You can call me Alys | She/Her | 27 yrs | North México, mi gente latino
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summary: new orleans, 1995. a folklorist researching her new book bites off a hell of a lot more than she can chew.
warnings: banter as foreplay; murder as foreplay; p in v; f receiving; just truly nasty work
notes: evil dilettante remmick is something that can be so personal !! let's all get very horny very quickly. a like and reblog makes my little heart beat faster ♥️ title is interview with the vampire s1
In the morning, you wake with a killer hangover and an address.
You vaguely remember a journey home from the bar, a beautiful man walking behind you. You remember flashes of anxiety, of unnatural stillness, of suppressing that innate fear of being stalked by a predator you can't quite trust not to strike.
And… you remember how that same man did something that silenced the gaggle of frat guys who’d whistled in your direction. How he’d caught you by the elbow before you tripped on an upturned sewer grate. How he led you to your porch without you having to tell him the house number.
At your door, it was impossible to miss the look of devastating and unabashed want that passed over his handsome face, the shiver it sent across your skin. Part of you wondered just what kind of want it was. (The other shouted RUN.)
You could've invited him in. (You didn’t.) He could’ve killed you. (He didn’t.)
All good stories have to start somewhere.
-
It began, as everything does, with blood.
A night out with a few girls from your program. One too many cosmos. Your half-drunken insistence of it’s fine, really, I’m just around the corner. Heels low enough to be walkable but high enough to make the busier sidewalks a challenge. That little voice in your head whispering that drunk cigarettes never count.
So you’d stopped, feet aching, and lingered a moment in the back alley behind some dive bar.
There’s - thank God - that loose cig at the bottom of your bag, the novelty four-leaf clover lighter you got as a gag gift last Christmas. You exhaled, slowly, pushing the smoke out in a tight ring, idly thumbing at the blistered ink of a new tattoo.
The dark city hummed with life.
Just a few feet away, you watched as students lumbered up and down the street, some red in the face and some too wasted to get one foot in front of the other. Someone blaring dance music from a car window. Honking and sirens. A drunken shouting match.
And behind you, a faint cry followed by the crash of a metal trash can.
You turned.
You shouldn’t have.
The ground was wet, though it hadn’t rained in days. The light from the road - the streetlamps, the passing headlights - couldn’t quite penetrate the shadows beyond, nothing at all past the milk crates and overflowing dumpsters.
The glowing red eyes were, however, quite visible.
Your stomach dropped.
The man stepped forward. You couldn’t see all of him, not yet, but the crimson of blood and the ivory of too-large teeth were unmistakable.
“Shit,” he drawled. Everything about him rang false. “You weren’t meant to see that.”
But you were too drunk and confused to manage a coherent reply. He took that as some kind of permission and inched closer, reeking of iron and wet earth. Still, you stood your ground.
“S’pose that puts us at an impasse.”
“Why’d you sound like that?” is all you could think to say, your gaze flitting between pointed teeth and burning irises.
“Like what?”
“Like a… like John Wayne. I don’t know.”
He cocked his head. “Ain’t that somethin’.”
“You some kinda vampire?”
“Shit, what gave it away?”
You nodded over to the limp pair of legs still twitching behind him.
“That was rhetorical, sweetheart.”
“Oh.” Your cheeks flushed.
“You gon’ run?”
“No.”
“Shame. I like to chase.”
“I wouldn’t get far in these shoes.”
And the vampire actually laughed - full-throated, good-natured.
“Oh, you liked that…” you mumbled, straightening, leaning against the bricks for more support. By some miracle, you hadn't dropped the cigarette and so you permitted yourself another drag. You blew it at him. His eyes flitted shut.
The thing about academia is that once you’ve devoted your life to eating, sleeping, and breathing your chosen discipline, it’s just about impossible to ever really stop. Those questions are always working in the background, a hum so quiet you can sometimes forget it’s even there.
But it is. It always is.
And your chosen discipline just so happens to be folklore.
Now, there was no way to outrun this guy, nor were you even getting a punch in before he drained you dry. Not many options on the table, not unless you could summon a silver dagger out of thin air. So fuck it: if all you could do was talk, maybe you’d survive the night.
And… well, some research for your monograph couldn't hurt either, could it?
“Let me ask you something.”
“Why should I?”
“You’re enjoying yourself.”
“That right?” he laughed, eyes crinkling with something almost fond in them.
“Sure seems it. Be a shame to kill me just yet.”
“Alright,” he grinned, and the teeth were wrong. “I’ll bite. What’d you wanna know?”
06/09/95 : #001
The vampire lounges across from you on a dark velour couch that probably cost more than a year’s rent. His thighs are splayed wide, one ankle resting easily over the opposite knee.
He’s dressed better than he was the other night: a pricey leather jacket that seems softened from years of wear. Faded white t-shirt. Jeans. Loafers. (No more bloodstains, in any case.)
All the light in his home is artificial. No overheads - nothing so tacky - just a few candles and low-hanging lamps that cast a golden hue over the room. A dozen false suns to make up for the one he can’t have. The windows are tightly sealed with blackout blinds. There’s a scent like incense in the air, an old one… something that recalls prayer and antiquity. (That, and Drakkar Noir.)
“Can I start?”
“By all means.”
“Alright.” You hit the button on the tape deck and it starts to whir. “9 June 1995, session one. Please state your name.”
“Remmick.”
“Your full name.”
“Only name that matters.”
You roll your eyes, only briefly and not even a full rotation - but he catches it. Cocks his head.
“Somethin’ funny?”
“Nothing. One name, you’re like Madonna.”
He laughs, teeth flashing white.
You clear your throat. “Where were you born?”
“North of Ireland. Town ain’t there no more.”
“Alright. So how old are you?”
“Very.”
This, really, is the question you’ve been dying to have answered.
The idea of living long enough to see empires rise and fall, to see wars started and ended, to see the world move through its infinite many stages… For a historian like you, there’s no greater fantasy nor sharper jealousy.
But when he finally mutters “Must be comin’ up on a thousand,” you nearly drop your pen.
“One thousand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he smiles, slowly, like the sudden shock on your face is feeding him. “Don’t believe me?”
“No, I do, I - but, that’s just a very big number.”
“As I said.”
“Can I ask…”
“Ain’t nothin’ out of bounds, sweetheart.”
“Do you remember it all?”
“Broad strokes, big things - y’know, Easter Rising, Napoleon, Al Capone. The rest, it's just bits n’ pieces.”
“And ho-”
“My turn. Question for a question.”
You swallow your retort. “Alright. Sure.”
“What is it you're lookin’ for?”
“What do you mean?”
Remmick leans forward, both feet planted on the soft Persian rug underfoot, leans in so close that you catch the glints of red buried in the soft blue of his human eyes.
From a distance, he’s handsome. Up close, he’s a vision. There’s a dusting of reddish stubble across the expanse of his sharp jaw. A tiny gold ring in his ear. Eyelashes nearly as long as yours.
“I mean, what is it that possessed you t’come after me, honey, askin’ all these questions?”
“Curiosity.”
“What, you gon’ take what I give you and pen a bestseller? You fixin’ to be the next Anne Rice?”
“No.”
“No? Really? Just… curiosity.”
“I write about folklore.”
“Yeah?” His voice hangs, soft. It envelops you. “What kind?”
“Vampirism as metaphor.”
He barks a laugh.
“Metaphor? Baby, I’m sittin’ here plain as day.”
“And… as a moralizing tool, a holdover from pre-Christian society. Make girls behave, make ‘em too scared to leave the house, fraternize with strange men.”
“That what I am? A strange man?”
“Well. I wouldn’t exactly call you normal.”
He lets that sit for a moment, potent and hungry.
“Nah, y’ain’t wrong,” he speaks suddenly, leaning back. His arms stretch lazily across the seat of the couch. “But I don’t know who’d be stupid enough to fraternize w’the likes of me, anyway.”
“Is that a threat, Remmick?”
“No threat,” he says, and it’s so casual you nearly believe him. “Just fact.”
“Alright. Fine.” You decide to shift gears. “That accent doesn't seem very Irish.”
“Been here a while. Comin’ up on, oh, I don't know, ‘bout a hundred years?”
“Here as in New Orleans?”
“All over. Came through Ellis Island n’just… followed the wind ‘ever it took me.”
“But why here? Why Louisiana?”
He taps a finger against the velour. “I like it.”
“That’s all?”
“Couldn't say. Just feels right. Feels old.”
“And -”
“Ah. My turn.”
You sigh. “Go on.”
“No boyfriend?”
“What?”
He lifts his palms to you. “Or girlfriend. I don't judge.”
“No. Neither. And how would you know that, anyway?”
“Well, I been watching you since that night and I ain't seen no one comin’ or goin’ - no one you been fixin’ to fuck, anyhow, if you'll pardon my French.”
You eye him.
It’s obvious the man's looking for a rise: he wants you flustered, blushing, or else angry, off-kilter. But you know men, even ancient ones, and this is the oldest trick in their book.
“Maybe I fuck with the curtains closed,” you offer, voice neutral.
“Maybe.” He smiles like he doesn't believe a word of it.
“Why does it matter?”
He shrugs, unaffected. “S'pose it don't.”
The standoff is interrupted by the beeping of your watch. You hit STOP on the tape deck.
“Y’got somewhere t’be, sugar?”
“Seminar. I’m giving a lecture.”
He sniffs. Nods slowly. “You’ll be back?”
“Maybe.”
“Yeah. You will.”
06/12/95 : #002
“How do you hunt?”
Remmick’s eyes go wide.
Today is grey. Overcast skies. Intermittent roiling thunder. It’s so gloomy that he’s actually left the curtains open a fraction of the way, cracked the window onto the stormy street below.
You sit across from him in the plush chair you’ve come to think of as yours. A half-empty bottle of vintage cabernet sits between the two of you.
“Ah, darlin’, now that’s some nasty work, what I do in the dark. You really wanna know?”
“Yes. Do you pick your targets beforehand or is it opportunistic? How do you lure them in? What is it that excites you, exactly: the hunt, the kill, the blood…?”
“Christ, Dr. Scully,” he laughs, incredulous. “Make it sound like yer huntin’ down the damn Son of Sam.”
“Well, you are a serial killer. No?”
“Alright,” he says, tight. “Sure. I kill.”
“So-”
“Nah, one question at a time. Makes you seem bloodthirsty, otherwise.”
“Fine.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “How do you choose them?”
“Stragglers. Tourists. Assholes. Anyone not liable to trigger a manhunt.”
“Alright. And then how do you get them alone?”
“Well,” Remmick says, “I can be very persuasive.”
He leans forward.
The room tilts.
There’s something all-encompassing in the way he watches you, the way he traces the veins in your neck with his eyes, drags that same gaze up and across your collarbone. It’s as though he’s seeing through your skin, right down to the bones and marrow.
He eyes you like a meal.
The cast of his skin is warmer in this light, not quite as pallid as last time. There's a gold to it, bouncing through the red and brown of his stubble, of his brows, of his disheveled hair. His teeth, when human, are a bit crooked, a bit sharp. Something low and awful hums in your belly.
You can’t find it in yourself to panic.
The rational half of your mind is sounding the alarm, pumping adrenaline through your system in an attempt to force an escape. But… it isn’t enough, not against this. And as he sits there eyeing you, enjoying you, you think back to the manuscript you found in the university archives last fall, some supposed firsthand encounter back in 1931:
It was the strange magic of what he was, that’s what called to me. He was a creature designed for seduction, for the gentle erosion of boundaries. That’s how he lives. That’s how he hunts.
Thank God for the tattoo on your hip.
That little patch of ink stands like a dam between you and the vampire making your blood sing. It’d been the product of another one of your drunken escapades last month, a little five-pointed star that kept coming up in the literature as a sigil of protection. Better safe than sorry, you’d thought, sitting in that tattoo parlour three martinis deep while some girl from your methodology class rubbed soothing circles into the palm of your hand.
You’ve never placed much faith in it - it’s not like you’d actually believed in any of this stuff - but right now, it grounds you like a cold glass of water in the middle of a bender.
Remmick’s breath fans across your cheek - sweet, minty. His gaze is fixed on your mouth, the way you nibble at your lip like a nervous tic, how you hitch a little breath when his pupils blow.
“Seduction.”
You mumble it like an accusation, but there's no real weight to it.
“Could call it that. Yeah.”
“What is it, then, pheromones? Mind control? Black magic?”
He laughs a little. Pulls back, like the show's over. “Why does it matter how I do it? Call it whatever you like. All I know’s that it works and it works pretty damn well, don’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“No?” His brows go wide. “Sugar, if I hadn’t stopped when I did, you’d be slidin’ clean off that damn chair.”
Your cheeks burn with the shame of the truth. “Well. I guess we’ll never know.”
“Shame.”
“Okay.” You straighten your spine - shake it off, settle back into your body. “What is it about the hunt that excites you? You told me the first night that you enjoy the chase. Is that what it is?”
“Sure. I like that part. Little too much, maybe,” he begins, cat eyeing mouse. “But it ain’t only about the excitement, darlin’, not really. It’s more about… the satiation. Yeah.”
You nod up at him, a silent plea to continue.
He takes a swig of wine. Gestures to it.
“You know I cain’t eat? Not food. Lil’ liquor here n’there, but no meals. And sometimes I sleep, sometimes I don’t. Some days, all I wanna do is lay out in the sun like one of them cats you used to find hiding way up in the parapets.” He pauses, as though he hadn’t meant to reveal quite that much. “So, see, I ain’t got much to keep me satisfied.”
“And it’s the blood that does it?”
“That and the performance, baby. Followin’ folk down them alleyways, choosin’ the right things to say, readin’ their bodies, what makes ‘em tick. Gets electric when I turn it on - but then, you already knew that.”
You ignore the taunt. “It’s sexual, then?”
Remmick whistles low, rubs at his jaw. “Shit, darlin’, you call ‘em like you see ‘em.”
“Nothing’s out of bounds. That’s what you said.”
“Oh, sure. But I’m an old-fashioned man, see, and I’m wonderin’ whether it’d be decent of me to share those particulars with an impressionable young lady like yerself.”
“It’s just research.”
“Oh, it’s a lot more n’that.”
“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what’s bothering you.”
“Don’t bother me none.”
“So tell me.”
“Alright. D’you know that I’m about as hard as a fuckin’ rock by the time I’m done drinkin’?”
Your stomach drops. He doesn't stop.
“Wanna hear how sometimes I gotta toss ‘em aside, limp as a doll, and take care a myself right there in whatever fuckin’ hovel I’ve found myself in? See, it’s an excess of blood darlin’, hot blood, and I am but a man.”
“A-alright. That makes sense.”
He sits forward on the divan, quick and bold. Leans across the table and in towards you.
“No. It don’t. None of it does. ‘Cause I cain’t enjoy life in half-measures, baby, not like you with yer two cosmos - three if you’re feelin’ naughty - or whatever toy I’m sure you got hidden under your pillow. An abomination like me’s got two options: suffering or ecstasy. And, as you can imagine, I do tend to lean towards the latter.”
“It’s an addiction, then.”
“It’s a mode de vie, baby. I am what I am.”
As if on cue, your watch beeps.
“Thank you for all that detail.”
“Anytime.”
“I’ll see you next week, Remmick.”
The vampire is still as a statue as you rise, as you collect the writing materials scattered across the dark oak coffee table. You drop them all into your satchel without ceremony, without rush but without delay. You’ve revealed too much of yourself today. Shown too many weaknesses where propriety is concerned. He got to you.
And worst of all, he knows it, too.
“Bet you’ll be thinkin’ about this one all night,” he taunts.
“Probably,” you admit, tone flat. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“You’re welcome.”
“But it’s…”
“It’s…?”
“It’s in my nightstand. Not under my pillow.”
“Alright.” He rubs at his jaw. “Yeah.”
07/08/95 : #006
“Do you mind if I…?”
“Please.”
You take a heaping bite from the apple and set it down in your lap. He watches as you chew, the grinding of your jaw, the way you lick up the sweet juice collecting at the corners of your mouth.
“Couldn’t stop for lunch. Sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“What would happen if you took a bite?”
“Of you?”
“Ha ha.”
“Ah, nothing. Just tastes bad.”
“Huh.” You grab another bite, scanning quickly over your notes. “Okay. So…”
“Why don’t you let me ask a few, just for now? Finish yer lil’ snack.”
You nod your consent, eyes narrowing in curiosity. He runs with it.
“You ain’t been afraid of me since the first night. Why’s that?”
“Who says I haven’t?”
He points to your heart. “Her. Too steady. Always has been.”
You shrug as you chew.
“And since I’ve spent the last two weeks detailin’ all the nasty shit I’m liable to do,” he continues, “I know you know I ain’t exactly safe t’be around. So… what? You think you ain’t in danger? Think you’re special?”
“I think,” you say, wiping away the last of the juice and setting the core onto a spare notepad, “that you find me interesting. Or entertaining, anyway.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. And I think you’re lonely. By your own admission, you’ve got no coven. You’re alone in the world. So… I imagine it feels good to share these things with someone, to think you’re impressing a pretty girl who can’t do anything but sit here and play nice. That’s what I think. Am I close?”
“Ain’t you bold.”
“I am.”
“Silly me. Here I was, thinkin’ maybe it was somethin’ to do with the pentagram on your ass. Am I close?”
You freeze.
“What, you thought I didn’t know?”
“I didn’t care if you knew.”
And he can hear your heart, hear the way it stutters, so he knows it’s a lie but all he says is: “Hm.”
“Can’t blame a girl for using protection.”
“No. I cain’t.”
“You’re wrong, though. It's my hip, not my ass.”
“My apologies, angel. Why don't you bend over, show me just how wrong I am?”
You roll your eyes.
“Tell me, though, what exactly you think that lil’ ink is doin’ for ya.”
“I…”
“’Cause sure,” he starts, “I can feel it in the room w’me and, sure, maybe my charm ain't hittin’ quite as strong as it's meant to, but I could rip your throat out before you even open that pretty mouth to scream. Ain’t no ink could stop me. You get that?”
You swallow. “I’m aware.”
“So… why the hell d’you keep coming?”
“Because I want to know things. And… well, everyone dies eventually. If I die here, then that’s just how it is.”
“Everyone, huh?”
You sit in the silence a moment. No one blinks.
Your gaze flits down to his mouth, to the pink of his lips and the crooked smile just barely visible. He isn’t even doing his witchy thing and yet all you can think about is crawling into his lap.
“In the end,” you manage. “Yes. Everyone.”
He nods.
“Come with me next time.”
“Where?”
“Hunting.”
He says it like that, like it’s a totally reasonable thing to offer.
“You’d let me?”
“Yeah. I want you to.”
“Alright.”
“Good.”
07/15/95 : #009
“ - and you gotta bite down hard, ‘cause if you don’t, if you mess around in there, well, then, now you’ve got yerself a stain too big to write off when the cops spot ya. You gotta move in the shadows. Y’ain’t meant to be noticed, y’understand? Visibility, that’s what gets you killed. Ain’t garlic. Ain’t silver. Visibility. Now, you see this, sugar?”
Remmick holds the thrashing out-of-towner by the collar, digging a knuckle into the exact part of the neck that protects the carotid. He brings his free hand up to cradle the base of your skull, directing your gaze. You peer down at the man’s shoulder, pointedly ignoring the tears in his wet eyes.
“Yeah. So it’s gotta be right there or else you’ll make a big mess of it?”
“Exactly,” he coos, rubbing a soft thumb over the nape of your neck. “Smart girl. Right here.”
And then he bites.
The man tries to scream but it’s too late, too wet, too gargled. You avert your eyes. The guilt in your stomach roils. Are you an accomplice now?
You tell yourself that your presence changes nothing. You tell yourself that Remmick would be out to kill tonight regardless of whether or not you joined him. That this poor tourist would still be dead.
The only difference between action and inaction is a clear conscience.
The vampire sucks at the man’s neck with a bacchic, frenzied hunger. The blood dribbles from the corners of his mouth, victim of his own animalistic greed. He takes it all at once: no hesitation, no moderation. It’s awfully gory. The wet tear of flesh, the squirt of red…
You’re too horrified to really process anything except the strange rush of want bubbling low in your stomach. It’s the only emotion that manages to cut through the fear, through the shame and guilt of participating in what you’ve witnessed here.
The body is drained. It hits the concrete with a thump. Remmick wipes his mouth.
“Just like that,” he breathes. “Ain’t nothin’ to it.”
And then you notice he’s hard.
You don’t mean to look down. It’s just - well, it's not exactly inconspicuous.
He follows your gaze. It’s visible even in the shadows, the tenting under his leather belt. He grins slowly, fangs gleaming in the low lamplight.
“Ah. Well, I told you, didn’t I?”
“You gonna take care of that?” you ask, voice just a little too high. “Or are we done here?”
“What, baby, you don’t wanna?”
“No.”
“Alright, sweet girl,” he laughs. “G’on, then. I’ll see you in a bit.”
You nod, turning on a heel, careful not to step in any of the pools of blood.
From behind, there’s the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle hitting the ground.
-
Remmick reemerges in a collared shirt you’ve never seen before, the ends of his hair dripping with water. When you crook a brow in confusion, he nods over to the little pond by the edge of the woods.
“Ew. Really?”
“Well, I ain't about to walk around all painted like a Jackson Pollock. Visibility, remember?”
And then he wraps an arm around your waist, drawing you into him. His body is cold - though from the water or the vampirism, you aren’t quite sure.
“Please tell me you washed those hands.”
He tosses you the little bottle of sanitizer gel from his jeans pocket. Before you can stifle it, you’re laughing. That draws a smile from him - not a teasing one, not a smirk, but something much warmer. More honest. He looks down at you like he’s pleased.
“You're ridiculous.”
“Good hygiene’s my utmost priority, angel.”
He pulls you in closer, pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.
“You’re so touchy. I thought you took care of your little problem.”
“Little? You wound me.”
You roll your eyes.
“Nah, alright, it’s just that it’s always the lone men that catch people’s attention. Makes ‘em jumpy. Better t’have a pretty girl at my side after the cops get here. No one’ll suspect a thing.”
“What does it feel like?”
“What?”
“The blood. Does it make you stronger? Give you superpowers?”
“Nah,” he chuckles. “Only, I’m feelin’ real good, like I wanna do something stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like taste you.” You stiffen. He sighs. “Relax, darlin’, I didn’t say kill.”
“Sorry Nosferatu, I can’t justify a turtleneck in July.”
“Why should you? F’anyone comes at you sideways, just tell ‘em your boyfriend’s a real freak.”
That elicits another laugh from you, real and loud and clear. It’s got him preening.
“How long did it take you to get used to it?”
“Drinkin’ blood?”
“Killing.”
He slows a little. You wonder if you’ve toed the line too far.
“My life ain’t like yours,” he says, finally. “Never was. Didn’t take me turnin’ into… this to kill a man.”
“No?”
Remmick clicks his teeth. “Baby. I was born in the Dark Ages. Death’s always been nippin’ at my heels, just waitin’ for me to trip up.”
“Oh. I… Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“Ain’t all bad.”
“Good.” You hesitate a moment. “So, what now? We just stand around, waiting for the police?”
“Nah. Now, we go find ourselves a real drink.” He beams as your brows furrow. “Lucky for you, I got the best joint in town.”
It’s field work. Participant observation. Ethnography, even.
You run through the list of anthropological buzzwords like you’re trying them on for size, contorting them until they fit the situation you now find yourself in.
The music in here is very loud, so loud it rings in your ears, so loud it catches in the hollows of your throat.
And Remmick’s got you by the waist from behind, rubbing heavy thumbs into your hips, gripping tightly at them like he thinks you’re about to bolt. Bodies are everywhere. You’re pressed into him, drink in hand, trying very hard not to spill it.
His hand crawls up your forearm, completely covers your own, and brings the glass of gin to your lips.
“Drink up, baby,” he says into your ear. “Need ya to feel how I feel.”
