to join its companions, but Al held it fast, fingers spurting her new, purplish blood. Once she looked up, the hole in the wall had been fixed, though fragments of plaster still clung on his shoulders like snow. His fingertips brushed the family portrait [leaving no warm fingerprint on the pane], and Al...so innocent and untainted...grinned gleefully back at him through nine years of time. He said drunkenly in the dark, "I underestimated you, kid. It won't happen again, I promise. Next time, I'll get you."
Frank sat in the driver's seat, uncertainly lowering his hands onto the wheel and taking them off again nervously. He had never driven before. And Lincoln was certainly in no state to do anything; he was merrily slurring Drowning Lessons in the back seat, stretched over the interior like a body on a cold autopsy bench. Fucker. It would be so easy to kill him now, but vampire doctrine [not to mention his strict morals against slaughtering the helpless] prevented him from even scratching his vampiric superior. He scowled and held his middle finger high like a salute to his boss, but Lincoln kept on singing. He turned around tentatively. Okay, now. Frank turned down the radio and studied the various controls. It looked simple enough. Maybe it was like playing an X-Box? He couldn't see any buttons or familiar reins. Except for a few near some confusing twisty things and some stick-like whatchumacallits behind the wheel. Hands shaking, Frank pulled it towards himself and gave a cry of shock as the windscreen was attacked with a stream of water. Maybe that wasn't the best thing to do. Something different to get this fucking thing moving. Mind still racing wildly, his bare foot reached for some foreign-looking pedal and pressed down. After a deafening roar, the car took off down the cul-de-sac and into a light-pole. A jolt shot through his spine and into his head, igniting burning hurt. Something cushiony forced him roughly back into his seat, surely crushing some part of his face. That's it. Even drunken Lincoln could do a better job than this. He turned in the seat, to see Lincoln, asleep and murmuring, drowning in slumber like a child after a party.
Hmm. He was going to need a phone.
Al listened to the whole ordeal, hidden behind the curtains, now. It was just an extra precaution; she had no doubt that she could jump out in front of Lincoln's face and kick his testicles to oblivion, and the idiot wouldn't even notice. He would continue merrily mutilating her favourite song with his drunken and out-of-tune voice. Though she was still upset at having to leave Frank, even for a moment, a strange happiness flowed within her. Maybe it was some weird vampiric hormone. Or maybe it was from one of the many pills she'd choked down for her unfathomable pain. But she had a nagging suspicion that she had a comrade to fight with her in this appalling mÃªlÃ©e...or perhaps something more. The delighted girl couldn't decide; her thoughts were too tangled. Al could barely restrain her loud, snorting laughter as Frank shot himself with the windscreen washers and careered into the light-pole, darkening the whole street with a domino-like chain reaction. She picked up her battered mobile from the bench, switched on the porch-light and waited for him to return.
Al flung open the door to greet a humiliated Frank with his knuckles raised to the door. A cloud of moths clung to his ambience. Fuck, he was beautiful. She grinned with sharp, now perfect teeth. He looked slightly uncomfortable as she swung her phone before his eyes. "Looking for something?" she teased. Frank turned a mortified pink before snatching at it. "Gimme that!" Al then let out a raucous peal of uncontrolled laughter, standing on tip-toe on the chest as the slightly small vampire jumped for it desperately. Frank stopped and folded his arms like a spoilt kid. This made Al laugh even harder. She bent over double, still holding the phone out of reach. Frank grunted, snatching at it one more time. He scowled, though his face was struggling to stay straight. "This is childish and immature." Frank sniggered. Then, he vanished for a moment and she heard his tinkling laughter in her bedroom. Al curled her fist open; it was empty. Damn it! She glared at the general direction of Frank, who was already in the process of dialling the number. Her feet carried her to her room a little swifter than they normally would, and she tore open the door. Frank gave her a little wave, lying on her unmade bed like a stunning Greek god and waiting for someone to pick up. Al struggled to keep her breathing even.
"Hey Gee." Frank said simply. "You know how to drive, don't you? No, I don't. Who gives a fuck? Yeah, I did try tha-" he stopped and looked down at his nails, with a baffled expression spreading over his lovely features. Al sat down on her swivel chair miserably. Frank, trying hard not to laugh, gave her a 'little' push that sent her twirling like a spinning top. "Okay, that's what that thing's for? Look, dude, I can't drive. Lincoln can't either, he's hurt. What? Oh, no, that just Al. She's -I'll explain later. Look, Gee, just come over." His hands slid over the mobile, closing it swiftly. Al, still spinning, was a mix of black and red flying everywhere, particularly her hair, which twirled out like cherry and midnight helicopter blades. Reaching out a hand, Frank halted her. Al sat there, staring at him and wondering why the room wasn't spinning. What the fuck?! "Superior balance...and speed." Frank explained, before Al [laughing at the short vampire] picked him up and swung him over her shoulder. He snorted loudly as she carried him to the lounge room.