“Blood gets you drunk?” you shout back.
“Somethin’ like that.”
So you down the drink and swear it’s your last of the night.
He wasn’t lying - this really is the best joint in town.
It’s not one of those yuppie gastropubs that the New York Times writes about where the drinks cost more than the minimum wage. It’s also not like the dive bars you and your peers frequent, those little holes in the wall where the booze is cheap and the floor is sticky with unidentifiable liquid.
No, this place is a living, breathing thing.
Remmick moves you like water. Guides you right and left, nudges you where your feet need to go. You like it like this, like not overthinking it. No thinking at all, really.
He spins you like it’s second nature to him. That’s a thousand years, you suppose, one thousand years of finessing every possible social skill. How many girls has he spun like this? How many has he fucked? And how many has he drained dry?
Then he digs his hands into the flesh of your hips, just over the hidden tattoo.
“I like this lil’ thing. I’ve decided.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“How’s that?”
“’Cause I feel you drippin’ all over me and I know it ain’t ‘cause you been compelled.”
You stumble on the beat, trip a little into him. He steadies you.
“Remmick.”
“I mean that. Ain’t gotta run circles in my head, ain’t gotta wonder if it’s me or the magic: I know you want it.” His hand comes to rest on your lower stomach. “I’m a very bad man and you want me anyway. Bet you’d let me do it right here, huh?”
And maybe it’s idiotic but you arch into him anyway, letting the curve of your spine melt into the broad expanse of his chest. He brings his arms over yours, hugging you from behind, holding you where he needs you to stay.
“You would. I know it. And if you weren’t so drunk - fuck, I’d do it. Let all these freaks watch.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Nah, we ain’t talkin’ about fair. Not like this, not when your body’s singin’ like she needs me to shut her up.”
“Fuck you.”
“Eventually. But… shit, I think I like this better, knowin’ you’ll be up all night with an ache so deep you cain’t even name the place it’s hidin’.”
“Bring me home, then. I’ll find that toy.”
He laughs against your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of it. “Oh, now that, I’d like to see.”
“Too bad. You can’t come in, can you?”
“Not yet.”
“Boo hoo.”
He nips at your ear and you squeal. “Don’t tempt me, baby.”
“Hm. You really won’t fuck me tonight?”
“Not a chance.”
“Then go get me another drink, would you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
07/19/95 : #010
The air is heavy today.
A sudden chill hangs over the city. It might rain, it might not, but the humidity’s so high it hardly matters. This day wasn’t made for hard work or expending energy.
And yet…
One step through his door and you’re already struck by the supercharged air between you, something like voltage - sizzling and humming just below the visible. He sits across from you, nearly unblinking.
You drink the wine, slow, like the heat in your cheeks could possibly be attributed to the alcohol. To warm you up, he’d said, eyeing the way you shivered in your sundress.
The interview is a short one.
Neither one of you can concentrate. No one addresses what happened at the club.
“Man on the news said there’s a storm on the way.” You offer it like an olive branch, some boring factoid to distract from the way his eyes wander. “Said it's a big one.”
“Hm.”
“Can't believe I walked here.”
“Shit.”
“You aren’t worried?”
“Not in the least.”
Silence.
You flick off the recorder.
“I can’t use of any this.”
He shrugs. “Just makin’ some small talk.”
“I probably should’ve stayed home.”
“How’s that?” He seems almost offended.
“If there’s a… storm.”
“I got candles.”
“You got food?”
“Not unless you don’t mind joinin’ me for eternity.”
“So no.”
You nod. Outside, a crack of thunder rings out.
“Alright. I’ll drive you home, angel.”
“What about the sun?”
He casts a glance up at the slate-grey sky as if to say, what sun?
“Right. Okay. Thank you.”
Remmick watches you.
You know that look, know what it means. You’ve been on the receiving end of it a hundred times in your life, both wanted and not.
It’s not the way a vampire eyes a meal, but… more like the way a man eyes someone he wants to taste, something he wants to devour.
You know he can hear the erratic beat in your chest. You know he can tell from all the way over there how wired you are. You know he’s picking up and cataloguing every hitch in breath, every tiny shift in your thighs, every time your eyes dart to his mouth.
You can’t take it anymore.
-
The rain comes down as a sheet just as you reach the top step of your porch. Fumbling around for your keys, you momentarily forget there’s an apex predator just over your shoulder with his hands dug into his pockets like there’s nothing strange about any of it.
The lock gives with a click and you swing open the door. “Thanks again for the ride,” you call over one shoulder, dumping your work bag by the welcome mat.
“No sweat, sugar.”
“D’you wanna…?”
Remmick stills. “Wanna what?”
“You know.” It just slipped out - but you realize, quite immediately, that you really do mean it.
“That’s so sweet of you, angel,” he says. “But...”
“What?”
“Your name ain’t on the deed. Is it?”
Something cold shoots down your spine.
And then he walks in.
You step back.
“That’s my bad, sugar. I didn’t even think to check. Who owns it, then?” He shuts the door behind him - slow, easy, like nothing’s gone terribly wrong.
“The university.”
He crooks a brow.
Nods.
“So. What d’you want me to do, then? Want me to go?”
“No.”
“You’re shakin’.”
“No - yes, I don’t know, I… But I don’t want you to leave.”
“Alright. Won’t budge.”
“Just… You can follow me.”
It’s like a twisted reimagining of that first night, how you led him through the streets of the dark city praying he wouldn’t snap and rip your throat out. You hear his steps behind you, measured and even, the creak of him on the stairs. The lamps flicker as the rain hits the roof.
But you wonder something.
It’s true you don't own the place. Technically, you’re just renting. And technically… the only place in this house that could kind of be considered yours is the bedroom, the bright one with the bay window overlooking the tree-lined street below.
Now here's a research opportunity.
With a few feet to go, you dash through the door to your room and stumble over the threshold.
Remmick growls, not far behind and -
Nothing.
You wait a beat. Two.
He hasn’t followed because he’s still in the doorway, his figure backlit by the lamps downstairs and casting a long, black shadow onto your carpet.
“Sorry, Rem. Just wanted to test something.”
“I see that.”
“You really can’t…?”
“I cain’t.”
“You’d need me to say it, then.”
“I would.”
You nod.
And reach over to your nightstand.
A flick of the switch and the toy buzzes to life. Remmick bangs his forehead into the doorframe. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”
“Nope. Just wanna see you sweat a little.”
You settle just in front of the doorway, shift your legs apart, letting them fall open from the knee. Slowly, you move the toy up and down your thigh. You’re soaked. He can see it.
He snarls, nails biting into the wood of the frame.
“What? Think you could do better?”
“I get it,” he grits out. “I teased you - I'm sorry, alright? You want me to fuckin’ beg?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
“Please, alright? Please, I’m - sugar, I need you. I need you t’let me make it up to you. Cain’t do that from all the way out here, can I?” He presses forward, as far as he can get, straining the barrier between you.
Your hand hovers over your core, just inches from where you need it most. “How long’s it been since you had to beg for something? Since you couldn’t just take it?”
“Sweetheart, I - please, I can smell it on ya, it’s all over you n’I - I need it.”
“You’re so pretty when you whine, baby.”
“That’s sick.”
“So are you.” You can’t hide the crack in your voice when the toy makes contact. “Shit, Rem - I wish it were you. Bet it’s big. Bet it’d fit just right.”
“Please.” He falls to his knees, holds up his hands in a mockery of holy prayer. “Anything you want, angel, anything. Just put that fuckin’ thing down and lemme in.”
All he can do is watch as you writhe, still clothed, chasing the feeling as you teeter on the edge.
“Feels so good,” you whine.
“I cain’t fuckin’ watch this. Please.”
One flick of the wrist - you know it - and you’ll come. Just one. It’s now or never.
“You gonna eat it, Rem?”
“Yes. Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I’m gonna eat it.”
“And then you’ll fuck me good?”
“So good you won’t walk for days.”
“Come in, then.”
And the space between you closes.
The toy is on the other side of the room before you can even switch it off. His mouth is on yours, licking into you like the flavour is what he craves. One hand comes to squeeze at your tit, sharp and possessive. You gasp into him.
“Don’t you ever do that again, baby,” he spits against your teeth. “Y’understand?”
“Won’t,” you manage. “Just get to work.”
It’s another minute before his mouth finally leaves yours, before he’s ripping the dress clean in two and letting the pieces fall unceremoniously to the floor. He kisses down the length of your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, all the way down to your core.
You half-expect him to tease you right back, to draw the whole thing out - bt he doesn’t.
He eats it in a fury, like he’s exacting a punishment. Your fingers weave into his soft, ruddy hair, start tugging at the roots like you could possibly control his motions. Remmick hasn’t even bothered to drag you to the bed, to find you a pillow, to even angle you over the plush carpet just over to the right - no.
You’re doing this right here… and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The dig of his hands into the flesh of your thighs, the way he's got one arm locked across your stomach so tight you can't even buck your hips, the wet sounds barely audible over the crackling thunder and howling wind -
Between all of that and the half-abandoned orgasm you nearly achieved, it takes no time at all for him to shove you over the edge into ecstasy.
You scream. He laughs.
“Ain’t no fuckin’ toy could do that,” he mutters into your thigh, pressing wet kisses into the soft skin of it.
“I need more, Rem, I need - holy shit.”
“I got you, sugar. Lie back, now, lemme do what needs doin’.”
Remmick crawls up over you. There’s a surprising tenderness in how he moves, a distinct attention to keeping his weight even, to giving you enough space to breathe.
“What’d you think, baby, think it’s big?” he mutters between kisses, between the wet stripes he licks across the flushed skin of your neck. “Think y’can take it?”
“Y-yes, I - shit - I can.”
“That’s good, sweet thing, ‘cause I’m gonna make it fit, n’you’re gonna lay right there and you’re gonna thank me for it. Ain’t that right?”
You nod furiously, whining at the feel of canines scraping at your skin. He nips at your breast - not enough to break the skin, but enough to make you keen into him. All the while, his hands roam the length of your bare body.
“Speak up.”
“Yes.”
“Smart girl.” He nuzzles into the slope of your neck, inhaling deep. You claw at his shirt, some faded old band thing that smells of expensive aftershave and iron-rich rot. He understands, pauses his attack, peels it off and over his head.
And then he’s right back where he was, colder than the night and far more beautiful. His skin burns with a strange ice, overwhelms the sticky humidity of the room and the flushed heat emanating from your every pore. The world is made perfect in his expert, ancient hands.
“You let me in.” He mumbles it into the flesh of your stomach - an accusation, yes, but laced with adoration. “You didn’t have to. I didn’t make you. Nah, you did it ‘cause you wanted it. Wanted me.”
“Obviously,” you gasp. “Fucking obviously I wanted this.”
He laughs, soft and airy.
“I know, baby. She -” he runs a finger against your core and you keen - “has made that very clear.”
“Please, Remmick, would you just - I can take it, I’m ready, just - fuck, please…”
“Yeah?” He chuckles, even now, even as he’s rocking back and forth over your bare body, grinding his clothed self into you. “What, y’ain’t so bold now that y’need some cock, huh?”
His blunt words leave you clenching around nothing.
You swallow. “Fuck you.”
“You can, if you ask real nice.”
“I got mine already, Rem.” Your voice cracks as the head of him catches against you. “You gave it to me, remember? And if you want yours, you’d better get on it.”
“Aw, there she is,” he coos, grinning against your mouth. “Dirty girl. Silly girl, playin’ with fire, survival instinct of a fuckin’ pebble.”
“Shut up.”
Remmick reaches down to undo his zip. Tosses his belt aside, the leather sliding through the loops and the buckle meeting the hardwood with a heavy clank. You lower a hand to feel him and he slaps it away.
And then he’s moving against you again, feeling his way through the combined wetness between your bodies without ever breaching it.
“Tell me, sweetheart,” he starts. “Is this what you been hopin’ for? Whole time, sittin’ there across from me all pretty n’breakable, pokin’ and proddin’ at a thing so old it cain’t hardly remember what it means to say please… What, you kept comin’ back just hopin’ I’d get you under me? Get you squirmin’, just like this?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you,” he says simply, and then buries himself to the hilt. You scream. He makes a sound like choking.
“Rem, you’re so - fuck, just slow down -”
“Nah, baby,” he counters, pulling himself out just to push in again. “I can take it, Rem, I’m ready - ain’t that what you said? Ain’t that how you begged? See, I’m just givin’ my girl what she wants.”
My girl.
You whine at that, clench down around him, and he groans.
“Oh,” he spits. “Y’like that? Like bein’ mine?”
“Yes,” you sob. “Yes, I-”
“Good, ‘cause that’s what you are.” He hisses it, his hands coming to land on either side of your face, digging into your cheeks, forcing your gaze. “You been mine, sugar, since the first night, since them college boys looked at you like a meal n’got their throats ripped out for their trouble.”
Your eyes go wide.
“Aw, you don’t even remember, huh?” He laughs in your face. “Poor baby’s just lucky was me that found her in that alley and not one of them.”
“Rem-”
“Mine.” He hits you with a cant of his hips that shoves you forward. “Say it.”
You drag your hand from its resting place on his bicep, from the five little indents in his pallid skin, and bring it to rest in his hair. You tug. He snarls.
“Yours,” you whisper, drawing his lips down to meet your own.
“Goddamn right.”
“Because you’re mine.”
“Fuck.” It’s almost a whine. “Oh, angel - fuck, that’s right, just like that - so fuckin’ perfect, so fuckin’ - “
He reaches down to the nub between your legs, chases that same pattern with his thumb as he had with his tongue. You cry out, grip on his shoulders so tight that the tips of your fingers start to tingle.
“Just like that, baby, go on - one more. Know y’can, know y’wanna.”
“Don’t stop.”
“Shit, angel, could be fuckin’ armageddon outside and I wouldn’t stop. Not when I got you like this. Not when you’re cryin’ all over me like a fuckin’ whore.”
All you can babble is his name, rising and falling, swelling and bursting.
“I’m gonna - “
“Oh, you goddamn better.”
So you do.
Remmick doesn’t let up, doesn’t give you the briefest second to acclimate, to ride it out, to come down from the peak. He’s still bucking and moving, still chasing his own high.
What can you do but lie there and take it? What can you do but grab at his mussed hair, coo soft words of praise in his ear, tell him how good he is to you?
“Sweet girl,” he pants, pressing wet kisses across your face, down your neck, in your hair - anywhere his animal body takes him. “You let me in. Let me… let me in again. Ins - lemme come inside, yeah?”
“Inside,” you whine, eyes screwed shut. “Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Please.”
So he does.
“You’re mine, baby,” he groans, kissing softly at the corners of your mouth. “Fuck. All mine.”
“I’m yours.” You brush a loose lock of hair from his eye. Drag him down again for a deep kiss - slow, filthy, indulgent. “You know that.”
“And I ain’t talkin’ about a fling, angel, ain’t talkin’ about you’re mine up ‘til you get your degree n’get the hell on outta Louisiana. Nah, this here’s forever, sugar, for life. Get that?”
“Your life or mine?”
“Why not both?”
You both look at each other, then, properly. The red’s almost dissolved from his iris. If you squint, he might just be a handsome man like any other, all hungry hands and slick words. You wonder what he sees in you - something fragile to cradle, some sweetness to indulge in.
There's something very human in the way he watches you, how he hangs on whatever words might next leave your lips. Like he knows what he wants to hear. Like he's terrified he won't. Like any of it matters to a creature older than God.
“Bring me to bed, please.”
With a kiss to your forehead, he’s pulling himself from your body, shushing you as you wince. Wordlessly, he lifts your sore frame from the floor as if you weigh nothing, carrying you up and over to the king-size mattress laying unused only feet away.
“I mean it,” he says, drawing your body up against him. His fingers play in your hair, scratch at your scalp. “I could give you forever.”
“I know.”
“You don’t want it?”
“I don’t know. Did you choose this?”
“No. But you could.”
“You think I’d be happy?”
“Think I could make you. Yeah?”
“You’re probably right.”
“Yeah.”
“D’you think I’d also get horny after drinking blood?”
“Goddamn, I hope so.”
“Pervert.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Y’know, I’d like to turn thirty first, I think.”
“What’s so great about thirty?”
You laugh. “I don’t know. I just want to.”
“Alright,” he mumbles into your hair. “When’s your birthday?”
Moodboard for my next fic AU Remmick x Vampire F! Reader
I'm calling it "Beloved Immortal". Reader is a vampire and the closest Remmick has to a friend. They have nocturnal encounters and conversations about humans, cities and the time they've known eachother (literally decades). It's like if Before Sunrise was directed by Wong Kar Wai, and the soundtrack is just My Chemical Romance and a bit of jazz / boleros / indie scene. Also there's some soft!remmick and of course he's submissive, are you kidding me.
Get in the taglist by leaving a comment / liking this post.
Summary. A century old witch meets the newest danger of the Delta: Remmick the vampire. Two lonesome souls find eachother, mutually repelling and attracting simultaneously. Would they finally confess how lonely they've been? Would they allow themselves to ask for company?, for empathy?, for forgiveness?
Tags. Vampire x Witch Pairing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst-Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut. Warnings. Violence and blood, mentions of murder and mutilation, explicit sexual content.
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Summary. A century old witch meets the newest danger of the Delta: Remmick the vampire. Two lonesome souls find eachother, mutually repelling and attracting simultaneously. Would they finally confess how lonely they've been? Would they allow themselves to ask for company?, for empathy?, for forgiveness?
Tags. Vampire x Witch Pairing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst-Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut. Warnings. Violence and blood, mentions of murder and mutilation, explicit sexual content.
Notes. I'M BACKK, it took me almost a month to finish this. To be fair, most of this chapter was ready around the time I posted the previous one, I just suck writing smut (I'm a begginer, as you probably already noticed). Anyways, thank you so much for following this silly story, means a lot!
Chapter 3/3 AO3 Previous
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
CHAPTER 3. A CHUISLE MO CHROÍ / PULSE OF MY HEART
Remmick kept his word and visited you the very next evening. Then the next one, and the next. A whole season passed with him getting closer and closer, earning your trust again. Not that you were keeping it from him, you were determined to never push him away again. In exchange, he limited himself to drinking from animals, unless the prey was a Klan member or a damned pervert. Two exceptions he was perfectly willing to make.
Meanwhile, you searched in visions and dreams for the answer to Remmick’s longing: to reconnect with his ancestors. The ritual was simple: you sang the words he told you to, and both entered in a trance. Images of hills, stones and rain played in your head. Somewhere in there, he was visiting the places of his human life. You brought him there, to a time that does not exist anymore.
Remmick refused to talk about it in detail after the session was finished. You allowed him that silence, you could tell how painful it was for him. All you wished to do after that was to hold him and, by God, it was mutual.
Whenever autumn arrives your lifestyle begins to slow down, and this year was no exception. There was a necessity of warmth that Remmick desired to fulfill. You started to share your bed on the colder nights, on those occasions he would feed on a rabbit and let you cook the rest for you.
He would hug you and touch you so delicately, he was tender and soft. Sometimes you would rest on his chest hearing his heartbeat synchronize with yours. On other times, it was so agitated, especially when you would massage his shoulders or hug him from behind. None of you acknowledged what you were doing, and at the same time, neither could stop from doing it.
But this domesticity hid in its innocence a whirlwind of desires and doubts. Remmick convinced himself that you didn’t long for him the way he did for you. Most of the time that was fine by him, he found it was enough to have you as a friend, to have your touch. After all, no other man saw you the way he did. No one else held you through the cold of night.
But there were times like tonight in which you saw him a second too much or touched him far too good, that made it impossible for him to stay. To stop from imagining things could mean something else, he’d just leave.“Goodnight, honey” he would say and he’d return until the very next sunset. You never asked him what was the matter, but tonight would be different. You couldn’t stand the tension, and it worried you that something else could be happening.
Tonight, the visions felt more intimate, since the beginning you could tell Remmick was expectant. At first, familiar images passed in your mind: his family, nature and his home. But then another face of the Irish countryside manifested. And… you were there.
The hills raised above, you ran laughing and Remmick was about to catch you. It was the memory of a wish, a longing. You could recognize it, but it wasn't precisely yours…
Remmick held you and you had nowhere to run to, not that you were looking to escape. You touch his face tenderly in the dream, and he’s getting closer to your mouth. That’s when you notice you’re wearing his clothes “My sweet witch” and he finally kisses you tenderly.
Remmick breaks the spell back in the real world, gets up from the bed and practically runs.
“You were not supposed to see that…”
“Rem… please don’t leave” you begged, catching him by his hand.
He turned from the threshold of your door.
“That was embarrassing, I can’t stay a moment longer.”
“Have I hurt you? Have I done something wrong?”
“What?” He laughed.
“I’m serious, what's wrong? Is there something wrong with me?”
“Do you think I'm leaving because of you?”
“Yes, Rem… please, don’t” You couldn't believe how emotional you were getting, it was painful that he seemed so offended by the idea of wanting you. Unless…
“There’s nothing wrong with you, it’s me. I'm just… so ashamed, goddamn”
“Does it bring you shame to think of us together like that?… ”
“What? That’s not what I meant. Stop… You’re by far the best woman I know- No, the best human being I’ve ever encountered. And I… I just can’t let myself hope that you-” would not want the same?
“Why would you leave? Stay, please”
“Look, dove, there are… necessities that I don’t wish to share. You really were not supposed to see that…”
“Is there someone else?”
“What?”
“I know there’s a woman, I just… I’m sorry”
“A woman?” he's laughing with the sound that you have loved since the first time you met him. “Darling, you’re the only one for me…”
“Remmick! Don’t mock me, answer me” he looked at you with tenderness but also surprised by this display of jealousy.
“I’m being honest… and I'm serious” You could swear his cheeks started to blush. “You’re the woman I…” he rubbed his neck and looked at the floor. “...I appreciate the most”.
“Oh… Hm, Then… the feeling is mutual, Remmick”
You should feel grateful for him to consider you his closest friend, yet you couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment. Like you wished he said something more… Before you could say anything else he turned away and conjured:
“There’s no one else, I promise you”
Leaving you all alone, thinking of you both running free in the land of his youth.
Damn you for your insecurities, your jealousy, but mostly, because you brought those questions up. Remmick stopped visiting for a couple of days and now that he’s back, things feel uneasy, uncomfortable. You prayed it was only you, but you could tell he walked around you with extra care. As if he was afraid of upsetting you.
You hated the feeling. Feeling like your peace was at the mercy of a man, worried about becoming this insecure needy being. But was it really being needy? Or were you only judgemental to a perfectly natural human desire? The desire of being loved by the object of one’s affections.
Maybe what you needed was a confession, but it brought you great anxiety to even consider asking him questions about the state of his heart. If you only knew that deep down the swamp laid a heartbroken Remmick, dreaming of your touch once more.
Usually he starts caressing his chest, imagining it was you, he wonders if you'd enjoy touching him, if his body could inspire desire in you. At first, he tried to find release quickly, but his rituals became extensive soon enough. He would undress and lay over his back somewhere deep in the woods of the swamp, all alone. He would think of your body barely covered by a thin fabric -a dress or a bed sheet-, imagining the color of your nipples, your pubes looming over the cover. His heart rate accelerates by this point.
Remmick imagines you straddle over him, whispering into his ear, and this gets him so hard. Thinks of your sweet voice calling him petnames, praising his body and his devotion for you. He starts to elevate, and so the stroking begins. First, from the base to the tip, then slaps it against his belly. Imagines that you're satisfied with his length and width. He’d open you fully if you allowed him to.
His strokes only gets him so far, rapidly his moans and begs fill the air, but there’s no one that would listen to him. He’ll be so good to you, if you ask him to. He can be rough too, if you like it better. He longs to become the type of lover that you'd crave for all the time. He’ll be anything you wish for.
Lately, what gets him off is thinking that you use him. You ride his face and he uses his tongue to conjure your yells and curses, his strokes become faster and more erratic. You move your hips deliciously and he gets his face covered in your honey. Not much time passes when he’s already spilling his seed. Such a waste. He’s ready to beg that you allow him to pour it inside of you.
After he’s all done and his cleaning needs become more pressing, he wonders what crosses your mind while touching yourself. He only hopes you think of him, it would break his heart if your fantasies involved anyone else. He doesn’t own you, but oh gods, the things he would do to change that.
Since you both became friends again, he’s masturbating more frequently. At the beginning it was only a couple of times each week, but after the vision of you together in the land of his youth, he’s been fantasizing about domestic scenarios that always end up in sex. So, daily. He’s been finding release even a couple of times per session. He can feel the animalistic side of his desire take a hold of him even when he’s with you at your home.
If you ever get on your knees, or say, if you drop something and bend down to pick it up, if you get too close to him while taking a nap, if you hug him whenever you feel sensitive and need comfort, he would lose his mind. He imagines he’s your man, and you desire him too, and that gets him so heated. He doesn’t know how much he can last like this.
Weeks passed once more, and autumn gave in to winter. It wasn't particularly cold as other places, but you both decided it was for the best if Remmick stayed in your house for the time being. He was elated by this decision. Both of you made the effort of trying to hide your excitement. It was like a sweet temptation.
People started to talk about your potential lover, that you now shared your home with a man. And even if you denied it, there was something deep inside of you that longed for it to be true, for people to know that you belonged to someone. Maybe you have a thing for possessive love.
It took you a while to admit that your feelings for Remmick were romantic love since almost the beginning. Surely, it started as an attraction: the shape of his body, the particular shine of his eyes, the way he moves and conducts himself around you, around nature, around his former victims. But you also grew affectionate of his jokes and his determination to make you laugh, maybe it’s the way that he’s smarter than what he’d like to prove, and the times he scares you -truly terrifies you- instead of running away, it pulls you to him even more. It’s the way he knows exactly where to push to put you on your knees.
The confession you so desperately needed happened without any of you looking for it. But to be completely honest with yourself, it was impossible to resist it anymore. The house wasn’t as big and both of you started a game of tempting one another.
Since winter began, you started to wear lingerie-alike nightgowns at night and clothes that hugged your shape by day. On the other hand, Remmick helped around and took care of the house, working only in his trousers and leaving the bathroom door halfway open whenever he took a bath for you to watch him. It was a matter of time, really. The night it happened you had probably released so many pheromones Remmick was already intoxicated by the time it all went down.
That night a young man knocked on your door looking for a balm that could be used for muscular pain from a recent fight. He had a black eye and a wounded lip. He told you he fought protecting his Father's business from thieves last night, and by the look in his eyes, you knew it was true. You took him in, and guided him to the kitchen where you kept your secrets. When finishing the balm you offered:
“I can make you an amulet for protection too, but there’s no better enchantment than Smoke and Stack’s blessing, they could take good care of you and your family”
“I’ve tried to speak to them, but they’re just so busy with the Juke. They seem unreachable”
“Don’t you worry. Tell them I sent you, and if they give you any trouble I’m willing to answer their questions” You knew the Moore twins would accept offering you this one favor after all you've done for them. Whenever Annie rejected them in terms of the craft, you accepted every time.
Remmick saw and listened everything from the bedroom door, he kept quiet -imperciptable- and noticed every single attempt from the young man to flirt at you. It was disgustingly obvious. But the thing he hated the most was that the man was doing nothing wrong, you weren’t his, and the man was probably a good one, after all. Yet he couldn’t help but imagine that he interrupted and kissed you in front of the other guy, a reminder of the ownership of your heart. Remmick the vampire, who thought of himself above from human affairs, was feeling jealous.
When the man left feeling better due to your magic and kind words, Remmick wasted no time and entered the small room “Gosh, I thought he'd never leave”
“Guests are a rare gem, Remmick, I don’t mind at all. Besides it’s my job” You said, shaking the purse of coins that the young man gave you in exchange for your services. “My magic can’t pay bills just yet”
“Then let me work for you” he offered sincerely “Anything but hearing human males flirt with you” he quickly blushed, surprised that it came out of his lips.
“I… uh, okay?” You decided to ignore the comment just like you ignored the obvious flirting of the other man. Thinking that this surely means nothing. “So… Remmick, I was thinking-” he interrupted you by taking you by your shoulders, making you face him.
“You know you're my woman, aren’t you?”
“Remmick! I… uh, what are you talking about?” You blushed instantly, this must be a dream.
“Let’s cut the crap, you know there’s been something going on” He tried to press you against his chest, you couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Remmick, wait, wait, wait… I don’t think I understand” he looked at you confused
“What’s left to understand but that I want you to… You know… be mine” he was shaking but tried to conceal it and failed miserably, his voice -a bit higher than usual- confronted him with the truth.
“I… I don’t”
“Oh” he let go of you “I understand” and tried to leave feeling rejected.
“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant, Remmick” You tried to take his arm and make him look at you.
“I think I get it” he shook off your touch.
“I feel it too, Remmick” he looked back “I promise, it's just… I find it so hard to believe”
“Believe what? That I’m capable of loving?”
“No, no no no. Please don’t go that way. I mean, that I feel… so unlovable”
“Nah, I don’t buy it. What do you mean, woman?”
“What you hear, sometimes I think I’ve spent too much time on my own I wonder if I’m still…lovable”
“Are you serious? I… ” he knows he feels the same way, he understands exactly what you mean.
You can’t take it anymore “I’ve fallen in love with you, Remmick. There’s no doubt about it. For almost a year it’s been you and you alone” his pupils are expanding and his heartbeat is insanely fast.
“It’s just that… I’m a flawed being and I don’t know if I deserve it”
“Are you kidding me? You are flawed? Look at me, woman! Really look at who you're talking to.”
“Drink from me”
“W-what?”
“What you heard, drink from me and I’ll believe it”
“I don’t think that’s how it works, darling”
“I want you to have it, and to believe me”
“You don't know what you’re offering”
“You don't want it?”
“There’s nothing I want more, since the first time I saw you…”
“Then I need you to punish me, Remmick. I killed a man and I feel no remorse, I fear I’m a bad person… I need you to exorcize me and then I’ll be capable of loving you in the purest way” You said through tears that quickly began to fall, out of nowhere, out of your control.
“Listen to me, you did nothing wrong, not in my eyes. Don’t you see that I would never hurt you?” You hold on to him, as of right now he’s the only thing keeping you down to the Earth. “You haven’t realized, haven’t you? I just want to take care of you… If you let me you'd understand. I know I’m no good, neither am I trying to, but I’d take care of you, I promise.”
“Remmick… I don’t deserve it.”
“Don’t you say that, please, you're breaking my heart all over again, darling. I cannot care less about deserving or righteousness.”
“Then you must promise me you’ll try to feed from me, I need to give it to you, I beg you”
“Don’t say that, you don’t know the things that does to me”
“What do you mean?” He makes your tears dry up with nothing but a look.
“Don’t act foolish, are you going to tell me that you never noticed the way I look at you? Or the way that I try to touch you every chance that I get?”
“I… well, I now do but-” he proved his point caressing your damp cheek.
“Of course you didn’t, you're innocent as a dove, angel” and he meant it. You dare to get closer to him, until your noses were about to touch.
“Then I’ll beg and beg until you drink from me. I mean it, Remmick, I want you to choose me.”
“I do, every waking moment. I’ve been choosing you since I met you. You're the reason I stayed here, you’re the woman I saw whenever I had dreams that made my heart ache.”
“Please, Remmick, if you say you desire me, then you’ll drink from me” You both closed your eyes, he can’t deny you any longer. So he gets closer and closer to your neck.
First, he plants kisses all over it, then his tongue prepares the skin. He’s drooling and can’t stop, your smell, your warmth, is all far too much. It’s all he’s been wanting for almost a year now.
“I promise I won’t hurt you” Then you felt it, the heat, and it was amazing. “Oh, I’ve needed you so much, sugar” And so you became one, his fangs teared open but they produced no pain, instead it felt warm, like the reflection of sunshine shining over a lake. The sensation earned him a moan from you.
“Don’t do that, dove. I won’t be able to resist it”
“Take what you want, I need you. I feel so empty”
He drank faster, desperate, as if you were to disappear. A few moments later he decided to close the bite by covering it in his fluids so it would heal. With halfway closed eyes and blood tinted lips he looked at you, he really was beautiful.
“I need you to promise me this is what you want… it would break me, woman, -really break me-, if this doesn’t mean the same for you”
“And what does it mean to you, Remmick?”
“You have become everything, woman. And I can’t bear it anymore, not being inside of you…”
He barely finished the sentence when you pushed yourself against him, wrapping him in your embrace and kisses. Immediately he began gasping, taking his hands from your hips to your neck. He can’t get enough. “I need you, Remmick”
It’s all too much, the touch of his warm hands, the softness of his lips and the taste of copper, his body trembling under your spell. Maybe it just passed but a few seconds, -or maybe it was hours-, that you spent eating each other’s lips, but you decided you’ll give him more. So you got on your knees, immediately regretting the lack of his touch, but you have something else in mind to compensate for it.
“I’ll show you what you mean to me…”
Your hands wasted no time finding the fly of his pants, he quickly understood what was happening and helped you out to get rid of them. “You’re going to be the death of me, honey”
You started to place small kisses all over his belly and tights “Say I'm the only one for you. Say you’re mine or I shall stop”
“I’m all yours, woman. Now please, I beg you…”
“Not enough”
“Please, baby, I need you. I’d do anything for you. You’re the only one for me” his begs fell deliciously into your core. His words resonated with both agitation and anticipation.
So you decided to put him out of his misery and took his tip on your mouth. He was sweeter than what you’ve imagined. Salty yet sweet. His precum shines and you could feel his restraint. He wants to fuck your mouth so badly.
You started to move your head up and down covering all you could get in your mouth, then you licked his balls while jerking him off slowly. “You’re killing me, woman, please please I beg you, love”
“You should see yourself, Remmick, begging suits you perfectly.”
You decided to suck him again, this time with a faster rhythm while applying pressure to his base with your hands. “Please don’t stop I need to finish”
“You won't do so, Remmick, I want it inside of me”
“Goddamn it, woman, you’re killing me”
He stopped you and took your head in his hands, caressing your swollen lips with his finger.
“God, you’re beautiful”
He lifted you, like you’re now accustomed to, and took you to your bed. In a swift movement, you now lay on your back while he takes off his clothes. Quickly, you follow his lead and both stop for a moment, incredulous of what's about to happen.
“My sweet Remmick. I’ve needed you so bad for so long”
“You have no idea, woman, of how many times I've dreamt about this very moment…”
He approached to kiss you again, his mouth telling his most hidden secrets: affection and desire in equal parts. His hands loomed over your hips, your ribs, your chest, taking his kisses down to your neck. Then, your nipples. He stayed there for a while, sucking and moaning, while his hands caressed you.
“...How many times I’ve touched myself to you”
You were entirely at his disposal, it was like he knew exactly where to go and the way he needed to touch. In all fairness, it was the eagerness and repressed fantasies from over a year that drove him mad over your body. That’s how you noticed he started to drool all over you.
“I’ll be so good to you, darling. I’ll make you feel amazing, you’ll see”
You took him by his hair, he let out a moan, “Please baby, give it to me”
He then got on his knees in front of you, shaking with anticipation and a full erection. “I need to taste you”, Remmick didn’t even let you gasp for air when his mouth was already in your core. Licking, sucking and finding a rhythm that could make you beg for him. The dampness and the pressure mixed with his energy were enough to make you wet, but it was the intermission of his fingers what made you see stars.
He’s now swapping between his tongue and his thumb over your pearl. When you were ready to lose all composure, you decided to move your hips so the tip of his nose and his tongue could do their magic. This was better than his imagination, he can’t help but moan.
The erection started to become a problem, so he now tries to stroke himself while eating you. The thought of you using his face makes him go mad. Meanwhile you’re so close to the sweet release. Moving your hips a couple of times more until you feel your heart about to explode, the tips of your fingers feel like holding electricity, and your head is spinning.
When Remmick tastes your honey can’t help but beg “Please, please, please, darling, let me fuck you. I promise I’ll be good, please please please” His tone and crystal clear eyes make you melt in him, how could you say no?
His eyes are shining the same way they do when he's hunting, and that turns you on all over again. You look down again and find that he’s using his drool to lube his member. You don’t want him to use his fingers, you’re ready for him. You long for him to destroy you, and so you open your legs for him, the unmistakable first gesture of the animalistic ritual of sex.
“I’ll make you feel so good, My love” he promised again
And inside he went. First, he tried to do it slowly with soft strokes, but once your core opened to him comfortably there was nothing stopping him from charging into you. You could feel every pulsation, every rush of his blood inside his body now sliding into you, alive and burning.
“Don’t stop Remmick, my God” You feel devoted to the man in your arms, the electricity in your fingertips and the sweet dizziness from his ministrations. His breathing became erratic and his heartbeat could drill into your chest. He's holding into you like his lifeline, and maybe you are.
When you dared looking back at his face, you found him already looking at you. Both breathing each other's moans and curses. He sped up his pace finding the right place where it made you scream. You had no idea such a place existed, and he honored it by keeping it up, even if he was so close.
“I love you, woman. Fuck me, I do”
“Oh, Remmick, I want this all the time, fuck”
“My woman, mine, mine, all mine” his pupils expanded so much they were about to become mirrors. “Yes, yes, darling, yes. I’d do anything for you”
“Fuck, Remmick… I love you”
“I love you more, fuck fuck fuck. I’ve been in love with you since the beginning. Shit.”
You held on to him stronger, if possible.
“I realized I loved you after you called me a monster, fuck. My woman talks to me like that, shit. I loved it” he said every word in a moan, you started to ask yourself if he really was going to make it.
“I’m going to make you a mommy”
Instead of asking him if that was possible, or asking yourself if that was possible, you melted into him “Yes, Rem, give it to me”. It brought you great pleasure imagining your womb full of him, claimed by him. Remmick fucking you all day every day for nine months without consecuences.
He moaned your name like a prayer, and immediately felt a wave coming inside you. He was giving you his seed and you wanted it viciously. “I’m all yours, baby, fuck. I’m yours”, he cried. Your own release took hold of you in an instant, and it stretched the time and space. Nothing compared to it, maybe it was your own magic, maybe it was the love you both delivered mutually.
You thought that was it when Remmick cursed while collapsing over you “Fucking hell, woman, that was heavenly, that was perfect…” You laughed and kissed his temple. But then he turned you around and grabbed your ass to point at him “I’m not done with you… I’m coming inside you till my seed fills all of you and spills all over your legs” You looked at him blushed and, frankly, eager for more. All you had to do was biting your lips and pulling your ass up so he could have better access to you as a confirmation.
He got inside again, and the places he reached this time… it was amazing. You wondered if it was really possible to fuck all day long, you don't seem to get enough of him. Maybe it was dangerous for immortal beings like you two with this amount of stamina to get together. Maybe you’re transgressing some ancient rule, the thought was like an aphrodisiac.
Remmick kept praising your body and your beauty. He really was mesmerized, but also he was embarrassingly quick to come. Maybe it was the time he spent all alone, maybe it was the excitement and the anticipation. The thing is, that it made you fucking horny to think he came over and over just by being inside of you. His cum was dripping just like he wanted, but he couldn’t stop.
“I need more baby, I can’t stop it, I want you to have it” he repeated, all flustered and hard again.
So you helped him out, now he’s laying on his back and you straddle him with ease. “I’ll give you more, my love, I’ll give you everything you wish for” and with a kiss, you sealed the beginning of the night.
The morning arrived only to find you asleep over his chest. When you woke up, none of you dared to break the spell that was your silence. Hours passed holding hands, kissing each other's skin, melting in the embrace that made you one. Softly pushing the boundary between care and erotism. Finally, around midday you made your mind:
“Remmick… let's go home”
“Hm, isn't it right where we are, baby?”
“I meant… Ireland, love. And I’m serious”
“...I’ve never considered coming back”
“We can make it, Rem, I know it. I can sell this place and we could search for a new house there… what do you think?”
“I think… I would love nothing more than to share my life with you. No matter where. And our shared sessions, they mean a lot to me.”
“I bet our visions would be stronger if we were there. Maybe we could even make contact with your family, Remmick. I can give you so much more of my magic.”
He stared at the ceiling, trying to conceal a smile “I think I’m going to cry, baby” and he hid his head in your neck, unequivocally flustered. You laughed, noticing that it did not take much convincing, so you hugged him with all your strength.
“Alright, love, let’s go home” he whispered.
Epilogue
Dublin, 2020
The chase began with the man noticing the couple from afar. It was way too late for anyone to help him, his fate was sealed. The man found him first but the woman terrified him more.
“So you thought you could come down on our territory and make a mess, you racist bastard?”
The man was so scared he tried to apologize. Moments prior he tried to throw out a group of immigrant girls from a pub. The couple saw all that, and decided to take the matter into their own hands. After all, people knew, -secretly whispered-, about the Strangers: a man and a woman whose love only grew by the spilling of blood of those that committed any injustice they seemed punishable. Few survived, yet the police believed all to be a tale. Which granted them absolute impunity.
The woman appeared not too long after. “What do we have here, love?”
“I’ve been searching for fresh blood. It won't compare to yours but you know…”
“Let me prepare him for you”
A single yell was the last thing that that man could conjure before you took his conscience. The energy was electric, it made you stronger, and your lover wasted no time. He drank until the edge of survival for the man that lay beneath. He knew exactly how much to take. He won’t kill him, but he certainly won’t wake up in a couple of days. Hell, he won’t even remember his past life and actions. You called it an exorcism.
When Remmick finished he went straight to you, to your lips, your neck, your chest.
“Not here, mon cher. Let us return home, I need to take a bath after this scumbag got us dirty”
“Ugh, some things never change, don't they, my sweet witch? You told me the very same when I drank alligator blood.”
“Keep it up and I won’t let you bathe with me”
“You wouldn't dare!”
You both laugh making your way home, thinking about how the city has changed so much, yet the story of the Lovers ,-the witch and the vampire-, kept feeding the curiosity of visitors and residents alike.
Indeed, some things never change. Since you arrived so many decades ago, the night became your home. And the humans in this part of the world, you both took the task of taking care of them in return. Especially your fellow immigrants.
“You know, honey? I think I'm ready for the next step”
“Never took you for wanting to be a father”
“Ha - ha… I meant, you know… tying the knot”
“Rem, we're been together for over nine decades”
“Well, yeah, but in our scale of time that’s barely a courtship, you know? Immortal and shit”
“I guess you're right, baby, what do you have in mind”
He stopped walking and took your hands in his, kissing them repeatedly.
“Think about this: the land of my ancestors, you and me, a covenant in blood. And eternity together.”
“Remmick are you suggesting that we-”
“...I want to marry you, is what I’m saying”
He looked beautiful, the city light made his eyes shine like stars, and his cheeks were slightly blushed, like only he knows how. He never ceased to amaze you. Both became an extension from one another. How could you ever resist a life without him?
“Under one condition…”
“Anything, dove”
“We’re absolutely getting matching rings” you remembered the one he used to wear to deceive humans “Real rings, baby. And I'm putting you in a suit” he made a funny discomforted face “Do so, and my life is yours, Remmick”
“With a dress coat and all? ” He pointed at his ripped jeans and leather jacket like saying “me? really?”
“Oh yeah, and I’m so wearing white, you know, to match your fangs”
“You’ll be the death of me, woman”
“Oh, and we’re adopting a cat”
You resumed your way home, joking and laughing about a renewed life together. As the sun started to rise, eternity never seemed as blissful.
Thank you so much for following this story! Requests for Remmick are always open. My next fic is already in progress, let me know in the comments if you wish to get in the taglist.
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Summary. A century old witch meets the newest danger of the Delta: Remmick the vampire. Two lonesome souls find eachother, mutually repelling and attracting simultaneously. Would they finally confess how lonely they've been? Would they allow themselves to ask for company?, for empathy?, for forgiveness?
Tags. Vampire x Witch Pairing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst-Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut. Warnings. Violence and blood, mentions of murder and mutilation, explicit sexual content. This chapter mentions a past attempted SA, no explicit descriptions.
Chapter 2/3 AO3 Previous | Next
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
CHAPTER 2. KNIFE AND WOUND
The dream, no, the memory always starts the same. The man lay lifeless, bloodless, after hanging for hours. You spilled every drop over the drawing on the floor. The worst part? You feel no remorse whatsoever. He had evil inside and acted upon it. He deserved it, you said. He tried to hurt you, and you’ll do anything to survive, you poor little lamb. Only the Goddess can judge you, and she always protects you.
The marks on the floor started to shake and softly lifted you from the ground, there’s no escape this time. This time is definitive, you're receiving the ultimate gift and punishment, for your sin and your sacrifice, for this offering. That was the last time you breathed as a mortal woman, raised above from the man that tried abusing you, and died for it.
You woke up agitated, as any other time that you dream about it. Searching for comfort, you fixed a quick bath and your favorite breakfast. There was something else that could bring you comfort, yes. Yet there was no certainty as to when you were to see Remmick again, but you can also feel your heart skipping a beat only by thinking about it, he brings you relief like nothing else can, and that could be dangerous.
It is also a beautiful thing to hold on to, thanks to him you won't be alone ever again. Surely there’ll be times when he leaves, or maybe he resumes his travels, but he won’t grow old or abandon you. Remmick can offer you the certainty that there’s someone in the world to call a friend, no matter how many seasons and decades may pass. He’s becoming that place where you go when fear takes over.
Meanwhile, in the heart of the swamp an old and abandoned mansion was occupied by the very same vampire. Thinking about your latest encounter, he smiles without noticing. Smiles too whenever he thinks of your involuntary jokes and the nervousness you try to hide. His hunger for you is only surpassed by a renewed curiosity for other lifeforms: a witch is eager to help him. Oh, he genuinely smiles while dismembering his latest hunt.
The next time you saw each other was by accident; you were summoned by a group of men that were coming back from working in the fields. One of them fell terribly ill, no doctor was in sight. You were the closest help. The sun was setting and time was precious, you brought your plants and knowledge to the road where he passed out. But even pouring your heart and energy in his recovery you couldn’t do anything, Death already made her mind.
“I’m so sorry… it’s better if you let his family know”
“We’ll be back, could you please stay with him meanwhile?” said one of them, taking his hat off in sign of resignation.
“Of course, I shall keep him company.” You closed his eyes and put flowers into his hands.
It was common for witches, sorceresses and herbalists to answer the call of despair, and just as doctors, death was part of it. They say there’s no use crying, but every time you lose a soul you can feel a piece of your humanity dying with them. You can’t help the tears.
Your mourning was interrupted by a familiar voice, the warmest, the brightest you're ever known.
“Now, what do we have here?”
“Remmick… what are you-?”
“Aren’t you sharing, honey? I’m so hungry”
“That’s by far the worst joke you've ever done” You're quickly furious. Can't believe he dares being this disrespectful.
“Who said I'm joking, darling?” and then you saw him, really saw him. The darkness in his eyes, the thirst that many warned you about.
You can’t recognize this devil in front of you. Fangs ready to penetrate, claws about to rip you apart. This was a test, it must be, like in the fables whenever a malign force tried corrupting a lamb or rabbit, testing their limits. But there’s no malevolent being in front of you, it was your friend.
And he’s hoping for you to desert a man that just died in your arms, just for him to feed viciously. Just because he can take whatever he wants from you, could it be that he knows that you belong to him? That only a few encounters were enough for you to lend him your heart. But is your love really unconditional?
“HOW DARE YOU, MONSTER?” your tears and the yell startled him, you can feel your heart breaking.
“Now, now, why would you owe them anything? Why do you protect them? You’re closer to their gods than to them.”