Al threw him carelessly onto the lounge and sat beside his frame, which shook with silent laughter and the tiny gasps in between. They rested there for a few seconds, chuckling inaudibly, before Frank placed his head on her shoulder, his expression soft and heartfelt. Al lifted a hand to his head again, stroking his hair for the second time. But this time it was different. Instead of just sitting there, Frank twirled his fingers in her mane, and his other hand ran up and down her back, holding her close. His breath felt so good on her collarbone. He lifted his head so it was level to hers. Al gasped as his nose brushed hers. The ivory skin of his fingers, which felt like soft, beautiful heaven [though heaven was considerably less tattooed], stroked her face. She could count every tiny scratch on his face...every little hair in his eyebrows...every insignificant detail of his mouth that she'd never noticed nor cared about before. Oh, God. Even if you never let me have anything else in my life, it won't matter if you...just let me...have this. Please. Please! What did she eat for dinner? Did her breath reek? What if she was a bad kisser? Oh, fuck. What if she stuck her tongue in his nostril? He would probably run away in disgust. Or snigger at her inexperience. These thoughts scurried through her system, almost making her want to jerk away from his gentle embrace...but they vanished. With one brushing touch to her lower lip, dragging it down lightly and releasing so that it flew back up to meet its companion, Frank leaned in. The thoughts melted away, just like she liquefied into his trembling arms; the anticipation was nearly excruciating. His breath chilled her face like a frosty morning zephyr, smelling deliciously of caffeine. Oh, God. Thank you. Al leaned in too, and felt his cold breath grow closer; Frank's arms tightened around her back...
HONK! came the screaming interruption from outside. Al and Frank tore apart immediately, disappointed and furious. Lincoln had found a way to get into the front seat and was leaning heavily on the wheel, where he'd fallen asleep. Frank kept his arms snugly around her, as he walloped his skull again and again on her shoulder. "Damn-you-damn-you-damn-you-fu-cking-Lin-coln!" He emphasised each syllable with another blow to his head. Al sighed mournfully into his hair just as Gerard and Mikey walked through the door. Upon seeing Frank and Al leaning closely against one another, they spun around and made to walk out the door, Gerard chuckling quietly. "No, it's okay." Al said finally, looking at Frank. "You guys should go, it's nearly dawn!" Frank laughed at this, despite his disappointment. Al looked at him questioningly. He rested his chin on top of her head, while she watched his Adam's apple travel up and down with every melodious noise that came out of his mouth. "Did you honestly think that we burn in the sun?" Al looked a little embarrassed while Gerard kept on chuckling, louder now. She had a lot to learn.
Ignored in the corner, Mikey looked into the hallway near Al's room, his eyes widening rapidly. His lips formed a familiar word before glancing at the couple on the lounge. Frank's expression became serious. "We should actually go, though. Get Lincoln home. Gee? Mikey?" Mikey jumped, startled, but then followed the other boy into the doorway on shaky legs. Frank's arms unravelled from around her and she rubbed where they used to be absent-mindedly. It felt empty. Slowly, Mikey and Gerard walked out the door, elbowing each-other and pointing at her. Al watched Frank go. Not even a goodbye. She bowed her head and looked at her hands. They still burned joyfully from touching his face. A tear formed in her eye as she heard the steady roar of the engine and they sped up the road. Al stood up and walked to the door, wanting to follow their shadow as long as she could.
The dawn finally came, bringing a slight discomfort to her entire body. It prickled like a million ants were crawling over her skin, exploring her flesh with their tiny little feet. The light spilled out onto the street, making tiny little rainbows and prisms of light dance before her. What? That didn't usually happen at dawn! Ever so slowly, she lowered her hand against her foe: the ball of gas called Sun. And gasped in shock and elation as she laid her green eyes on the message strewn over the street with the broken wood and glass of the light-poles. Al ran out, touching a sparkling letter with a trembling finger. She must look like an idiot, wrapped in a grey blanket and black clothes, reading a note in the destruction that only her eyes could see. Another interesting vampiric trait. The last word was written on her gutter in a faint purplish shade: his own blood! She caught it on the tip of her finger and inhaled his dark, delicious coffee scent; reserved for her only.
Don't think you'll escape me THAT easily! Eternally yours. Frank.