“Don’t you speak of them as if they were things, they're still my people. You might have forgotten what it was like to be a human, I could never betray them”.
“Then you’re more stupid than what I thought. Humans made me this being you judge unwhorty.” he declared, hoping to break you the same way you did to him.
You kept the body of the man closer to you, challenging Remmick, your eyes two burning stakes, alive in fury.
“You’re going to push me away, sugar”
“Maybe it’s for the best…”
“If you say so.”
All inside you was screaming that this was a mistake, you were going to be sick, to decay. This has to be a nightmare, but you’re clearly watching him turn around.
“Wait… wait, don't go” You said in whispers full of tears he just couldn’t listen to. You should be feeling relieved, the devil himself tempted you, already owning your heart, yet you found your faith in humanity stronger. But you could only feel despair and abandonment.
When the family of the man arrived you barely gave your condolences and practically ran away. You locked yourself in your home, letting the hours pass. Morning came with you crying your eyes out. It was monstrous, the way you desired for him to knock your door, for him to tell him that was but a cruel joke, for him to laugh with you again.
Weeks passed and you survived barely by your decadent magic, the herbs in the garden started to die, the house from outside seemed abandoned. And the only person that could fix it only dared to look from afar, Remmick knew it was terribly wrong what he had done, his thirst blinded him. Yet not once before meeting you he wondered about the morality of his hunger. Maybe cruelty wasn't in his nature, was this regret?
Heartbroken and alone once more, Remmick’s hunting instinct called again. It hasn’t passed enough time since his last meal, but enough time since your last encounter, and hunger appears in many forms. This time your rejection only lighted his lust for blood, tonight it was far too much to bear. A deranged combination between thirst and desire woke inside of him. The ache that he felt before meeting you came back in waves even stronger. He needs to feed his senses with your sight and your voice, even if it’s forbidden.
He imagines he intrudes in your house, -he could do it anytime-, and takes you away. He pictures himself begging for forgiveness, crying in your chest, holding to your hips. You might yell about his monstrous nature, and he’ll accept any reproach you have ready for him. About his cruelty, his manipulative tendencies, his profound desire for blood… your blood. He’s willing to accept it all, as long as he can return to your side.
Instead, he admits he couldn't terrorize you by taking you by force, in the past he might just drink your blood and leave you to rot in your home. But you’re far too precious for him, if you hate him then he’ll do anything to earn your favor again. He wants you to humiliate him if that means absolution.
But for now, the hunting begins, a poor unlucky woman whose only sin was to look like you, -he’ll search for the same hair color, complexion and skin-, would pay for his sadness and desire tonight.
Was your closeness to humanity a way to absolve your crime? You have taken a life without remorse, justified even. Were you just as bad as Remmick? Was he even wrong when his very own nature was feeding on humans?
Deep down, you know the absolution you long for is either granted by the Goddess or by… him, the only creature that takes lives and -in your eyes- is justified. Only a creature like he could understand. Maybe that’s why you insisted on getting closer to him.
Tonight you decide you miss him enough to forget your pride and principles. You need to hear his voice, even if it ends up in a fight. You're tired of missing him, can’t quite explain why he means this much, only that his absence is killing you.
You can’t quite explain where this impulse of action came from, it’s almost as if his soul is calling you, and you’re merely answering, like possessed.
And so you made your way to the swamp, revisiting the steps you took that first night, the night you met him. The moon was bright and full and the air was almost cold, enough to make you shake. You’re thinking about how there’s no one on this Earth that owns your heart the way he does. Have you considered he’s perhaps your soulmate? You were about to debate it when you heard the voice of a woman and the unmistakable laugh of Remmick.
Stopping in your tracks, the image in front of you was unmistakable. You couldn’t see her face, only her back, but even so she seemed beautiful. Remmick looked… mesmerized. What is this grief that suddenly overwhelms you?
Remmick promised you were the only one close to him, then why does she approach him like that? “Why on earth would you bring me in the middle of nowhere, baby?” you heard her say.
“Only a precaution from prying eyes, honey” He called you that too.
You were clearly an invasor to their moment, so you ran away, not looking back, not once. You started to cry and did not understand why. That prevented you from listening to the rest of the scene:
Remmick called her by your name and held her with such strength and passion, imagining it was you.
“Say you want me”
“That’s not my name…”
“Hm… Wrong answer”
And with that he stabbed her with his claws, opening her neck wide. Drinking shamelessly from her. Crying silently for not being enough for you. For not being able to listen to you begging for him. For you not wanting him the way he wants you.
It took you years to create a life for you, a home. And now it seems like it slips from the tips of your fingers, all for a man, nonetheless. You felt like a fool, love has only brought you pain. But is this love? Can you love him after this? The worst part is that he has done… nothing.
Remmick, on the other hand, felt shame and guilt once the rush of his actions faded and realized it's been a couple of months since the last time you saw each other. The night of his latest hunt, once the girl laid at his feet, he realized she looked nothing like you, she lacked your smile and warmth. He damns himself for taking her life, he hates what he has done, and wishes for the swamp to eat him whole.
If you knew about what he has done, could you find the strength to forgive him? Remmick can almost hear you defending the girl from him, if you were there you would've protected her, he’s sure of it. If you knew the things he would do for you, would you love him still? Do you still love him?
It happened one summer night, none of you expected to meet again. You thought he had left the Delta a season ago, but he’s been starving himself, only hunting animals surrounding the place where You met, hoping to find you again.
That night you visited the swamp looking for wild plants, you decided enough was enough and tried to bring your garden to life once again. Alas!, you're making your way to the most treacherous places. Moonlight is so precarious, it’s almost as if you’re hoping to put yourself in danger, in case he’s there to protect you…
But hours passed and the swamp was indifferent to your presence, every animal and every plant kept their melodic harmony for themselves. The beauty that once surrounded you denies you entry. Your lamentations were interrupted when you fell over your face, after your left foot got trapped in a tree root.
Oh it hurt a lot! You’re sure you sprained it. You tried to break free so you could tend it. But the more you tried, the more it remained in the same place, trapped.
Suddenly, you hear steps, sounded like a big animal. Could it be a predator? Your magic! You need to hurry and conjure an enchantment. You’re about to cast a thunder when two familiar eyes appear in front of you.
Bright like hot coal, deep as the sea. Remmick looked at you like never before, he seemed… hurt.
None of you dared speaking. He approached slowly, like a hunter trying to get closer to a deer. He noticed immediately your state, there was no way you could run away. And he’s been so hungry…
His senses are screaming at him to jump, catch you, devour you. Your smell, his ruin. You didn’t realize when exactly, but you were sobbing. That caught his attention. Something in him is pulling his body closer, he needs to console you.
“I’m not going to hurt you, dove” he finally said, but you were far too scared.
“I mean it, hush darling. I'm here now, nothing’s gonna hurt you. Not even me.” You compulsibly pulled your leg but only made it worse, you screamed in pain.
“Oh, oh, oh, don’t, honey. Please.” There was no use trying to calm you down, so he decided to take the matter in his hands. With the softest of touches, he took your feet, twisted a bit and let you fall in his arms.
“Hush, now, dove. I’m here”
“Remmick… I thought I…” You finally said
“Don’t, darling, please don’t say a thing, I know. I’m so sorry” He caressed your hair and your face with an impossible tenderness.
“Could I allow myself to believe that someday you'd be able to forgive me, dove”
“Remmick, I’ve missed you so much” You confessed, you’re so angry and so sad with yourself for allowing this much time to pass without him. Damn your morals, damn your hopes.
“I was so wrong, darling”
“No, you were only trying to feed”
“I should’ve known better”
“I should have ask you to drink from me instead”
“Don’t say those things, darling. You don’t know what it means to a vampire like me.”
“I know that I shouldn't have let you go.”
“You really missed me, don’t you?” he tried to joke
“With all my life…”
Neither of you dared to break the embrace, but you were shaking. So he decided to lift you, like the night you met. “Let’s go home, dove.”
Maybe it was the mixed feelings, the relief and the complicity. But you related all about the man you killed trying to protect yourself and how you decided to sacrifice him in exchange for your eternal youth.
Remmick was shaken by the confession but somehow made him feel closer to you. To him, you can’t do wrong, he’d testify in your favor if you asked him to. But this new dimension in your story, he feels a deeper connection to you now. He’s your confidant now and your advocate.
Once you arrived at your cottage he entered with you still in his arms. He’s thinking that there’s nothing in this world that would convince him of letting you go. He's delighted with your warmth and smell, he just can’t stop thinking about your breasts lifting when you breathe, or the texture of your lips now that the tears ceased.
He has to make a supernatural effort to let you down in your bed.
“I won't let you go again, woman”
“Then don't leave now”
“I’ll come back soon, I promise”
He takes your arm and turns it so your wrist is at his disposal, and kisses it, feeling your heartbeat. You closed your eyes, feeling his lips and his doubts, he doesn’t want to scare you but needs to be closer to you at the same time.
“You know? I could get used to saving you” you didn’t hear quite right.
“I'm sorry, what?”
But when you looked again he was gone, or so you thought. He was looking from the line of trees in the back of your house. He saw you get up looking for him from the windows. After you gave up, he noticed you were changing into your nightgown.
Oh your skin looked so soft, so delicious. And the fabric of your dress adjusted perfectly to your figure. He can feel his heart beating on his throat and the pressure in his pants.
He’s just your friend, he needs to remember you just made amends and he must try to earn your trust again. But the image in front of him and his imagination are tempting him. The things he could do to you if you allowed him, if you asked him, if you begged him to. His lips still feel the electricity of the kiss in your wrist.
He started to drool, he needed to restrain himself. But punishment can come later, he now needs to find release, and he won’t make the mistake of trying to find you in other people again. He’ll touch himself, stroke, pull and caress thinking it’s all you.
He’ll find release thinking of your crying voice, imagining your moaning over his ministrations. He’ll make you cry from extasis and then dry your tears with his newly found tenderness. He’ll pour everything inside you. For all he is, belongs to you.
Summary. A century old witch meets the newest danger of the Delta: Remmick the vampire. Two lonesome souls find eachother, mutually repelling and attracting simultaneously. Would they finally confess how lonely they've been? Would they allow themselves to ask for company?, for empathy?, for forgiveness?
Tags. Vampire x Witch Pairing, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angst-Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut. Warnings. Violence and blood, mentions of murder and mutilation, explicit sexual content.
Chapter 1/3 AO3 Next chapter
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
CHAPTER 1. WARM WATER
The swamp was deadly silent except for the motion of two strong hands breaking bones as if they were mere tree branches. First, an open neck and the rib cage, then, the spine, with sounds of grunts and limbs being tossed to the depth of the lake. Surely some alligator would find them tasteful. As for Remmick, dead blood was no use. He'd feed every once in a while, just to stay strong. But most of the time, the blood sucker would hide in the darkest places of the swamp, maybe an abandoned ruin of what used to be a plantation deep into impossibly long lines of trees. Those were -in a twisted way- his favorite places to hide. Enough room to rest comfortably (on the dirtiest of duvets) and the security of a closed space. Unlike the swamp where every sound could mean hunters or other vampires. None of those options were ideal, he decided.
As for now, as he was getting rid of his last meal, an ache took hold of him. It’s been a while now since the pain started, washed over completely. The intensity remains the same, he just learned how to ground himself whenever comes back. It could only be described as an intense hurt from the deepest nerve inside him, reaching to his very skin. All organs seem to pause and breathing becomes unbearable. It started right after his plans of getting Sammy out of the Juke failed miserably, heck, he didn’t even get to transform a single soul that night. Instead he fed on the couple that took him in right before the Choctaw scouts reached him. He wondered if things would have gone differently if he’d chosen to transform them. Maybe he would’ve succeeded, or maybe he’d be dead by now. Anyways, he can’t quite explain this profound discomfort. Only that his dreams will flood him with signs and images of places that he doesn’t know, and a woman, the same each time. Maybe it’s the alligator blood.
On the opposite side of the swamp two careful hands reached for branches of black willow, stinging nettle and rosemary that grew in a small garden. A witch’s garden, your garden. Word spread quickly in town thanks to the Moore twins of the stranger that appeared a few nights ago in their inauguration. And so now, you took the endeavor of fixing a protection amulet for your home: rue and rosemary, “and garlic, just in case”, as your friend and fellow herbalist, Annie warned you. There’s no denying your anxiousness, but there’s a part of you that is so eager to meet this foreigner, to know his story, to peek at the edge of their mystery, even if it puts you in danger. Would you call out for him? Deep inside you, you hope the amulet won’t work and instead lures him to your doorstep.
Even for your now century of age, you’re still an impulsive and curious young woman. It was in your late 20s that you froze in time by accident. When an enchantment was wrongly pronounced and the goddesses instead made you immortal, or so you believe, since you can’t age, -you’re still unsure if you can't die-, or if someday the enchantment will fade. For now, you lead a tranquil life, lonesome at times, but all yours whatsoever. Now, you needed something to disrupt the routine, and this stranger was the perfect excuse to visit the swamp looking for clues. And you ain’t wastin no time.
As the sun was setting you were making sure to carry everything you needed: a knife, a smaller amulet, a hidden dagger and garlic, “just in case”, again. You were going to make the most of the trip and so wild herbs, plants and even flowers would go home with you. The expectation was to figure out about tracks or signs of a vampire, as Annie suggested. You’ve never met one on the flesh, would he be friendly?, centuries old?, cold or violent? Better keep your distance, to know him before he notices you, then you’ll decide what to do.
You knew the swamp like the palm of your hand. After a few turns, climbing rocks and descending close to the wetlands, you finally rested and started to pay attention to the whispers, sounds and breathing. Oh the swamp is truly alive! Alive and safe from humans, for now.
You were looking for the spilling of blood or identifying animal corpses in unusual circumstances. You could sense the hurt and the wounds, if any, on the decaying bodies; that will tell you enough of what you’re searching for. The trance was interrupted suddenly by something -or someone- stepping over a fallen branch. But then again, you were far enough from the point where anything moved uncautiously. Whatever made that sound, already spotted you.
Perturbations of peace aren’t always negative, and many times they shake the grounds, showing the fissures of what apparently was perfect, you reasoned. Something was about to happen, although you don’t know what yet. You learned to identify premonitions from anxiety way before immortality came around. And this time was clear as day, the swamp was calling your name.
“Who’s there? Show yourself” A laugh resonated from the heart of the trees. And you were curious, not stupid. Quickly you turned back to run away, but whatever heard you was about to catch you. Remembering a spell that would definitely allow you to fight back, you conjured it faster than any previous time in your life. When you were sure he - she - it was about to catch you, you turned back again and boom! a thunder struck them right from your hands and you were pushed by the discharge of energy falling over your feet.
The first thing you noticed when the smoke disappeared was the smell of burning flesh, secondly, the fact that they were still alive, this was no human, altought… it seemed human, a man, to be precise. The vampire found you.
“God damn you, woman!” he screamed while trying to get on his feet again.
“Don’t come closer, you undead man! I warn you!”
Then he started to… laugh? Well, something close to it, as he was in such pain.
“What in the devil’s ass was that, woman?” he asked, really trying to pull himself together.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, undead creature? And stop calling me that!”
“You stop calling me that!, what on earth did you do to me?” asked again.
“A precaution, now, let me go in peace and I won't hurt you, understand?”
“You wouldn’t get far even if you tried, your limping foot is obvious.” Finally, you’re able to see his face. He was nothing like you imagined, thinking about depictions of goddamned Dracula, he was… actually quite good-looking, human looking.
He was also right, you couldn't get far and you were scared too, as a matter of fact. This went nothing like you expected. After the adrenalin went away your left foot started hurting really bad too.
He offered immediately “What about a truce? I help you get out of the swamp and in exchange you do me a favor…”
“What sort of favor? And what kind of guarantee can you offer me? Just a second ago you were trying to hunt me down, asshole.”
“Whoa, said the lady”
“I’m no lady, I’m the witch you should be running from”
“Ah-ha! Knew you weren't mortal.”
“Duh, and I know who you are… I was, well sort of, I mean, I wanted to know you…” that confused and amused him simultaneously. “Ugh, I heard there was a vampire in town, so I ventured a little, just to get a glance-…” now it was unmistakable. He was openly laughing, laughing at you.
“You’re not very bright aren’t you? Now, why on earth would you do that? Do you have any idea how lucky you are that I just drank a whole alligator?" He both insults you but amuses you too, you noticed.
“If that’s the way you speak to a woman, then I’m not interested in knowing anything more about you, Sir- Vampire. This conversation is over.” You tried to walk again until bam! You're all over the floor once more. He did not suppress his laughter, again.
But he decided enough was enough too, and carefully approached you. When you raised your head he was offering you a hand “Name’s Remmick, my lady."
He lifted you and took you right out of the swamp, he didn’t even try to know where you lived. To be fair, he only made sure you could walk in better grounds with an improvised cane (a fallen branch, really) and let you go on your own. When you got on your feet again, you turned to at least thank him. But he was already gone. And that’s how you met Remmick the vampire.
For the next few days he was the only thing on your mind. The encounter sparked a renewed curiosity for vampires, and so you tried collecting as many books about vampirism as you could get. Even daring to ask Annie about it; when you brought up the topic she only raised an eyebrow as asking “What did you do this time?” But nothing compared to the thrill of being in front of him, you had to admit.
You were making amends with the fact that maybe you’ll never meet him again, maybe he's already gone, traveling to the next population to drink from. If you only knew, he too was questioning what kept him on this very side of the Delta. Never spending that much time in one place, exposed, alone. The only thing he knew was that after meeting you, his ache and random hurt dissapeared.
One night you heard someone knocking loudly at your door. You opened feeling their uneasiness. Of course, who else could it be but him. “Remmick, what are you doing? How did you find me?”
“Are you kidding me? Whole swamp stinks of you. I followed your trace. Such nice place, by the way” said sarcastically.
“That’s impossible, it's been days since I was down there, besides I’ve just read that vampires can’t -”
“Are you not gonna let me in?” he interrupted
“Never, there’s nothing inside that could be of any use for you.”
“I need you to let me in, woman… Look I’m being followed”
“That’s even worse!”
“...It’s the klan” he interrupted again. “I might have ugh…” he made a gesture with his hands that implied ‘killing’ “...one of them the other night while feeding. Well, he and his wife. I knew they were… that, but I just couldn't resist erasing their existence from the earth, you know?”
“Do you really think I believe any of this? What are you? Do you think of yourself as a righteous vampire?”
“Honey, I'm the worst of vampires, but even I refuse to become a monster like them.” The pet name caught you by surprise.
“If I let you in tonight… would you be able to enter anytime? Even if I refuse?”
“Well yes, but think of it this way, human men are even more gross and terrible, and yet they could enter anytime, even if you refused. Yes, I could enter and try to drink your blood, and maybe this is all a lie I made up to achieve it. But you’re also the closest I have to an equal -as immortality goes-, why would I make myself vulnerable by killing you?”
You hated that this made sense and so with a sigh and a gesture you opened the door.
“Ugh, only for tonight, Remmick. I mean it. Besides, I did owe you one.”
As fast as he entered, the whole atmosphere changed. It was awkward and tense but also exciting. Things started to move around him, starting with you. Leading him to the small sofa you owned and that practically made the entire lounge (only accompanied by a bookshelf, a coffee table and a chair by the fireplace), -it was small, like everything you owned but cozy-, you kept a safe distance.
He first noticed the amulet you made days prior, the one with garlic and smiled. “You’ve made a real home for yourself here” he pointed. Then he noticed the volumes of vampirism over the small table.
“I… uh, was doing some research, not at all related to you.”
“Yeah, right. If you’re curious you could just ask. I promise I’ll tell the truth and only the truth”
“But why?”
“What do you mean by that?” He found it amusing, again.
“You speak of it as if you see me as your equal, and as if we've met a long time ago. I just don’t understand where this trust comes from.” It was true, for a second time you’ve met, this was feeling way too familiar.
“Let me put it this way… we both used to be human. Something happened that made us way, immortality and all. Sure, I can still drink your blood, but as I said you’re the closest I’ve had to an ally… and maybe I'm growing tired of cultivating enemies.”
“Remmick the vampire… are you asking me to be your friend?”
“Don’t be absurd.” he laughed openly. “Creatures like us don't have friends”
“I do, plenty. Whenever I go I make them. And then I mourn them, miss them…. keep loving them.” This sparked a genuine smile in him, it was maybe the first time you've seen him do something genuine. No ulterior motives.
“I do not envy that sort of pain. But then again, I already carry my own” he got closer to your small collection of liquor over the corner.
It was too the first time you saw him -really saw him- his clothes seemed worn and dirty. His complexion was lean but strong, and maybe you weren’t as scared as you should. He sensed your gaze and turned back smiling. “Do you like what you see?”
“I’ll fix you a bath.” Was all you could manage to say. And with that you left the small living room.
Meanwhile he washed his body, -god knows when was the last time he had a proper relaxing bath-, you mended and washed his clothes, and made a mental note to get some new for he next time he comes around… next time. You're already hoping for a third encounter.
After what seemed like hours, he finally changed into his clean clothes. “Let me tell you something, let’s meet up for the human festivities. I’ve heard they’re organizing something like a dance and a fair downtown. You’ll tell me about this friendship thing and I’ll tell you about my family. Do we have a deal?”
That’s when you realized, there’s nothing in this green earth you’ll ever deny to Remmick. This natural predator you’ll do anything to make him your friend. “I’d love to… goodnight, Remmick.” And with that, you closed the door to your bedroom whilst he made himself feel like home right there on your small sofa.
You wore your best dress for the fair, with matching earrings and makeup in a fashion you actually like that said: I’m a witch. The only mismatched element was the beating of your heart, faster than ever before and erratic. And who are you fooling? You’re terribly nervous, excited, expectant. Since you've arrived, you have already mistaken two other men for Remmick. What if he doesn’t show up?
You were just about to leave and make your way home when a hand touched your arm. “Thank god you didn’t strand me up, that would’ve broken my heart.” You turned to face him, he was wearing a white shirt, black dress pants, and some boots to go with it. His hair styled in a fashionable style and a single hair strand framing his face. He looked… awfully handsome, you cursed.
And the way he looked at you, it was just way too confusing. He seemed… relieved that you showed up. But there was something else, if he was another man you would’ve bet he was mesmerized by you. No, that’s impossible. As if he was reading your thoughts -the last thing you need- he added “I’m a lucky man, such a beauty makes me company tonight”. You couldn’t tell if he was joking. What are you thinking? He’s obviously joking, he’s always making fun of you!, you decided. But something about it felt as genuine as the smile from previous nights.
Unexpectedly, you had fun, laughed and danced amongst humans for what seemed hours, way past midnight. Maybe it was the complicity, the stolen glances, the jokes that only immortals could cynically tell, that made the night perfect. Until the appearance of a certain group of white old males. Oh you could bet they were Klan, they have that look of miserable pieces of shit. And they were scanning the whole mixed dance floor but keeping quiet, as if they were looking for…
Immediately you felt like Remmick was trying to hide behind you. “I didn't think we’re safe here anymore, princess”
“Got any ideas where to take this party?” You gave him a conspiratorial look but felt shaken by the petname, again.
“Let’s go home” and he took your hand softly and ran before anyone could notice the disappearance of the loudest couple of the night. Not once in the whole path did he let go of your hand, not that you were complaining. Except of course, the looks people were giving you made you blush. To their eyes, you were perhaps courting, married even. Marriage… you never really thought about it. Was Remmick ever married? He does wear a ring. Did he lose her? Or is it just a safety precaution? A way to seem closer to humans so he can approach and drink from them?
The trail of thoughts was interrupted when he let go of your hand once you were alone and closer to your small cottage. Once inside, -he did not need to ask you again-, you warmed your dinner and took it to the small studio-living room.
Both sat on the floor, in front of the coffee table. Closer than ever before but keeping distance. Still, you feel the pull, you orbit around him every time he comes near you. Determined to not allow uncomfortable silences you asked him about his fugitive state from both the Choctaw nation and the Klan.
Surprisingly, he was almost expecting you to ask and offered you all the details. From his travels to his misdemeanors and mischief. The ease in which he makes ‘enemies’ everywhere he goes and the murder of Joan and Bert. “The plan that night was to get in and transform the singer kid so I could get a chance to reunite with my family… ” he called your name “...do you realize I couldn’t even get in? I’m pathetic”
You don't know what to say to that, it’s almost comical. “You’re not pathetic but maybe… would you like to try something else? Like an enchantment or magic? I could try to make a spell for whatever you wish”
“Like the one you used when you tried to kill me?”
“That’s different…”
“I appreciate the gesture but I don’t think there’s anything I could do now except maybe…dying? Who knows.”
“Hey, don’t say that!” his sentence made your chest hurt “I can find a way, really, don’t dispair”
“It’s hard for me to consider that you'd go this lengths only to help me, what’s the trick?”
“How dare you! This is a genuine gesture and it’s just… I mean, ugh. I just, you know… ughhh… I really want to be your friend” you covered your face in shame but heard nothing like a laugh from him as you expected. Daring to look at him once more, you find him half smiling.
“If you insist then I guess I have to let you help me find a way…”
Both stared at each other in a comfortable silence. Until he said:
“You know, I don’t think I remember their voices anymore, and their faces are ever changing in my mind… my family, I mean.” He decided that if you were going to help him out, you should know his story. And so he began telling you all about the men that stole his ancestral lands, his own voice, his language and loved ones.
You can’t begin to imagine how painful it is. Of course, you've had your fair share of losses but never by violence such. When he finished, he turned his face to the liquor corner. You understood his expression immediately: “I thought alcohol had no effect on vampires”.
“It doesn’t” he said while standing up and taking one of the bottles, “...but it does affect you.” and offered it in your direction. “Now it's your turn. Tell me your story”.
And so that night you cried the losses of your loved ones as never before… in company. Remmick listened to you attentively. Sure, he made a couple of jokes and sarcastic comments from now and then. But it was evident he was genuinely interested. When you talked about your fears when you turned immortal he did the unthinkable: dried your tears, followed up by many “I know, I know”, “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault”, “It’s alright now”. You wondered if anyone ever consoled him that way, or if this way was a form of comforting himself too.
The truth was that, for the first time in over a century, you felt seen. The alcohol was a great conversation starter, you decided. You were immersed in your thoughts when the smallest sniff caught your attention. Was Remmick crying?
“Hey, are you okay?” He did not dare to look at you. “Remmick, it’s fine, I’m here” Oh, and you were. Whatever he was thinking, you're determined to console him.
When he finally turned at you, tears were silently falling over his softened face. “It’s just that I’ve been so alone.” he whispered. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you dare to get closer and closer, until the closeness became an embrace so strong. “I’m here now, I mean it.”
That morning the sun caught up with you talking, crying and laughing. You decided he should sleep in your room for the day, God knows when was the last time he slept comfortably. You stayed on the sofa and swore you're never leaving his side, not as long as he calls you his friend.
Sinópsis: Como amiga cercana de los gemelos Stack y Smoke Moore, ayudaste a volver el Club Juke una realidad; pero un encuentro con un extraño hombre irlandés tuvo consecuencias impensables. Solo el tiempo te dirá cuánto podrán protegerte tus amigos del misterio que ese hombre tiene sobre ti, y si tu curiosidad será más fuerte que tu prudencia, ante la música de un tal Remmick. Advertencias: descripciones gráficas de violencia y asesinato, comportamiento obsesivo, menciones de racismo por contexto histórico. | Contenido sexual explícito.
Capítulo 4/4 Masterlist
MENORES NO INTERACTUAR
Frontera México - Texas, dos años después.
La quinta noche nunca llegó, fue evidente que te había abandonado. Así que te fuiste, en cuestión de un par de días vendiste el departamento, te despediste de tus amistades con quienes aún conservabas correspondencia, y emprendiste el viaje. Siendo honesta, después de Remmick, ya nada te ataba al Delta. En su lugar buscaste un lugar un poco más… familiar.
Las tierras que habían trabajado por generaciones tus ancestros ya no les pertenecían, en su lugar trabajaban como “peones”, la clase más baja que trabajaba en las haciendas aún funcionales. Desde la primera constitución de México hasta la más reciente de 1917, la esclavitud se encontraba abolida, pero tú sabías que no era cierto. No en la práctica, y cómo negarlo, si recordabas las manos callosas y la voz quebrada de tu padre, las líneas de expresión grabadas en su piel por las jornadas bajo el sol. Y tu madre, cansada hasta los huesos con las promesas de alivios que nunca llegaron. Sí, por eso te fuiste. Porque la única herencia que pudieron darte fue la de su rabia.
Así que ahora te encontrabas en la frontera, entre dos mundos, en el borderline. Completamente sola; te parecía irónico. Remmick se había preocupado por evitarte la desolación que terminó por ser él quien te abandonara. Regresabas a esos últimos momentos a su lado, preguntándote qué hiciste mal, pero todo te llevaba a su silencio. Nunca conociste a ese hombre, no realmente. Y aunque muchos extraños llegaron a convertirse en tus amantes, ninguno te había importado tanto como Remmick. El apego lo hacía doloroso. De otra manera, ya tendrías una nueva vida. Ese había sido el objetivo al irte.
Habías adquirido una casa de dos habitaciones cerca de la frontera con México en un pueblito abandonado cuya población consistía en familias de jornaleros latinos con quienes apenas compartías el idioma, las mujeres te veían a lo lejos, algunas se persignaban, y los hombres hacían de ti un ejemplo para sus hijas rebeldes. Vivías sola sin ser viuda, hasta donde sabían no trabajabas (tus acciones en los negocios de los gemelos te brindaban un cómodo rendimiento), pero las infancias no parecían prestarte atención. No podías culparlos, muchos habían sufrido suficiente en sus trabajos, los suyos eran cuerpos exhaustos y mentes deprimidas. Quizás si lo quisieras, podrías convertirte en la amenaza que pensaban que eras. O quizás veían a través de ti, directo en la marca del demonio; quizás tu corazón roto era evidente, tu alma que anhelaba a su verdugo.
Desierto México - Texas
La noche que decidí alejarme estaba dispuesto a ver el amanecer y terminar con todo. Había traicionado todo por lo que había sacrificado tanto, entre más cerca estaba a su lecho, más lejos estaba de mis ancestros. Podía sentirlo, por más que intenté engañarme pensando que podría sacrificar su sangre por mi salvación. Pero lo que me hizo detenerme fue pensar que ella tendría que pasar por lo mismo. Que vería el abismo que atormenta mi existencia y ni siquiera mi profunda devoción por ella habría de llenarlo.
Algo me detuvo de mi cometido por segunda ocasión esa noche, en lugar de destruirme, abandoné el piso en el que me había alojado hasta ese momento, empeñe algunas de las monedas españolas, estaba dispuesto a irme al norte del Delta y comprar una pequeña propiedad. Volvería de rodillas por ella, rogando su perdón, buscaría ofrecerle algo, darle una oportunidad a lo que no fue. Pero cuando volví a buscarla no la encontré por ningún lado. Visité, -como ella hizo tantas veces-, los bares y centros nocturnos de la calle principal de su barrio sin éxito. Pensé que se habría mudado, así que volví al Juke. Sus amigas casi me persiguen hasta el camino, sobra decir que no logré descubrir nada. Pero entonces lo asumí, aquello que estaba evitando admitir: se había ido. Se fue porque la herí, y sin pistas de su paradero, se volvió mi obsesión.
Primero seguí de cerca a sus amigos en sus salidas nocturnas, esperando escuchar de contrabando su nombre o su locación. Incluso llegué a intervenir en su correspondencia, cualquier carta que llegara al Juke o la casa de los gemelos era intercedida por mí primero, pero nada… completo silencio. Si ella siguió en contacto con ellos, no lo supe. Entonces lo recordé, la noche que bebí de su sangre, imágenes de sus padres, su infancia y su huída pasaron por mi mente. Una conexión excepcional. Recapitulaba una y otra vez los lugares de su vida, intentaba recordar en dónde había visto esa vegetación, quizá la ubicación del sol y la sensación del clima de sus días más brillantes. Entonces dí con ello, se manifestaba en sueños, en pensamientos que no eran míos. Ella vivía en mí en todas las formas posibles.
El caso es que ahora me encontraba viajando siguiendo sus pasos. El calor del desierto es tan intenso por el día como su frío en las noches. Solo aquello se le compara, es casi imposible pensar en otra cosa que el ardor en la carne o el dolor en los huesos. Me recuerdo constantemente el motivo de mi viaje. He seguido por días el rastro de una mujer, solo haciendo pausas para alimentarme y esconderme. Me aseguro de subir a vagones de trenes vacíos y oscuros para seguir en movimiento aún durante el día. Las noches en que me es imposible conseguir alguno, camino y camino. Recorro a pie en una penitencia el desierto desolado, una peregrinación hasta sus pies.
Parte de tu nueva rutina era visitar la pequeña tienda miscelánea y hacerte con provisiones para la semana, la familia que la atendía era amable, un matrimonio joven que recién había recibido a su bebé. No tenían otra familia, pero se las arreglaban entre los tres. Esta noche no era diferente a otras, volvías de tus mandados y pensabas en lo que te restaba por hacer en la jornada. Hacías el camino de regreso a casa cuando entre los arbustos al lado del camino viste dos luces que te recordaban a un par de ojos conocidos… Seguramente estabas alucinando, perdiste la cordura. Pero entre más te acercabas, la oscuridad abría paso a una silueta que reconocerías con los ojos cerrados.
El hombre estaba encorvado, cargaba algo muy pesado, quizá un costal o ¿eso era una persona?, entonces viste esas garras que años atrás te acariciaban en pesadillas, ahora parecían una vista reconfortante. Gritaste lo que sabías pero no habías admitido “REMMICK!” la criatura volteó la mirada, sólo así pudo distinguirse la sangre que escurría de su boca hasta su cuello. Sus ojos iluminados como carbón ardiente mostraban dolor e incredulidad. Te habló con una voz monstruosa pero que no generó terror alguno en ti, pues no podía ser otro más que él “Mo chuisle…” Dejó caer el cuerpo de la persona que, ahora lo veías claramente, se estaba alimentando.
Cuando se mostró ante ti, sus garras ya no estaban pero sus colmillos sí. Olvidándose por completo de la víctima que yacía apenas a unos metros, -el cuerpo de lo que había sido un hombre blanco europeo que pasó por el pueblo a cargar gasolina para continuar su viaje- corrió hacia ti buscando envolverte, tu caíste sobre tus rodillas, respirando por primera vez en mucho tiempo.
“Creí que no te volvería a ver”
“Y yo creí que estarías de vuelta con tu familia…más al sur. Te estuve buscando”
“No, no me atreví a volver con ellos. Pero tú… ¿Por qué me buscabas?”
“¿No te has dado cuenta? Te necesito, me has hecho pedazos. Jamás volveré a ver a mi familia, te estoy escogiendo. He pasado los últimos dos años viajando por todo el Delta, visitando cada pueblo de Texas, te he necesitado tanto, he necesitado de nuestra vida juntos. Intenté resistirme… perdoname, perdoname” no pudo sostener las lágrimas, se encontraba completamente vulnerable ante ti, el vampiro y el hombre te amaban por igual.
“Oh, mi pobre Remmick…”
“Es la verdad, no puedo convertirte en esto que soy sin renunciar a mis ancestros. Estoy escogiendo salvarte de sacrificar tu sangre por mi. Te necesito, nadie me ha amado como tú.”
Tomaste tu rostro ensangrentado entre tus manos temblorosas. “No, no, no. Debe haber otra manera” ambos comenzaron a sollozar “No te haría esto, no permitiría que renuncies a quien eres” Remmick no se atrevió a contradecirte, lo sabías, se había enamorado de ti pero le aterraba abandonar quien era, y tu no estabas dispuesta a amar a un hombre que se abandonaba a sí mismo. Sabías que en el fondo deseaba que le dieras una opción, algo que le permitiera salvar su alma y conservarte.
Mientras secabas sus lágrimas con tus besos le repetías “Te tengo, mi amor, no voy a dejarte” y él suspiraba aferrado a ti, su cuerpo entero se estremecía y se lanzaba contra el tuyo.
Con sumo cuidado esperaste hasta que sus sollozos cesaron, tomaste sus manos y lo llevaste a tu nuevo hogar después de enterrar el cadáver del hombre europeo. No pronunciaron palabra alguna durante el camino, él te seguía como una sombra, preveía tus gestos y se movía en sincronía a ti. Como si no hubieran pasado más de dos años, como si no hubieran pasado más tiempo separados que juntos en esas apenas cuatro noches en tu viejo departamento.
Finalmente llegaron al hogar y pasaron directo a tu habitación, dejando al mundo exterior fuera. En cuanto Remmick cerró la puerta te lanzaste contra él. “No puedo creer cuánto me negué lo mucho que te extrañaba” No podías gastar un minuto más sin estar prendida de él.
“Perdoname, ma cherie, no debí dejarte esa noche” Decidiste ignorar aquello, era muy doloroso.
“¿Recuerdas cuánto deseaba saber la verdad sobre ti?, los sueños que me perseguían, Bert y Joan, los peligros de los que me advirtió Annie. Aún sin saber nada te seguía escogiendo, ¿Por qué?”
“¿Te arrepientes de que así sea?”
“Jamás… pero tengo miedo, Remmick” Eso pareció dolerle.
“Te busqué por tanto tiempo, dispuesto a rogarte a que me aceptaras de vuelta, pero no consideré que quizás ya no querías esto que te ofrezco. Basta que pronuncies la palabra y me iré”
“Eso nunca, ¿no ves que estos últimos años he vivido por la expectativa de estar a tu lado?” el alivió que Remmick experimentó en ese momento era como nada que había sentido antes. “Tengo miedo de que a pesar de todo, del horror y las vidas que tomas, sigo escogiendote. Desde el día en que te conocí mis instintos me decían que debía huir, pero no hay fuerza en este mundo que me aleje de lo mucho que te deseo, Remmick.”
Ambos estaban resistiendo el deseo de comerse a besos, podías sentir su mesura, así que decidiste romperla por él. Acariciaste sus labios con las yemas de tus dedos y después atacaste con besos agresivos y hambrientos, lengua en su boca y manos por su pecho y brazos. La sangre de un extraño era testimonio del hambre del uno por el otro, estaban completamente empapados de sudor y sus labios eran de un carmesí vibrante.
Él comenzaba a gemir en ti, te tomó del cabello para controlar tus movimientos. No perdiste el tiempo y comenzaste a desabotonar su camisa, le quitaste los suspensores, casi le arrancabas los pantalones. Cuando lanzó todo lo demás al suelo te sonrío pícaramente, -habías extrañado tanto sus gestos-, y declaró orgulloso “Mi turno”. Apenas puso sus manos sobre tu vestido, lo rompió en una línea uniforme. “Gracias, dios, por este regalo” gimió. Sentías su mirada arriba y abajo, todo tu cuerpo estaba a su merced y deseo “Quítate todo excepto las medias, me gusta cómo se ven así… sin nada más.”
Seguiste las órdenes como una mujer poseída, entonces te ordenó que te acostaras en el filo de la cama, él se arrodilló y te llevó hacia él hasta que sentiste su aliento en tu sexo. Remmick puso tus piernas en sus hombros mientras sus manos reposaban en tu vientre. Te lanzó una última mirada antes de comenzar, como pidiendo tu permiso, el gesto te derritió, no podías esperar más.
Entonces a boca abierta comenzó a lamer tu clítoris, te brindaba una presión deliciosa, lo suficiente para sacudirte sin dolor, entonces su lengua jugó un poco, comenzaba a brindarte un ritmo que te obligó a llevarte la mano a la boca para cubrir tus gritos. “Ah-ah, fuera manos, ma cherie, quiero que todos escuchen lo que te estoy haciendo.”
Siguió lamiendo y succionando alternadamente, entonces decidió que su nariz te traería suficiente estimulación e insertó su lengua en tu entrada. Intentabas no apretarlo entre tus piernas, pero algo en eso te decía que era exactamente lo que quería pues sus gemidos comenzaban a empatarse con los tuyos “Úsame, con un carajo, mujer. Quiero que uses mi cara.”
No necesitaste que rogara de nuevo, comenzaste a mover las caderas para brindarte la fricción que necesitabas, mientras él se aferraba con todas sus fuerzas a tu cintura, seguramente dejaría marcas, pero eso no importaba, estabas perdida en la sensación, en sus sonidos, en el calor y humedad de su boca.
Te sentías tan cerca del orgasmo pero algo lo detuvo, una risita entre sus dientes te obligó a mirarlo, cuando te diste cuenta, te ofreció dos dedos para introducirlos en tu boca. Captaste de inmediato su intención y succionaste, lamiste y le regalaste más gemidos de tu dulce voz. Podías ver el efecto que tenía en él, quizá él también estaba poseído. Una vez empapados, comenzó a dibujar círculos en la perla de tu sexo. El tamaño de su mano y dedos era perfecto, jugaba contigo entre sus dedos, llevando electricidad al centro, cuando se divirtió lo suficiente entonces introdujo ambos dedos sin previo anuncio. Sentías que te encendías en llamas, al principio fue como un tirón, como una invasión, pero inmediatamente el dolor se convirtió en electricidad que viajaba a la punta de tus extremidades. Era indescriptible lo elevado que te hacía sentir, no podías creer que apenas eran sus dedos los que te tocaban.
“No sabes cuánto soñé con esto, cuantas veces me toqué imaginándote así. Gimiendo solo con mis dedos, mojada para mí.”
“Solo para ti, Remmick”
La expresión de posesión sobre ti lo elevó de inmediato, le dio un ritmo más rápido a sus dedos y lo llevó a lamer y morder tu cuello. “Soy tuya, Remmick” presentías que si continúan con el juego de la posesión lo romperías, y así fue. Al cabo de unos movimientos más, detuvo todo, se llevó los dedos a la boca y lamió saboreándote. “Casi tan dulce como tu sangre”, te habías corrido en su mano. Eso te dio una idea “¿Aún estás hambriento?” y ofreciste con un gesto tu cuello.
“Vas a matarme, mujer.” eso le ganó una risa tuya.
“Hablo en serio, quiero hacerte sentir bien”
“Lo que me ofreces poco vampiros lo han vivido así de bien”
“Sólo hazlo, mi vida” Y con ello se lanzó contra ti. No habías notado que sus garras y colmillos estaban de vuelta, en cualquier caso, sus caricias eran deliciosas con sus dedos largos y el dolor de la mordida fue reemplazado rápidamente por la oxitocina del sexo.
Sin perder tiempo, llevó tus piernas a los costados de su cadera, posicionándose para lo que tanto habías esperado. Entonces en un movimiento suave metió su verga, con pequeños empujones comenzaba a abrirse paso en ti. No tenías duda de que habrías tenido problemas con su tamaño de no ser porque ya alcanzaste el orgasmo. Notaste que aún en su transformación se estaba conteniendo de embestirte con fuerza, no querías que siguiera restringiendose por ti.
“Más, Remmick, dame más. Quiero que me des todo”
“Estás loca, mujer”
“Damelo todo, Remmick, te lo ruego”
Oh, eso lo rompió. Comenzó a embestirte con una fuerza animal, que en cada oleada, tocaba el punto que te hacía gritar. Prontamente tu habitación se convirtió en una sinfonía de gruñidos, gritos y gemidos. Remmick tomó la iniciativa y te volteó para levantar tu trasero hacia él “Te dije que me encanta verte con esas medias” una nalgada, dos, tres, seguidas e inmediatamente aliviadas por su lengua. La mezcla de dolor y húmedad lo hacía perfecto, pero no era suficiente, extrañaban sentirlo dentro de ti. “Por favor, Remmick, por favor”
“A mi mujer lo que pida” el nombrarte ‘su mujer’ te volvió loca, había algo en el hecho de pertenecerle a él por encima de cualquier hombre humano que te excitaba y enternecía en partes iguales. En cualquier caso, regresaste de tus pensamientos pues su pene otra vez se hacía espacio en ti. El sonido de tus nalgas chocando contra sus muslos se integró a la sinfonía de ruidos animales que emitían tu amante y tú.
Remmick encontró un nuevo punto del que no estabas conciente que sentiría tan bien esta posición. Apenas ibas a hacer un comentario al respecto cuando tomó tu cabello de nueva cuenta y acercó sus labios a tu oreja “Mi mujer, mía mía mía, solo mía, mojada y abierta para mí. Te voy a dar toda la noche… ” Los vampiros no se cansaban y tú acabas de darle de tu sangre, un vital afrodisiaco para seres como él. “Te haré mía todas las veces que quiera, te olvidarás de cómo hablar, te romperé” algo en su amenaza rompió el muro de contención que no imaginabas te estaba limitando en cuanto al placer.
Imaginarte a la merced de Remmick, ofreciéndole todo lo que eras, era la idea más cercana que tenías al cielo. “Hazme lo que quieras” le concediste sin una gota de miedo o duda, él sabrá -como sabía todo lo demás sobre ti- sobre el placer que estabas buscando con ello, sobre la confianza y el lazo que los unía para siempre.
Sus deliciosas embestidas se volvían cada vez más erráticas y profundas, su orgasmo estaba tan cerca como el tuyo. Sentías el nudo en tu vientre, el escalofrío en tu piel y tus gemidos que ya no formaban palabras sino sonidos animales. “Te voy a llenar, te voy a dar todo, quiero que tengas mi semen”, ahora sí que estabas en llamas. Con tres embestidas más se vinieron juntos en una euforia que les hizo perder la noción del tiempo, la habitación entera estaba dando vueltas, sus respiraciones parecían hacerse una, y mientras intentabas recobrar la conciencia, sentiste cómo Remmick comenzaba a besar tu espalda, dejando un rastro de dulces mordidas y afectos.
“No voy a presionarte a que continuemos con esto, pero lo que dije era verdad… Te deseo tanto, no creo que vaya a tener suficiente esta noche” cuando volteaste a verlo era el hombre que tantas veces te había hecho compañía en tu antiguo departamento.”
“Yo también te dije la verdad, quiero más de ti, Remmick. Pero quizás antes debamos darnos un baño y quitarnos esta sangre, podrías responderme todas esas preguntas que tuve cuando nos conocimos y después…” Remmick captó tu mirada en la cama, y comenzó a carcajearse “Te contaré todo desde mi historia de vida hasta mis viajes como vampiro entre rounds, ¿Qué te parece?” Por un momento, parecía que en verdad podrían estar juntos, como compañeros de vida.
Epílogo
Los días pasaron con ligereza, con la naturalidad que les había sido prometida. Pero en el fondo algo se escondía cobardemente, aplazaban conversaciones, eran cómplices en la huida: Remmick jamás te convertiría pero tampoco deseaba tomar tu vida para volver con sus ancestros, tú no le pedirías que se olvidara de ellos a cambio de volverte inmortal y pasar la eternidad juntos. No lo mencionaban, pero lo sabían. Y sentías cómo una parte de Remmick moría con ello, jamás te recriminaría lo que estaba sacrificando pues en verdad deseaba compartir la vida contigo.
Una noche decidiste que el silencio terminaría, no seguirías lastimándolo. No obstante, no hicieron falta palabras. Él regresaba de cazar y al volver llamó por ti, tu saliste de la habitación extendiendo tu mano, invitándolo. Cuando te sostuvo en sus brazos comenzaste a sollozar. “Lo siento tanto, mi amor”
“No, no quiero que te disculpes. Esto no es justo, es hermoso pero no es lo que deseo para ti.”
Acariciaba tu rostro, te veía con tal devoción, no podías creer que alguna vez dudaste de su afecto. “Si tengo que irme, amor, quiero que seas tú quien lo haga.”
“No me pidas eso, Remmick, es lo único que no puedo darte. Dame más tiempo, buscaremos la manera de reunirte con tu familia y conservar lo que podemos tener juntos”
“Yo también desearía que fuera así, pero no puedo engañarme, y tampoco puedo esperar. Son siglos sobre siglos… Mi vida, tómala.”
Te mentías a ti misma, no había nada en el mundo que no harías por él. Y si este era el precio a pagar por la salvación de ambos, lo pagarían juntos. Aunque significara no poder vivir lo que soñaron. En un par de horas hiciste tus maletas, destruyeron tu cama de cuatro postes e hicieron de uno de ellos una estaca, vertiste la reserva de combustible que conservabas en la cocina sobre el colchón y reuniste el coraje para efectuar su purificación.
“Sabía que serías tú mi salvación, desde el primer momento en que te vi. Solo no me imaginaba que este sería el desenlace… Debes saber, amor, que si pudiera te escogería por encima de ellos…”
“Jamás te lo pediría, no te convertiría en un muerto en vida” la expresión le resultó divertida. “Te llevas mi corazón contigo.”
“Esperaré por ti en la eternidad. Existe, lo sé. Estaremos juntos, ya lo verás”
“Tu anillo… dámelo” y con un rápido gesto te lo entregó con un beso, tu lo colgaste en tu collar. “Con que enviudé en mi luna de miel, eh” se rió con todas sus fuerzas.
“Este mundo es apenas una etapa, tendremos la eternidad. Bésame, quiero llevarme tu calor conmigo. Cantaré a los cielos sobre tu belleza y nuestro amor.” deseas irte con él, le rogarías pero sabes que eso lo destruiría, vivirás por él, vivirás porque necesitas seguir amándolo.
Compartieron un último beso, perdieron la noción del tiempo, era como volver a conocer sus labios, regresar a casa, redescubrir su calor. “Te amo, Remmick, con toda mi vida”
“Mo chuisle… estoy listo para partir” Y con eso, besaste sus párpados cerrados, él se recostó sobre la cama y tú te posicionaste a unos centimetros de su pecho, alzaste los brazos y reuniste toda la fuerza que tu cuerpo humano te permitió para que el ataque de la estaca fuera fulminante.
No había duda, la vida se escapaba de su cuerpo, un único suspiro dejó sus labios mientras los tuyos soltaron un sollozo animal. Tus lágrimas rápidamente nublaron tu vista, pero tenías que ser rápida. Sacaste tus pertenencias a la calle, volviste para encender un único cerillo y corriste para ver las llamas engullir la pequeña casa. Nadie sabrá nunca que esa fue la tumba de tu amado.
Las cenizas eran de colores brillantes, bailaban hacia el cielo, elevándose más de lo que habías visto jamás. Era él, lo sabías. Estaba volviendo a casa. Rezaste en medio del llanto que su familia estuviera ahí para él, que lo recibieran con los brazos abiertos, que lo perdonaran, que le dieran el amor que no podías darle por ahora.
Poco después comenzó a amanecer, te pusiste los zapatos y un abrigo, tomaste tu bolso y la maleta. Toda tu vida cabía ahí por ahora. Remmick tenía razón y tú también debías irte, debías volver a casa. Buscarías a tu familia, harías las paces y dejarías todo para darles justicia y dignidad una vez más. Así fue que emprendiste el último camino, el final de tu exodo, tomando un tren al sur.
Nota final: Muchas gracias a quienes leyeron y siguieron estos cuatro capítulos. No es mi mejor trabajo, de hecho seguramente lo editaré en los próximos meses, pero le estoy agradecida a este trabajo porque me sacó de un bloqueo creativo del que ya tenía años combatiendo jaja. Además gracias a él hice una nueva amistad! So here's to Tren Al Sur. Pongan Los Prisioneros, pero que truene la bocinaaa.
Sinópsis: Como amiga cercana de los gemelos Stack y Smoke Moore, ayudaste a volver el Club Juke una realidad; pero un encuentro con un extraño hombre irlandés tuvo consecuencias impensables. Solo el tiempo te dirá cuánto podrán protegerte tus amigos del misterio que ese hombre tiene sobre ti, y si tu curiosidad será más fuerte que tu prudencia, ante la música de un tal Remmick.
Advertencias: descripciones gráficas de violencia y asesinato, comportamiento obsesivo, menciones de racismo por contexto histórico. | Contenido sexual explícito.
MENORES NO INTERACTUAR.
Notas: capitulo chiquito porque estoy en medio de un writers block, y todas mis ideas se han ido al final. Espero que sea medianamente coherente y disfrutable lol
Capítulo 3/4 Masterlist AO3
Tienes el presentimiento de que el peor de los destinos vive contenido en ti, cual bomba, está por estallar. Siempre que crees que tu cansancio es insuperable, descubres una nueva profundidad del agotamiento. Necesitas dormir, verdaderamente dormir. Pero no lo conseguirás hasta ver de nuevo al hombre que te ha traído todas estas preguntas que te mantienen despierta... y las pesadillas que ha inspirado. Siendo franca, temes que tu vida no sea lo mismo de nuevo, no después de haber conocido a este hombre del que no sabes nada. Cuánto has cambiado estas últimas semanas. Descubriste tu capacidad para alimentar la obsesión, al mismo tiempo sientes una ternura infinita solo superada por el miedo que te inspira aquel hombre irlandés.
Has recorrido las calles una vez más esperando encontrarlo, que de alguna manera sienta tu desesperada búsqueda. En tus adentros anhelas que él esté igualmente desesperado por verte de nuevo. Te rompería el corazón si no fuera así. Es parecido a un hambre, temes no sentirte completa si no lo ves, no entiendes de dónde viene esa conexión, el entramado de tus deseos se desenreda cuando piensas en él, parece absoluta su presencia en tu pensamiento, lo llevas a todas partes.
Te encontrabas en la última noche de tu paciencia, te prometiste que no volverías a pensar en él si no lo encontrabas esta noche, aunque lo último te parecía imposible y la expectativa te producía náuseas. En cuanto regresaste al departamento, lanzaste tus tacones y te deshaces del disfraz de mujer. Sentías el llanto en tu garganta y en los ojos que rogaban cerrarse. Entonces escuchaste golpes como cristal por quebrarse en el balcón principal. Corriste pues algo te decía que... sí, era él. ¿Te sintió?, ¿postergó tu agonía para que el alivio fuera igualmente delicioso? No importaba, estaba ahí de pie como la noche que hiciste la fiesta de bienvenida con tus amigos. Llevaba su banjo e invocaba una melodía para ti.
Sin hablar, tu mirada consentía que se acercara. “Escuché tu llamado. Pensé que no te volvería a ver, darlin’. Escapaste la otra noche rompiéndome el corazón.”
Sabías que no era cierto, lo sentías en tus huesos, no escapaste. “Remmick, no. No me hagas esto.” suplicaste viendo su expresión confundida desde el balcón, con el viento cálido rozando tu rostro de vuelta. Notaste que iba vestido como la noche en que se conocieron, y que la melodía continuaba. “¿Cómo se llama esta canción?”
“La escuché en una visión, no tiene nombre... aún.” Dijo tu nombre con una adoración inagotable. “Quizá ese es el nombre más apropiado.” Las cuerdas vibraban hasta tu pecho, despertó en ti un sentimiento melancólico y un anhelo profundo. Despertaba en ti la necesidad de calor, del arrullo y consuelo. De brindarlo también.
“Sube” le ordenaste. Él comprendió de inmediato, se puso el instrumento a la espalda y comenzó a escalar por la enredadera de jazmín que se elevaba por el lado derecho directo al balcón. Una vez arriba, comenzaste a dar pasos hacia atrás, asegurándote de posicionarte detrás del marco del ventanal... por si acaso.
Remmick levantó sus brazos en un gesto que decía “heme aquí”. Así que comenzaste “¿Por qué dijiste que escapé la otra noche? tú te me lanzaste, tú o lo que sea que haya visto. No sé cómo, pero desperté en mi cama... tus flores, no puedes decirme que lo que recuerdo no es verdad.”
“Lo siento, ma’am, pero es ahí donde te equivocas. Bailamos, cantamos, seguiste bebiendo, yo intenté sugerir que te moderaras, te enojaste conmigo. Incluso dijiste que era un aguafiestas y regresaste a tu hogar en el vehículo. Me preocupaste mucho, damita. Pensé que tendrías otro accidente con lo intoxicada que estabas, no quería imaginarlo...”
“...Mentiroso.” Todo lo que dijo de alguna manera se manifestaba en tu memoria, pero no era verdad. Sabías que no. Estabas cansada y ahora estabas furiosa mientras él intentaba darte una mirada condescendiente. Como un adulto que intenta desengañar la historia de un juego infantil a su hijo. “Yo sé lo que vi, solo quiero que me brindes una explicación para poder dormir...”
“¿Dormir? jajajaja, la señorita tiene problemas para dormir y cree que hay una explicación sobrenatural. Déjame darte un consejo, preciosa, el hombre que buscas es un médico. No un músico.”
“Deja de hablarme de ese modo o te juro que te empujaré del balcón.” Eso pareció divertirlo aún más.
“Pero si te ves adorable cuando te irritas, quién lo habría imaginado.” Notabas que intentaba darle la vuelta al tema. Así que hiciste lo más razonable según tus estándares. Le lanzaste la moneda española al pecho. Al principio iba a protestar cómicamente, pues era obvio que no representaba amenaza para su fuerte composición. Entonces la recogió y vio la inscripción con la misma alarma que tú noches atrás. Rogaste de nueva cuenta “La verdad, Remmick, es lo único que te pido. ¿Siquiera es tu nombre verdadero?” Se hizo el silencio entre ustedes dos. Él comenzó a acercarse con pasos terriblemente lentos, tu respiración se aceleraba. Tenía un efecto en ti desconocido hasta ese momento, ningún hombre te hacía suspirar así.
Como si lo adivinara llevó sus manos a tus mejillas y comenzó a acariciarte “Hay tanto que quisiera contarte, corazón. Pero ni siquiera yo lo sé. El nombre que me fue dado... lo olvidé hace años. Pero si hay algo que pueda hacer por ti, pídemelo, te juro que lo haré.” Remmick estaba imposiblemente cerca a ti, tú entrecerrabas los ojos, mirabas a sus labios, luego a sus ojos. Su aliento caliente había reemplazado la ventisca de la noche para mecer tus cabellos. Pero aunque su encanto te ponía a sus pies no podías permitir más mentiras. Tomaste sus manos en las tuyas y lo retiraste de tu rostro. “Vete... si no vas a decirme nada sinceramente, quiero que te vayas.” Oh, eso lo rompió pero procuró ocultarlo inmediatamente.
“Como usted ordene, damita.” Y con un par de pasos rápidos, trepó al filo del balcón y saltó a la calle. Tú gritaste pero no había dudas: estaba en una sola pieza. Como si solo hubiera brincado un par de escalones. Se despidió con una reverencia dejándote con su música, -tu canción-, en la mente.
En la segunda noche Remmick te visitó sin su instrumento, iba vestido con una camisa de algodón blanco y pantalones en gris oscuro. Acentuaba cada centímetro de su figura. Te preguntaste si en verdad le pertenecía o solo tuvo la suerte de robar esas prendas que parecían hechas a la medida. Su cabello se veía desordenado pero solo marcaba sus facciones de manera filosa y brillante.
Abriste la puerta pero no lo invitaste a pasar. En cambio, tomaste una silla del comedor y la arrastraste hasta la entrada raspando la madera pulida de los pisos.
Él observaba desde el marco de la puerta de entrada, notó de inmediato estuviste llorando, deseaba consolarte.
Comenzaste la interrogación “Una vez, solo una vez te pido que no mientas, ni hables con modales ensayados o palabras manipuladoras.” Él solo te observaba frustrado. “No sé quién eres, no quise verlo hasta ahora. Pero era obvio. No sé cómo hiciste para que bajara mi guardia.”
“No he hecho nada, tienes mi palabra.” Pero es poco valiosa la palabra de un mentiroso.
Te agachaste para tomar un trago de la botella de vino que yacía a tus pies, con un tono irónico le ofreciste a tu músico, él declinó. “La única persona que puede decirme lo que realmente me está pasando se rehúsa a hablar.” dijiste más para ti misma.
“Hay algo, sí… pero no sé cómo decírtelo sin asustarte.”
“Ya lo haces, estoy aterrada todo el tiempo, y mis pensamientos siempre me llevan a ti.” Te levantaste, le diste un largo trago al vino directamente de la botella, y caminaste lentamente hacia Remmick. Hasta tenerlo frente a frente, le sostuviste la mirada, él comenzaba a acostumbrarse a tus gestos.
“Solo tú puedes liberarme de esto, Remmick, ya no lo soporto…” susurraste a sus labios. No sabías qué significa su expresión dolorida, si se apiadó de ti o solo estaba incómodo.
“La noche que nos conocimos…” levantó sus manos para sostenerte por los hombros, asegurándose de que no saldrás corriendo. “...la noche de tu accidente. Lo tuviste porque te seguimos. Corrimos detrás de tu coche para alcanzarte. Estaba decidido a tenerte.” Te apretó y te acercó a él, parecía querer abrazarte.
“Hay solo una cosa que deseo con mayor intensidad.”
“Ah, sí, ¿Y qué es?”
“Mi familia, quiero mi hogar de vuelta.”
Nunca imaginaste que albergara esos sentimientos, pero ahora que tienes esa pieza del rompecabezas todo cobra un nuevo sentido.
“Estoy dispuesto a todo, a lo que sea por volver.” Te acercó con mayor ímpetu, sus narices casi se rozan.
“¿Y yo?, ¿Qué es lo que quieres de mi?”
“Oh, tú eres la llave, tú me llevarás a donde necesito estar.” Te lo quitaste de encima y volviste a tu silla, él no opuso resistencia pero definitivamente estaba decepcionado.
“Hace un momento dijiste que me habían seguido, ¿Te refieres a Joan, Bert y tú?, ¿Por qué no lo recuerdo?, ¿Me dejaste a mi suerte después de que mi vehículo salió del camino?”
“No, no fue así. Es verdad que me acompañaban Bert y Joan, corrimos velozmente detrás de ti, te asustaron el brillo de nuestros ojos. Pero no era mi intención ponerte en riesgo, quería atraparte. Después de que caíste al agua me precipité a sacarte del auto. Te cargué y arrastré hasta la rivera, Me aseguré de que respiraras con normalidad, pero yo… te dejé en el humedal hasta ser encontrada. Esa noche no volví al Juke ni advertí a nadie. Fue pura suerte que te encontraran tus amigos.”
“¿Me quieres muerta?”
“No, eso jamás”
“¿Por qué te creería cuando tus actos dicen lo contrario?”
“Debes creerme. Solo te digo la verdad.”
Volviste a levantarte, esta vez te plantaste frente a él con determinación “Te lo preguntaré de nuevo, ¿Qué quieres de mi?”
Él dudó un largo rato, te veía de arriba hacia abajo para finalmente sentenciar: “Tu sangre.”
En la tercera noche te visitó vestido completamente de negro. Por primera vez llevaba una chaqueta encima de su camisa de algodón. Tocó la puerta suavemente, como sabiendo que estabas detrás de ella esperándolo desde hacía horas. No lo saludaste, pero sí lo dejaste pasar. Lo guiaste hasta tu habitación, te sentaste al filo de la cama, viste que Remmick se sentó al lado de la mesita de noche con las flores ya secas, así que decidiste acostarte por completo en el colchón.
“No te he traído flores nuevas.” Tú no reaccionaste pero lo miraste como afirmando, como si fuera lo más casual del mundo. Como si no hubiera confesado que deseaba tu sangre.
“Dijiste que tenías problemas para dormir desde el accidente…”
“He tenido pesadillas donde me devoras con esos dientes y garras, los mismos que vi la noche de la fiesta… ¿Qué eres exactamente?”
“Aún no puedo decírtelo” tomó tu mano y la apretó suavemente, acariciando con su dedo pulgar en tu costado. “Solo puedo decirte que vengo de muy lejos, y de otro tiempo.”
“Annie me dijo que eres un vampiro, yo no quise creerlo, aún no puedo estar segura. Me siento ridícula solo de pensarlo, pero cuando hablaste de mi sangre, tuve la impresión de que no te referías a ello en un sentido metafórico.”
“No, no lo hacía. Annie es una amiga muy protectora, y una mujer sabia. No debiste ir conmigo aquella vez” Ya no tienes energías para luchar contra el peligro, en su lugar quieres hundirte en él.
“¿Será doloroso?”
“Seré rápido, será como sentir calor en tus venas.”
“¿Por qué necesitas la sangre?”
“Eso no lo sé, solo he visto los efectos que tienen cuando los seres como yo encontramos a su… inspiración. Ese humano que nos eleva los sentidos. Lo supe en cuanto te vi aquella noche. Quizás sea porque la sangre es el líquido vital de tu existir. El regalo de tu dios.”
“No tengo un dios, no después de las cosas que he hecho.”
“Ya somos dos, entonces.” Remmick se posicionó lentamente alrededor de tus piernas, giraste la cabeza y te concentraste en el jarrón con las flores secas mientras él acomodaba su cuerpo. Con su nariz recorrió desde tu oreja hasta tu cuello cobrándose un suspiro. No pudo contenerse y comenzó a besarte, tú llevaste tus manos a su espalda mientras lo apretabas contra ti. Instintivamente abriste tus piernas para darle más espacio en ti. Para este punto no sabías qué pasaría, no te importaba, estabas a merced de este ser. Quizá habías nacido para ello.
Tu músico se sentía tibio al contacto, su respiración era tranquila, podías sentir su piadosa delicadeza. Entonces abrió la boca alrededor de ti, sentiste mil pinchazos en el cuello. Sentiste cómo inmediatamente una materia se abría paso, definitivamente era doloroso, pero te esforzaste por tolerarlo. Entonces llegó el calor, imposible de ignorar, reemplazó las aperturas que hizo en ti.
Estabas ocultando el dolor, pero éste se manifestaba de tal manera que te hacía recordar otros padecimientos. Nada se le parecía, y a pesar de eso, lo recibías de manera familiar. Pensaste en tu primera juventud, en tu inocencia interrumpida. Pensaste en tus pérdidas emocionales y los miedos infantiles, sentiste la presencia de los temores mayores mas igual de irracionales. Entonces te abordó una presión en el pecho que no aparentaba relación con el dolor físico del cuello, sentiste una desesperación terrible, la impotencia por la migración forzada de tu familia, la rabia que implican los riesgos por tu condición de mujer, el rencor que sientes cuando eres juzgada o excluida. Sientes un fuego imposiblemente potente subir desde tu estómago a la cabeza. Entonces fue inevitable lanzar los alaridos que salían de tu boca, no sonaban como gritos de dolor, era gutural, era animal. No reconociste tu voz. Lo único que logró sacarte del trance fue la voz de Remmick, quien inmediatamente dejó de beber de ti.
Lamiendo tu herida para cerrarla te confesó “Lo he visto todo… lo siento tanto, mi Dulcinea”
Te percataste de que estabas llorando. Suplicaste en silencio “No me abandones, no esta noche”
Él se recostó a tu lado, extendió su brazo por tu nuca y ofreció su pecho. Cuando el abrazo estaba hecho, cerraste los ojos, y como manantial de agua fresca, las lágrimas corrían por tus mejillas hasta su camisa. Finalmente, después de tantas cosas, logras descansar. Cuando despertaste, ya se había ido. Quizá fue poco antes del amanecer. En cualquier caso cumplió su promesa, y más, pues te percataste de que había dejado flores silvestres frescas en el jarrón.
En la cuarta noche iba vestido de negro de nuevo, esta vez su camisa tenía dobladas las mangas y el cuello abierto hasta el pecho, podías ver la camisa debajo. Llevaba consigo distintas flores, todas rojas. Te las ofreció antes de pronunciar palabra. Ya no necesitaba de tu aprobación para entrar a tu hogar, y te percataste de que deberías sentir terror al respecto. En su lugar, te sentías menos sola.
Tu habitación se había convertido en el espacio de tus reuniones nocturnas, notaste. Las cortinas eran mecidas por el viento fresco de la noche y tú estabas sentada sobre el filo de la cama, Remmick se encontraba en la silla a tu costado. Todo en perfecta sincronía, en imposible domesticidad. ¿Cuánto más se podría tensar el hilo que los unía?
“¿Cómo te sientes, darling?, ¿No te mordí muy fuerte anoche, cierto? Odiaría dejar feas marcas en tu hermoso cuello”
“No, no fueron tan terribles, estoy bien” y con ello tu mano retiró el cabello suelto que escondía la herida. Se veía terriblemente viva, la sangre podría emanar en cualquier momento, de no ser por los cuidados de Remmick, seguramente así habría sido.
“Ahora que sé lo que eres y lo que buscas, ¿qué?, ¿Vas a terminar el trabajo de anoche?” e hiciste un gesto donde te llevabas la mano al cuello en señal de un degollado.
“Chistosita. ¿No ves lo que me has hecho?” Su sonrisa se convierte en una mueca sin sarcasmo. “No puedo matarte, y no me atrevo a convertirte en esto que soy.”
“¿Y qué eres exactamente?, ¿El anticristo, la maldad encarnada?”
“Sigues burlándote, pero la verdad es que es un martirio. Piensa en los seres que amas, te olvidarán, quedarás completamente sola, padecerás todas las vidas pero el tiempo se detendrá para ti, sin posibilidad de reunirte jamás. No me atrevería a hacerte eso.”
Por primera vez en mucho tiempo recordaste a tu familia, hacía tanto que no les veías. No estabas segura de extrañarlos, pero sabías que había mucho más en ello que era atravesado por tu condición de migrante y marginada que por la estrechez de su vínculo. La injusticia los separó.
Mientras pensabas en ello, Remmick se acercaba, se sentó a tu lado en la cama, y te tomó de los hombros, haciendo pequeños círculos con sus dedos, comenzó a masajear hasta llegar a tu cuello, donde con una sola mano cubrió la herida delicadamente. Se aventuró un poco más y cediste a su tacto. Prontamente su nariz surcaba desde tu hombro hasta tu oreja ganándose tu estremecer y suspiros.
“No estaría sola, te tendría a ti…”
Él cerró los ojos intentando disimular el alivio que tus palabras le traían, la ternura que despertaban en él “...no sabes lo que dices”
“No quiero saber más, solo quiero empezar a vivirlo contigo” te calló con besos en tu cuello, con su otra mano comenzó a rozar tu pecho hasta apretar uno de tus senos. Cuando soltaste un gemido se premió continuando hasta el centro de tu placer. Levantó lentamente tu camisón y se dirigió a tus labios “¿Vas a ser mi mujer por la eternidad?” preguntó delicadamente. “Porque yo puedo ser lo que desees que sea para ti, mo chuisle”. Comenzó a besarte de verdad, una pelea entre sus labios, rápidamente buscando control sobre tu lengua y boca, su mano apretaba con fuerza pero la intensidad solo te hacía sentir estrellas en el estómago.
Decidiste que era suficiente, así que lo encerraste entre tus piernas, teniéndolo frente a frente comenzaste a desnudarlo, él estaba desesperado, su respiración agitada y el pulso en su miembro lo delataban. De inmediato llevó sus manos a tu trasero buscando apretar para acercarte a él, deseaba que le dieras fricción y tú no eras nadie para negarlo. Te diste cuenta en ese momento que le darías todo lo que te pidiera.
Lo empujaste para que cayera en la cama y poder quitarle los pantalones, hecho eso, inmediatamente se encargó de tu camisón y en un abrir y cerrar de ojos estaba encima de ti. Lo sentías temblar, era evidente lo mucho que le costaba reprimir su fuerza. Comenzó a besarte de abajo hacia arriba, entonces, se detuvo en la herida de su mordida.
Un torrente de pensamientos lo está ahogando. Siempre será esta criatura hambrienta, jamás satisfecha. El pensamiento le rompe su corazón. Desea matarte para perdonarle el destino que le depararía de seguir con ello. ¿Cuánto tiempo más podrían continuar así? Tú envejecerás, quizá te abandone y tú te olvides de él, quizás cambies de opinión en cuanto te transforme.
Algo sobre los vampiros es que no pueden soportar el cambio, no está en su naturaleza. Aunque todos hayan comenzado siendo humanos, el peso de los siglos se encarga de arrebatarles sus posibilidades. Son seres congelados en el tiempo.
Viste el cambio en el brillo de sus ojos “No tenemos que hacerlo si no quieres”
“Mi corazón, hacía tanto que no deseaba con tanta fuerza. Pero creo que ahora tengo miedo…”
Podías notar que esta era la primera vez en mucho tiempo que abría su corazón, que hablaba con sinceridad y sin reservas.
“Remmick, tómame, no deseo nada más” Su expresión parecía la de alguien que sentía dolor.
“No sabes lo que es esto, no lo quieres en realidad”
“Remmick…” intentaste tocar su rostro.
Él se levantó rápidamente y comenzó a vestirse, no sabías qué estaba pasando, estabas inmóvil. Hasta que algo en ti te exigió suplicarle, te lanzaste encima, te pusiste de rodillas, las lágrimas comenzaban a rodar por tus mejillas. Olvidaste la vergüenza y solamente rezabas “Por favor, Remmick, podemos lograrlo, haré lo que me pidas, seremos solo los dos, no quiero mi vida sin ti.” Pero él no se dignaba a mirarte, quizás también estaba resistiendo con todas sus fuerzas no caer al suelo y tomarte ahí mismo.
El caso es que no sucedió, cerró la puerta detrás de sí, dejándote sola con el viento de la noche.
Summary. Far from the world you knew, you find yourself alone as the only in charge of the congregation of Crockett Island after monsignor Pruitt left for Holy Land, you being were the only nun in the entire parish that cared about its people. That, until the arrival of a certain father that will make you question your own faith and confront the reasons behind your habit. Only time will tell if Paul Hill can fill the void your missing priest left.
Warnings. Older Man/Younger Woman relationship, power imbalance, daddy issues (as in Pruitt was a fatherly figure), mentions of depression and suicidal ideation (Reader’s depressed af), mentions of violence and blood, HIGH ON HEIROPHILIA, explicit sexual content, priest kink, blood kink, sub male, crying during sex, straight up porn with plot, hell yeah. I might have based Reader’s mental health issues and catholic guilt on my very own, lol.
Notes. I suck at writing summaries but I promise this shit is good and full of blasphemy. This is the first part of many, but it can be read as a stand alone fic ig. English is not my first language and I couldn't be happier, baby, but I still ask for your kindness.
Masterlist
// MINORS DO NOT INTERACT //
CHAPTER 1
When you first met Monsignor Pruitt he was already a forgetful old man, still, you saw in him the brightness that once distinguished him. Quickly, he became your confidant. He was your shelter, and you were but a hurt dove. Where others saw the decadence of the body and mind, -although inevitable-, you saw the warmth and tenderness that only old age gives to those whose years approach as slow tide waves. You couldn’t deny, though, that after Mildred Gunning passed away his state only worsened. That’s when he decided to travel to Holy Land. And when his travels took him miles away, you were the only logical option to take care of the congregation. After all, you were the only nun in the whole parish that gave a damn about Crockett Island, you couldn’t explain exactly why. It was too like the pull of the ocean waves, it brought you over again to their shores.
Before he left he gave you clear instructions and procedures. However, they started to feel like a farewell rather than a precaution. And that sparked disagreements, it was impossible to have a serious chat without fighting. You were so stubborn about the dangers and it hurted you to think about him so alone, so far away. So he decided to leave without saying goodbye, spare you the pain. But that only broke your heart. You have always been a sensible woman, a melancholic being, a perpetually mourning creature, that's why you turn into religion, really. And John Pruitt felt responsible for you, but only his sorrow was greater than his love for you. Or so it seemed.
“Señor, líbranos de todo mal, Amén.” As the candle extinguished in your morning rosary, you made your way to the port to wait for the return of Monsignor Pruitt, today was the day. Bev wanted to go with you, and steal monsignor from you, really. However, your latest gloomy state convinced her otherwise. She avoided You like the plague whenever your mental state declined and it reminded her of real human complexity. Anyhow, it’s been a while since you stayed this much on the island, you realized when the ferry approached. Now it was you the one that waited for the arrival of the boats, as John Pruitt has done for you many times before. Only this time your Monsignor won’t come.
You went through the whole island searching for him, knocked on every possible door, but found nothing. So you gave in to what you were avoiding the whole day: visiting Sheriff Hassan. Although he was the closest you have to a friend (almost) your age, you hated bothering him. He was kind and smart, and never once questioned the reasons for your chosen path. However, coming to him almost every time meant trouble: trouble sleeping, trouble calming your anxiety, trouble with other residents (especially Bev). Oh you both had so much to say about that woman.
You knocked on his door, immediately noticing the unorganized documents, his eye bags and the coffee mug on his hand “Hassan, sorry to bother you. Hi, um, is this a bad time?” You could feel how small your voice was.
“Sister, not at all. No when it’s about you”, he gestured asking you to sit down. “How can I help you?
And as it usually happens, you displayed your worries to him. He reassured you but confessed knew nothing about his whereabouts. Maybe you weren’t really hoping for Hassan to help you find the monsignor. Maybe you were only looking for company. After all the sadness that you’ve been experiencing lately.
Your depressive episodes apparently started out of nowhere, then they took everything at your reach. You will to make the least of things, the way you feel about the state of the world, the things that are supposed to bring you joy stop working. And so you reach for three things: coffee with Hassan, a copy of a bible with markers on psalms and passages that help you pray for better days, and of course, the company of John Pruitt. He’s used to bringing comfort to those who need it, but he's especially experienced with your mood swings and crises. Knows what to say, but most of all, knows when to stay silent and just share his warmth with you. Oh, you can feel the waves of melancholy at the doors of your stream of consciousness.
Maybe that’s why you’re so desperate to find him again, to ask him to forgive you, to hear everything about his journey, to ask for his warmth once more. Anyhow, after exchanging pleasantries you went straight to the point of your anxiety.
“You know? I’m not sure I’m allowed to say this. But John is very lucky to have you.” Hassan reassured.
“You only say that ‘cause you like me, he's seen the worst parts of me when this…” and you pointed your head as saying: brain, feelings, depression. “gets way too hard for me to handle alone.”
“I thought that was the whole point of catholism… a community where you’re reminded that you’re forgiven and loved.”
“Hahaha, Hassan am I turning you?”
“You couldn't even if you tried.”
“I’ve never asked you before but… what do you do in times of doubt? I mean, when you sense that you're perhaps praying to an empty space, or when the silence is unbearable.”
“Are you suggesting Crockett’s only nun is having faith problems?”
“Don’t we all? Except for the non-believers, of course. They are so sure of it. I sometimes envy them.”
Your friend did not expect this from you and started to think your issues ran deeper this time.
“I mean, the certainty. I envy the way they’re so determined about nothingness, about how everything can be explained, understood and knowable.”
“Yeah, I get what you mean. Maybe they’re scared to assume our insignificance. I mean, there’s a humbling element in calling yourself a child of a stronger being, that chooses to share his creation whilst you’re part of it. But not the heart of it.”
“See, some catholics might disagree, but I share your point of view. And yes there’s something so terrifying about believing. An inexcrutable truth, not made for our understanding. Maybe that’s why we like to believe in a God that has our best interest in his plans, otherwise we are at the mercy of an unpredictable power.”
“Like the Old Testament? The Revenge guy?”
“Hahahaha, look at you! But yes, I need to remind myself of the forgiving kind, the paternal one.”
“I get that, sister… and to answer your question: I keep praying, when in doubt, I mean. And wait, since things won’t happen at my signal. I also think of the generations before me and their struggles. Something should have happened for them to carry on, something that could only emerge from Allah, for nothing could be possible outside of him. And I like to think I share the condition of those in despair. My exceptionality is but an illusion from the ego."
Not much happened after that, and with a quick “I’m sorry I’m not able to help you” and a “Thank you anyway, see you around” you started your way to the rectory, but kept thinking about his comforting words. He was a natural when trying to make you feel better and never once made you feel like a burden, you were for him too, when missing his wife became unbearable. Yes, he was definitely your friend.
Once at the rectory, -and who would have guessed that was the place to be-, you were confronted with a new face. A dark haired man, pale and slim, was just leaving the monsignor's room. You let out a little scream since he surprised you.
“Uh, hey. I’m sorry, did I scare you? I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just spoke to Beverly Keane I…”
“No, no, I’m sorry uh… who are you? What are you doing here? Bev leave this place open?”
“No, not at all” and he showed you a key you’re more than familiar with: Monsignor Pruitt copy. “I’m Paul Hill, father Paul, if you wish. At your service”. He quickly introduced himself hoping to establish that he was no intruder and tried to silence your worries about Pruitt’s state.
“So, miss…?” You gave him your name and he said it back as if he was tasting each word. “Please, tell me about yourself, sister. Let us make acquaintances with each other.”
That led to a conversation on the couch, as he managed to offer a tea cup and a welcoming smile. And so everything from your family, your latin-american roots, to your story with the church and how you decided at a very young age to become a nun due to your melancholic nature since religion was the only balm that seemed to ease the pain, all that was put on display to Paul to dissect. It was such an oddity, you felt as if he already knew most of it, he sometimes finished the phrases that you were looking for, and predicted the twists in your life story. Maybe he was easy to talk to, you decided.
When he finally asked about your relationship with the monsignor you found yourself confessing so openly, and Paul seemed to take every word to heart. His listening was simply comforting, and so deep. It kind of reminded you of John.
“I miss him greatly. Even if we have nearly nothing in common, he treats me like a real father to a child. He has guided me, feeds me when I forget to and makes sure I always feel welcomed and taken care of.”
The smile Father Paul offered you was profoundly warm. His eyes shine beautifully, you noticed.
“Sounds like you share a bond that is quite special. I’m sure your feelings are reciprocated. I now remember the things you’ve done for him, Monsignor told me about it with great fondness.”
“Did he? Well, he’s far too kind-”
“-Listen” he interrupted as if he couldn’t hold it any longer “I cannot lie to you, the truth is that Monsignor Pruitt won't come anytime soon… he’s fine, better than ever, actually. But he needs more time.”
“Uh, I’m sorry, how? Who told you this, Father?”
He only pondered your question, shrugging his shoulders. So you continued.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, really. But how can you be certain?”
He sighed “He does mean a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“He’s like a father to me, no, I think more than that. My life has revolved around his advice and care for years now. I feel lost at sea without him… I'm so worried for his health. And so mortified that our last conversations ended up in disagreements. I said such horrible things to him…” You wanted to cry, “But I was right after all, I shouldn't have let him leave, not in his state.”
Paul wore an unreadable expression. Almost compassion, sort of tenderness.
“You really miss him, huh. And the old man couldn’t care to ask for your forgiveness.” That confused you.
“I mean, he was wrong to leave, but he was in such pain for the loss of Mildred and I…"
“...He felt like the failures of his life came to light after her death, yet his next failure was not seeing what was in front of him. He abandoned you.”
You were perplexed. You were mad at Pruitt, yes, but couldn't stand hearing Father Paul throw dirt on his name.
“He did what he deemed best, who am I to judge? Besides, I've never told him how I feel about him.”
“He should've known better.”
“Why are you so stubborn on this matter?”
“Don’t you see me now?!” His sudden change of manners scared you and he immediately noticed. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It’s just… don’t you see the things we can now do together. I’m sure you’ll be reunited with Monsignor Pruitt in no time. But please, just think of the possibilities. A renowned faith in Crockett Island.”
You started to back off right on the sofa. “I, uh… that’s not what I’ve meant, I didn’t want to imply that I’m not grateful for your presence, Father. It's just that, I’m so worried about Pruitt…”
“I know, I know. No need to apologize, forgive me for my abrupt reaction.”
The most awkward silence took place, you only dared to look at the floor, focus on your simple shoes. That’s why you didn't realize how close Father Paul got, and when he took your hand in his, a shiver ran down your spine. You both locked eyes. How odd, they look so familiar, you thought. Then, Paul did the most unexpected thing. He brought your hand to his lips and kissed your palm softly.
“You won't ever be alone, Sister. Not while I'm here, nor when Monsignor Pruitt was so detailed in his affections for you. He told me he was blind but now he sees how much you care about him. He was a fool and asks for your forgiveness.” Not once he let go of your hand, so you decided against your will to take it from him. He never stopped looking into your eyes.
“I… Maybe I should write to him, tell him how much I miss him. To bring him some comfort.”
Paul noticed the doubt in your eyes and it hurt him but let it go. “Yes, absolutely. Yes, you should. I shall leave you to it.” And with that you stormed off with the phantom of his lips on your hand.
Your home was barely furnished but greatly decorated, if that made sense. The community had spared one of many empty houses and even the major thought you could use it in your visits. Now that it seemed you were to stay for a bit longer, the place suited you perfectly. Each day seemed more and more like yours. One of your most priced possessions were pictures you've taken in your many travels, there's one that stands out: Monsignor Pruitt and you up on the highest hill of the island, trees and birds surrounded you both. You can’t help but keep thinking about his health. You're sure you’ll visit him, even if it is just for saying goodbye. Something deep down tells you… you’re losing him.
Today’s been a rough day and you tried to shake the thought off, instead fixing a quick bath to calm your emotions, which were as agitated as the sea. You took your habit off, pooling down at your feet, only caring for placing the rosary over the wooden chair next to the bathtub. You could feel Father Paul’s fingers in yours, his lips still in your palm. That draws a gasp out of nowhere, you’re far too anxious. But then again, is it really anxiety? It’s been far too long since you felt the corruption of desire. You couldn't recognize it even if it was in front of you. You attribute it to your deep devotion, but being honest, desire was almost unknown to you due to your depressive state. It just made no sense, it just took way too much for you to care to give it to it. It was far too demanding, in a way that religious devotion never was. The last one was easier, more natural for you.
Nonetheless, you were deeply unsettled, strongly pulled by a foreign force that had a face and a name. Only a few words and deep looks, it was all it took to get you this flustered. It was embarrassing. You felt dirty and guilty, yet had no wish to feel otherwise, but you’re also so tired. Tired to pull back and tired of keeping quiet. So you are starting to embrace it. The warm water felt just as his heat -the one he offered before closing the gap between you both-, the dampness will have to do with the lack of his mouth and the wonder of how his kisses must feel, the dim lights are what you need to start to think about him. And so it began, touching, pulling, even choking your own self, thinking about Father Paul. You brought your hand -the same he kissed moments prior- to your core, whilst the other one took you by the neck.
First, you imagined him bringing his hands to his legs, rubbing up and down whilst sitting, his collar damped with sweat from the work of the day, his soft breaths, the shape of his eyes closed. The grip his hands could manage, you could only wonder about his strength and firmness of his flexed muscles. Would he ask you to touch him?, would you beg to do it?, oh you wanted to beg for it. You imagined him sitting above you, you’re on your knees and right between his legs, just in front of his…
This is wrong, you shouldn’t be thinking about anyone this way, let alone the new priest. A priest, for fucks sake. And you? A nun! You turned your view to the window, a couple of small stars saw you back. How odd, you don’t remember the placement of those twin lights up in the sky.
On the other side of the island, a weakened Paul Hill touched his lips repeatedly. He couldn’t get enough of it, just playing back his first encounter with you, well, a reencounter, really. Thinking about your voice, the way your hand shook when he took it on his own. He feels as if he’s been given a second chance and maybe this time he’ll do the right thing by staying by your side.
He walked to the chamber and started to undress, the cold of the night started to mitigate. He too was getting ready for a hot shower, thinking of what you both shared moments prior. The light in your eyes whenever you spoke about the monsignor, the way he took care of you and the way he'd protect you even if he was but an old man. He has decided he’ll take better care of you, he’ll try harder and won't worry you ever again.
As he thought about it, his hands started to roam his body, almost by instinct. His body was warm and his skin soft, so soft again. It covered muscles and organs so tight together, strongly even. His new shape was even better than before. A new man, a new beginning. He opened his mouth to nothingness under the shower, thinking if your skin would be as warm, if your softness would ever be allowed for him to taste. Unlike you, he feels no shame when he brings his hands lower and lower. His fingers start to tease his member. Closing and pulling, his breath started to shake. Paul was thinking about your sweet words, the way you talk about how much you needed John… him.
“Oh please, please…” he begged to your memory. A rhythm started to fade in. He lets his head fall over his shoulders, and starts imagining the softness of your breasts, if you were right beside him he can show you how you make him feel.
He thinks he'd first suck, then he would take them in both hands, playing with your nipples only to tease you, to hear from your pretty mouth how much you missed him. Oh, but he has changed so much, would you love him still? Would you let him take care of you? His renewed youth certainly endows him with energy and force. If You let him, oh the things he’ll do to you in the name of this brand new love. He won’t let love escape again.
So he imagines your naked body except for your rosary. Its shiny buds gleaming at unison with the droplets that would fall from your breasts to your belly and beyond. He pulls faster, “Ah, yes, I’ll give you more”, his own words struck him like thunder when thinking of you begging for him. Would he taste you first? Or maybe he wants to use his hands and tease you a bit more, you would spit on his fingers and he would bring them to your core. Until there’s no borders between your wetness and his digits. When the time comes, he’ll give you everything you'd ask for. “Don’t hide” he prays. His rhythm becomes erratic, openly moaning, eyes closed and electric shocks all over his nerves. Finally, he imagines the moment your bodies would become one, your tightness, your warmth and wetness. But most of all, the need for him that already lives inside you. Oh, he’ll be the only one, the angel God sent to push your body through the ultimate experience of devotion. His seed will nurture you, he promises. And when you’re finished, he’ll start all over again.
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Sinópsis: Como amiga cercana de los gemelos Stack y Smoke Moore, ayudaste a volver el Club Juke una realidad; pero un encuentro con un extraño hombre irlandés tuvo consecuencias impensables. Solo el tiempo te dirá cuánto podrán protegerte tus amigos del misterio que ese hombre tiene sobre ti, y si tu curiosidad será más fuerte que tu prudencia, ante la música de un tal Remmick.
Advertencias: descripciones gráficas de violencia y asesinato, comportamiento obsesivo, menciones de racismo por contexto histórico. | Contenido sexual explícito. | MENORES NO INTERACTUAR.
El capítulo empieza con un breve POV de Remmick y es un tanto... explícito.
Palabras 4k Capítulo 2/4 Masterlist
Mi cuerpo se sentía revitalizado, esto solo se le comparaba a las primeras cazas que tuve cuando me transformaron. Esta caza es especial, me repite mi cuerpo. No soy particularmente asiduo a matar a los de mi especie, pero Bert y Joan eran el pasado, y debía librarme de ataduras al viejo yo. Soy un ser purificado, he visto la luz que tantos mortales mencionan. Pero no es un dios, es más parecido a una musa. Mientras repaso los momentos que he compartido con ella, la sangre emana del cuello de una mujer con facciones similares. Me costó un poco encontrarla. Pero su olor no es parecido, ni de cerca. Mi hambre se ha incrementado, pero no logro saciarme, es muy frustrante.
Cuando el cuerpo de la mujer yacía vencido al fin, me dispuse a la limpieza. Un proceso que se volvía mecánico en cada repetición. Soy particularmente meticuloso de alimentarme de mujeres y después ir por sus familias, sobre todo si resultan ser personas hipócritas, dañinas o racistas. Es como un exorcismo, como una purificación por mis actos. Camino delicadamente a ser digno de aquella de mis visiones, pues, qué soy ahora sino su fiel fantasma.
Después de alimentarme sin obtener satisfacción. Me miro en el espejo, y no miente ¿qué te pasó?, me pregunto a mí mismo con ironía. Las cuencas donde se guardan mis ojos son como dos cavernas profundas, mis pómulos siguen su ejemplo. Me veo cansado pero incluso es distinguible el brillo que han adquirido mis pupilas, me siento más resistente, como si estuviera pagando penitencia. Esta es la purificación que merezco. Frente al espejo, comienzo a retirarme mi disfraz. Adiós a los anillos y cadena de oro, suelto los tirantes como cables de un puente, deslizo mis manos del pecho al cuello, y desabrocho mi camisa, la misma con la que nos conocimos, ¿la recordará? entonces mis pantalones caen al suelo, la figura en el espejo es la de un extraño. No, es la imagen de una herramienta, el hombre en mí está muerto. Quizá apenas lo descubrí pero había sido así desde el inicio.
Mi carne es instrumento, “voy a vertirme en ti, seré tuyo” digo al vacío esperando que la alcance. Comienzo a soñarla, y mis manos-herramientas se mueven buscando aliviarme. Estiran, aprietan, se resbalan, mi corazón no late, pero si así fuera se sacudiría como el resto de mi cuerpo. Mantengo los ojos cerrados y la sangre que había ensuciado mi piso ahora manchaba mis sábanas y miembro. Imagino que retozo como un semental, que me estimulo con la electricidad de una tormenta y que lamo de una fuente inagotable para mi sed devoradora. Soy uno en alguien más.
Este se había vuelto un ritual común desde la noche que la conocí. Después de la caza busco satisfacción, necesito un alivio pronto y absoluto, lo más cercano que conozco es esto. Se lo ofrezco a mi musa, es en ella en quien pienso. Al terminar, entro al pequeño baño de la habitación que ahora ocupo, una posada sencilla que bastará para los propósitos del objetivo mayor. Y sudor, sangre y semilla se deslizan por mis piernas. Mi cuerpo-herramienta no puede esperar, y decido que dentro dos semanas, en la próxima noche de luna llena, concluirá mi penitencia. Seré finalmente salvo.
Las noches y los días se escurrían entre tus cortinas. No conseguías el valor suficiente para salir y enfrentarte a lo que había sucedido. Te preguntabas si el cuerpo de Joan aún yacía en la calle en que la asesinaron. No, lo habrías escuchado por la radio. Aunque por supuesto, te costaba prestar atención a cualquier cosa que no fuera elemental para tu supervivencia. Los gemelos enviaban mensajeros a visitarte y dejarte despensa, estaban preocupados por ti pero te recomendaron no ir a la policía. Lo sabías, no era una opción. Nunca lo era para personas como tú. En cualquier caso, cada pequeño ruido en tu departamento o afuera en la calle te aterraba.
Sabías que estabas siendo poco razonable. Que en realidad nadie te había visto correr esa noche, que lo que sea que haya pasado no va a perseguirte. Pero entonces recuerdas el par de luces rojas que ahora viven en tu mente. Sueñas con tu músico sacándote del agua mientras tu vehículo se hunde en las profundidades del pantano, toses el agua de tus pulmones, él no te suelta, te atreves a mirarlo: colmillos, las mismas luces terribles te miran de vuelta. No puedes gritar, estás inmóvil, como dormida con los ojos abiertos. Él percibe tu agitación, se lleva un dedo a sus labios y gesticula un “shh...” pero lo que ves no es un dedo, es más parecido a la garra de un animal.
Entonces despiertas. Es la misma secuencia todas las noches. No puedes más, te aterra volver a cerrar los ojos, por si está de nuevo ahí. Esto no es vida, y todos tus instintos te invitan a huir. Decides que esta será la última noche que vivirás así. Llamarás a los gemelos, saldrás a beber y bailar, y cuando estés satisfecha...dormirás. Enfrentarás lo que sea que te espere detrás de tus párpados, en el reino de los sueños.
Los gemelos escucharon tu llamado. Y aunque les asustaba tu nueva determinación, preferían entretenerte en tus escaparates a que estuvieras un momento más encerrada; después de todo, no te habías presentado a trabajar en un largo tiempo. Mientras esperabas que cayera la noche saliste por primera vez a la calle para comprar un labial nuevo, no fue tan terrible. Pasaste a la tienda de Bo y Grace, ambos asombrados por volverte a ver. Estabas más pálida de lo que recordaban, pero no hicieron comentario alguno.
Decidiste que te prepararías una cena excepcional, para inaugurar la negación del miedo que aún sentías. Beberías vino blanco mientras cocinaras, encenderías la radio, abrirías las ventanas para recibir el viento del ocaso. Y tomarías un baño larguísimo para después vestirte y maquillarte como nunca habías hecho. Volverías a tener el control de tus noches.
Horas después los gemelos se encontraban en la barra del Juke viéndote inclinar tu botella una y otra vez, llevarla a tus labios, dejarla reposar, dar piruetas en la pista de baile, y repetirlo. Sería una mirada cómica de no ser por lo preocupados que están por tu estado mental. No eran indiferentes a tus pesadillas y miedos.
“Mary, my sister! Ven aquí.” Estabas ebria y vestida con seda roja, también estabas asustada, pero estarías condenada si no sacabas a bailar a tu amiga. Stack te sonreía de manera reconfortante, pero Smoke no ocultaba su preocupación. Annie tampoco. Todos lo sabían, todos lo pensaban. Esto era un grito de ayuda.
Pasaron un par de horas antes de que la noche cambiara su curso una vez más. Te encontrabas bailando con Pearline en esta ocasión, cuando Cornbread separó a los hermanos del grupo, pidiendo hablar con ellos. Su angustia era palpable, aunque para todos los asistentes de esa noche todo se mantenía igual, presentías que el problema tendría que ver contigo. Momentos después los gemelos te llevaron a tu pequeña oficina, que se encontraba el segundo piso. Era modesta pero no pasabas mucho tiempo en ella. Aún así, tenía tu olor.
“Tenemos que hablar seriamente”, dijo Elijah.
“¿Podrías ser menos directo y suavizar las cosas? Ella ya está suficientemente inestable”, respondió su hermano.
Intentaste defenderte “¡Ey! No hablen como si no estuviera frente a ustedes... y no me siento inestable. Solo he estado asustada por lo que vi que le sucedió a esa mujer. Pero ya estoy mejor, en serio. Pfff cabrones.” Después de miradas cómplices entre los hermanos, tomaste la iniciativa. “¿Qué quieren que les diga?”
“¿Saliste en los últimos días?”, dijo uno. El otro frustrado explotó “Ve al grano, hermano, ¿volviste a ver al hombre raro de la otra noche?”. Estabas atónita, ¿era que intentaban hacer de tus hermanos mayores y advertirte por mal de amores? “No, ni siquiera he podido poner un pie fuera de la casa, lo saben. Apenas hoy logré salir. Cómo iba a verlo. Además, ¿por qué es importante?”
De nuevo se miraron muy serios. “Les juro que me están desesperando... ” ibas a darte la vuelta pero Elías confesó “Está aquí, preguntando por ti. Dijo que no quiere entrar a bailar o cantar, como la otra noche. Que solo quiere verte...” En otras circunstancias te habrías reído de tu nuevo admirador, pero los gemelos te dejaron muy claro que esto no era un tema de admiradores enamorados, temían por tu seguridad. Todo en tu cuerpo te decía ¡huye!, por eso no te explicas por qué bajaste a toda velocidad las escaleras mientras los hermanos gritaban tu nombre siguiendo tus pasos. Pero fuiste más rápida, llegaste a la entrada y cortaste la conversación (si es que podía llamarse así) de suplicas por Remmick y las firmes negativas de tu amigo el portero.
“Muchas gracias, Cornbread, ya me hago cargo de nuestro visitante.” Antes de que pudiera decir algo te adelantaste, “Creo que Smoke necesita ayuda en la parte de atrás con unas cajas... por favor.” Cornbread no podía decirte que no, pero te miró como un padre que desaprueba el pretendiente de su hija. Un silencioso “Ten cuidado, por el amor de dios.”
Te sacudiste el terror de nueva cuenta “Buenas noches, Remmick, ¿a qué debo el honor?”
El músico llevaba una camisa blanca y pantalones negros, y parecía haber puesto su cabello detrás de su oreja en un estilo similar al de los militares ¿se arregló para verte? Antes de que pudieras preguntar, te diste cuenta de que no llevaba consigo su instrumento, pero con un gesto rápido, te mostró su mano que ocultaba un obsequio para ofrecerte, era un pequeño pero detallado ramo de flores silvestres. Eso le ganó un suspiro tuyo.
“Es usted muy amable. Me halaga, dulce señora. Pero el honor es todo mío. Pensé que quizás estaría aquí, pasé por su casa y vi las luces apagadas. No habría soportado la noche sin poder verla de nuevo.” Aceptaste el ramo, te sonrojaron sus palabras, tu corazón sigue acelerado y estás ignorando todas las preguntas que surjen en tu mente. Tú nunca sales de tu departamento sin dejar al menos un par de luces encendidas. Por seguridad. ¿Cómo supo entonces que te encontrabas aquí?
“Reuní el coraje suficiente para invitarla a que me acompañe a una velada especial. Una fiesta a un par de kilometros de aquí, cerca del pantano.” Su cortesía definitivamente es ensayada, pero no puedes evitar ceder al encanto, a la vibración en su voz, la luz en sus ojos cuando te sonríe, sientes que no podrías negarle nada que te pida. Antes de tu respuesta alguien tomó tu hombro por detrás, era Annie, se veía terriblemente asustada por ti. No se atrevió a hablar frente a ese hombre pero te suplicaba en gestos: No lo hagas. Intentaste fingir normalidad.
“Annie, que bueno que estás aquí, estoy a punto de salir con Remmick. Confío que les darás mis saludos a todos. Después de todo, no quisiera interrumpir la velada con mis despedidas.” Forzaste una sonrisa para calmarla. Pero ella te tomó de los brazos e intentó llevarte a la pista de baile, lejos de tu músico.
“Te suplico que reconsideres lo que estás a punto de hacer... Apenas lograste salir de tu departamento. No firmes una sentencia de muerte...”
“Annie, aprecio la preocupación, pero creo que es una exageración. No estoy siendo imprudente, he estado en peores situaciones con extraños verdaderamente peligrosos. Puedo diferenciar a este hombre de aquellos.”
No la estabas convenciendo, tu amiga era en extremo sabia para ceder, pero no iba a mantener un minuto más a esa amenaza en la puerta de lo que debería ser un lugar seguro para la gente.
“Escúchame, si no puedo convencerte de que te quedes, al menos prométeme que hagas lo que hagas, no lo invitarás a pasar al departamento. No lo dejarás tocar cerca de tus muñecas o cuello, ¿me entendiste?” Susurró su advertencia. Intentaste reír ante la angustia, porque tu cuerpo advertía lo mismo.
“Te prometo que no pasaré toda la noche con él. Será solo una fiesta.”
Remmick te ofreció su brazo y la oscuridad te engulló “No te preocupes, Annie. Cuidaré bien de ella.” No podías explicarlo, pero te aterró su tono de voz, la elección de las palabras. Como si entre ella y él hubiera un entendimiento de alguna naturaleza ajena a ti. Estabas segura de que Annie no te dejaría salir a la noche de no estar segura que no corrías algún riesgo, pero entonces, ¿por qué no te diría lo que sabe?, quizás estás perdiendo la cabeza. Sobrepensando. Remmick te pone nerviosa, es solo eso.
Subieron a tu auto, él te daba instrucciones sobre el camino, se adentraron por la terracería donde sauces enormes hacían un túnel. La luz de la luna era brillante, y entre los árboles se colaba iluminando a tu acompañante. Le sonreías tímidamente, y él a veces tomaba tu mano para guiar el volante. Se sentía frío, o quizás eras tú, que tu piel ardía a su contacto. El recorrido se sentía eterno, intentabas hacer conversación, te contó sobre su familia, su origen y travesías, sentiste una simpatía inmediata por su condición, que reflejaba la tuya.
Familia trabajadora de la tierra, desplazados por un poder colonial, el hombre blanco y rico se hizo con sus tierras y por extensión sus vidas. La diferencia, por supuesto, es que tu familia trabajaba el algodón en la región noreste de México. Delimitado por Coahuila, Nuevo León, Tamaulipas y Texas. Generaciones con vínculos en toda la frontera. Frontera abandonada por el gobierno central,-a miles de kilómetros de distancia-, y sin cercanía o calidez con los vecinos norteños, son extraños hacia todas direcciones excepto para sí mismos. Pero ustedes abandonaron el trabajo bajo el sol, lo dejaron todo y cortaron el lazo a cambio de un futuro mejor. Ambos son “...Migrantes.” dijo tu músico y te guiñó el ojo.
Finalmente llegaron a lo que parecía una tarima improvisada, redes de luces y una barra al aire libre donde todo tipo de bebidas intoxicantes se servían. Al bajar del vehículo, una comuna entera de personas te recibieron con los brazos abiertos, era palpable el ambiente celebratorio, como el de una hermandad que compartían los asistentes. Aunque conocías a todo grupo de músicos y bailarines en la ciudad, no te parecía haber visto antes a ninguno de los integrantes que mostraban sus talentos frente a ti. Conversaste y bebiste un poco más, solo para mantener los espíritus altos (tan altos como los de los anfitriones), Remmick te seguía de cerca, como una presencia protectora.
Tú le lanzabas sonrisas de vez en cuando. Conversabas buscando hacer nuevas amistades, y aunque todas las personas con las que hablabas tenían orígenes diferentes, todos compartían un factor en común: Remmick. “Él nos mostró el camino”, dijo una. “Un nuevo camino de amor y hermandad”, dijo otro. “Fellowship and love” agregó alguien más a tus espaldas. Tus sentidos estaban alerta de nueva cuenta, pero decidiste ignorarlos. Atribuíste la apasionada conversación a los humos del alcohol y que quizás buscaban dejar una buena impresión de tu acompañante en ti.
Después de lo que parecieron horas de baile y conversación, Remmick (que hasta ese momento se había reservado a observarte del otro lado de la pista), se acercó moviendo su cuerpo al ritmo de la música, y al tenerte de frente buscó ofrecerte su mano en un gesto para pedir tu consentimiento para un baile. De nuevo, cuando se trataba de él, no podías decir que no. “¿Qué te parece nuestra modesta festividad? No se le compara al Juke pero preferimos los espacios abiertos, a la luz de la luna.” Dijo mirándote a los ojos intensamente.
“Para nada, me parece maravilloso. Y qué noche escogieron, luna llena, ni más ni menos.”
“Muy observadora. Esperábamos hacer de esta velada la iniciación de nuestra agrupación, nuestro colectivo de almas, por decirlo de alguna manera.”
“Me halaga que me hayas invitado, en ese caso. Suena como algo muy importante.” concluíste.
Remmick parecía estar debatiendo compartir algo más contigo, entonces se inclinó para susurrarte en el oído “De hecho, tengo la intención de hacer todavía más especial esta noche. Quisiera mostrarte el camino al final de los árboles. Hay algo que quiero que presencies...” Su voz te derretía, podías jurar que notaba lo agitado de tu corazón y la sangre corriendo a tus mejillas. Verdaderamente te tiene a su disposición, ¿no es verdad? Remmick hizo un gesto con la mano para mostrarte el camino, lo extendió a su espalda y con ello salieron de la pista de baile. Los demás les observaban atentamente, no se molestaban en ocultarlo. Inconscientemente, te inclinaste hacia tu acompañante para ocultarte.
Una vez fuera del círculo, observaste por primera vez más allá de las luces y la música. Al fondo del camino se distinguía lo que pudo haber sido la casona de una plantación, el reflejo de la luna en sus cristales te generó una angustia terrible. “Remmick, no me digas que ahí nos dirigimos. Es tétrico de a madres.” Pero no te respondió.
No te gustaba para nada lo que veías, figuras luminosas comenzaban a verse entre el entramado de árboles, ¿eran aquellas personas sosteniendo velas? tu vista debía fallarte. No te gustaba nada que Remmick no te respondiera.
“No pensé que lo fueras a hacer tan sencillo.”
“¿Qué cosa?”
Volteaste a verlo, fue entonces que una voraz línea de dientes cubiertos por saliva te engulleron. Intentaste gritar pero se ahogó en la nada. Ahora entendías lo que tu cuerpo te advertía.
Estabas frente a un depredador.
Despertaste en cama de golpe, estabas sudada y despeinada. Viste tu vestido de seda roja y tacones en la silla al lado de tu cama, no recordabas haber llegado a tu departamento. Quizá bebiste demasiado, pero ¿aquello fue otro sueño con Remmick?, ¿cómo sería capaz tu mente de crear algo que se sintiera tan real? No. Ahogaste un grito cuando viste la inconfundible prueba de lo sucedido: el ramo de flores silvestres yacía en un jarrón sobre tu mesita de noche. ¿Cómo era posible?, ¿qué significaba todo aquello?, ¿estabas absolutamente fuera de ti misma? En las siguientes horas exploraste cada centímetro de tu departamento: el salón principal, el baño, la cocina - comedor, tu habitación y el pequeño estudio adjunto. Ahora sí estabas segura que estabas loca, quizá el impacto en el choque tuvo sus consecuencias.
O quizás nunca habías estado tan sana. Encontraste en la puerta del balcón principal una pequeña y brillante moneda, estaba tan desgastada que casi no podías distinguir su grabado. No obstante, algo era seguro: su fecha. 1492. Las implicaciones del año te estremecieron, pero te ha brindado otra intriga ¿dónde la habías visto antes? no podías explicarlo pero había una familiaridad en ella que compensaba su anuncio terrible. ¿Cómo terminó en un departamento que tenía menos de treina años?, ¿quién pudo haber visitado tu departamento en los últimos días que cargue consigo monedas antiguas?
“Remmick”, era la única respuesta lógica, dada su naturaleza ecléctica. Pero no te ha visitado y no tendrías garantías hasta verlo de nuevo. Algo era seguro, ese pequeño objeto era la excusa perfecta para cuestionarlo sobre lo que paso anoche. Podías escuchar a Annie en tu conciencia ¿por qué te empecinas tanto en verlo?, ¿qué es él para ti?
Del otro lado de la ciudad, en el piso del edificio abandonado donde habitaba provicionalmente tu misterioso músico, yacían el resto de monedas dentro de una bolsita de cuero. Pero aquello era lo menos importante al momento, Remmick había cerrado las ventanas con maderos, la luz apenas se filtraba, no lograba alcanzarlo. Se encontraba en el suelo, abrazado a sus piernas, y sollozaba. Lloraba con dolor profundo, sentía una tristeza incontenible y una verguenza infinita. Repetía en su mente lo sucedido la última noche y maldecía su existencia.
Todo había sido verdad según lo recordabas. Hasta el momento en que lazaste el aullido ahogado de tu desesperación, él planeaba devorarte y dejarte moribunda. Extraer de ti hasta la última gota de tu divinidad y escapar con tu sangre en sus entrañas. Pero el miedo en tus ojos lo quemó cual hoguera, nunca había sentido tan suyo el temor de alguien más. Un hilo invisible los unía ahora. No se atrebió a arrebatarte ni una gota de preciada sangre, en su lugar, detuvo la operación como pudo y te llevó en brazos hasta la casa, donde les esperaba un sequito de nuevos vampiros que convirtió para este solo propósito. Se trataba de un ritual de muerte donde su nuevo aquelarre se nutriría eternamente de tu fuerza vital. El objetivo era tenerte cautiva, lo suficientemente viva, lo suficientemente debil, para alimentarse las décadas que pudieran mantenerte respirando.
Todo aquello se fue al diablo. Te escondió entre los árboles y cuando los neófitos esperaban pacientemente la llegada de su lider, en su lugar los recibió una bestia imposiblemente veloz e implacable. Algunos intentaron defernderse y entre varios quisieron acabar con él, no funcinó. Otros intentaron escapar, pero los siglos de vida sobrehumana le daban la ventaja en fuerza y velocidad. De haber estado conciente, habrías escuchado los jadeos, los gruñidos, el quebrar de huesos y desgarre de piel. No quedó uno solo en pie, y las velas que momentos antes sujetaban como gesto de iniciación, terminaron por quemar la casa. Las llamas, alimentadas por los cuerpos destruidos de los vampiros, se veían por kilómetros. El peor incendio en años, diría la prensa. Nadie podría explicarse los motivos al no haber restos humanos para determinar una hoguera fuera de control.
Antes de que el humo los alcanzara, Remmick volvió a tomarte en brazos y corrió con todas sus fuerzas lejos de la casona ardiente. Se maldecía en su estupidez, cómo pudo siquiera pensar en hacerte daño, en usarte para sus fines egoístas, ¿o mantenerte con vida era lo verdaderamente egoísta? Contra todo su instinto, contra el deseo de reunirse con su familia, sentía encadenarse a la fragilidad de tu existencia. Tu absurda vida humana le aplastaba con el peso de la devoción que te tenía. Mientras huía contigo en brazos, sentía en hilo volverse una soga. “Únete a mi, no me abandones”, rogaba. Te subió al vehículo y manejó a toda prisa. Mientras los vampiros que restaban de la fiesta se escondían entre los árboles más allá del humedal.
No pasó mucho para llegar a tu edificio, despertó al casero que vivía abajo y le rogó que le abriera la puerta de tu departamento, él lo dejó pasar sin más cuestionamientos, era claro que no te encontrabas bien. Se lo atribuyó a la bebida y “a las fiestas salvajes de los jóvenes de hoy en día”. Fuera de ello, era amable y se aseguró que tuvieras tus signos vitales en orden. Remmick rezaba a un dios que lo había abandonado que no te apartara de él. Ahora que dimensionaba su error, sabía que te compensaría con creces. Te dejó reposar en tu cama y se dispuso a quitarte los zapatos. Sus ojos se llenaban de lágrimas que le impedían ver con claridad lo que hacía. Una vez que el casero los dejó solos él se dispuso a limpiar el espacio de la evidencia de que había estado ahí. Volvió a tu lado, y sin malicia ni perversión alguna, te retiró con suma delicadeza el vestido de seda rojo. No podía pensar en nada más que el horror de lo que había hecho. Buscará mentirte, engañarte, convencerte de que lo que sucedió fue una pesadilla. Empezará de nuevo. Pero una minúscula evidencia lo delataría: la moneda de oro en la puerta del balcón principal, desde donde saltó para salir y dejarte dormir profundamente. No sin antes entregarte, un beso produndo y húmedo en la frente y otro en tu mano, la misma que momentos atrás sujetaba bailando.
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Sinópsis. Como amiga cercana de los gemelos Stack y Smoke Moore, ayudaste a volver el Club Juke una realidad; pero un encuentro con un extraño hombre irlandés tuvo consecuencias impensables. Solo el tiempo te dirá cuánto podrán protegerte tus amigos del misterio que ese hombre tiene sobre ti, y si tu curiosidad será más fuerte que tu prudencia, ante la música de un tal Remmick.
Tags. Remmick siente mucho pero no sabe qué hacer, lectora es latina pero no incluyo descripciones de su apariencia física. Sin uso de T/N.
Advertencias. Comportamiento posesivo (de parte de Remmick), descripciones de violencia explícita, menciones de racismo debido al contexto histórico, contenido sexual explícito. MENORES NO INTERACTUAR.
Capitulo 1.
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Capitulo 4.
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Sinópsis: Como amiga cercana de los gemelos Stack y Smoke Moore, ayudaste a volver el Club Juke una realidad; pero un encuentro con un extraño hombre irlandés tuvo consecuencias impensables. Solo el tiempo te dirá cuánto podrán protegerte tus amigos del misterio que ese hombre tiene sobre ti, y si tu curiosidad será más fuerte que tu prudencia, ante la música de un tal Remmick.
Advertencias: descripciones gráficas de violencia, comportamiento obsesivo, menciones de racismo por contexto histórico
Total de palabras 3,370 Capitulo 1 / 4 Masterlist
Conocías a los gemelos Moore desde hace unos años, afianzando una amistad excepcional y cálida. Por eso, no dudaron en llevarte con ellos a su pueblo en el Delta para la apertura de su nuevo... proyecto de inversión. Nada pudo haberte preparado a las rutas que se abrirían esa noche, por las siguientes décadas te preguntarías qué hubiera sucedido si no hubieras aceptado su invitación, si no hubieras salido al frío de la noche, si no hubieras cruzado miradas con aquel hombre que, como el humo, se filtraba por tus labios. Ser del que después descubrirías se hacía llamar Remmick, el vampiro.
Era cerca de la media noche, habías tenido que cambiar tus zapatos de tacón por unas sandalias sencillas pues habías perdido la cuenta de las vueltas, saltos y zarandeos por los que la música te llevaba. No podías explicar la atmósfera que creaban las voces de Sammy y compañía. Los gemelos te sonreían a la distancia, pero incluso con sus ojos brillantes, llenos de orgullo, podías notar que algo no encajaba a la perfección. Por supuesto, tenía que ver con dinero. Escuchaste a Mary y Stack hablar al respecto. Después les rogaste ser tú quien buscara la solución a las cuentas desfavorables. Saliste con apenas un ligero chal sobre tu vestido negro, simple pero de seda pura, abrazaba cada figura de la manera más favorable. Incluso Smoke te hizo saber que aquella su prenda favorita de toda tu colección de “disfraces para la noche”, como solías llamar a esa parte de tu armario.
Los movimientos de tu figura aún no cedían a la atmósfera exterior, buscabas tus llaves para subir a tu vehículo (que habías robado unas noches atrás) mientras continuabas los coros de la canción Pale, Pale Moon que seguía sonando en el interior. Fue por eso no escuchaste cuando de manera sigilosa, tres figuras se ubicaron cercanamente a tu espalda. Fue el banjo del hombre de enmedio el que te causó un grito y tu vuelta inmediata.
“Disculpe, señorita. No deseabamos asustarla...”, dijo la mujer, mientras la melodía continuaba.
“Disculpen ustedes, no los escuché acercarse.” El trío te veía con un brillo extraño en sus ojos, tus sentidos parecían decirte que no era humano lo que observabas, aunque tu vista te dijera lo contrario. Fue hasta muchos años después que supiste lo que realmente sucedía por sus mentes mientras te devoraban con la mirada.
Remmick les había ordenado en voces silenciosas que te seguirían, harían de la caza un juego de larga duración, que el objetivo había cambiado. No más Club Juke, la musa ahora eras tú. Remmick tampoco tuvo otra opción, sus sentidos también le hablaban; algo primitivo e imperativo lo empujó a la persecución. Finalmente, sus palabras llenaron el aire que respirabas.
“Permítame presentarnos, me llaman Remmick, ellos son Bert y Joan. Espero no sea un atrevimiento de mi parte, pero ¿va a algún lado, señorita? La fiesta apenas comenzó.” Sus modales, aunque pulcros, eran incomodos cuasi postizos. Poco importaba pues eran eclipsados por el hipnotizante ritmo de las cuerdas que tocaba.
No lo sabías aún, pero el juego de la sed, su sed, empezó con esas palabras.
“Yo, eh... no tardaré. Tengo que salir, pero volveré.” No entendías por qué debías darle explicaciones, te ponía el corazón a later deliciosamente fuerte. Algo tiraba de tu vestido pero las figuras no te tocaban, antes de intentar razonarlo te montaste al coche y sin mirarlos aceleraste llamando la atención de tus amigos adentro. Aquella noche pensaste que eso bastaba para quitartelos de encima. Recuerdas haber pasado cerca del humedal, el camino sinuoso, aún con la sangre helada mantuviste el ritmo, eras una excelente conductora. Por eso la mañana siguiente los gemelos no lograron explicarse cómo pudiste tener un accidente vehicular tan terrible.
Despertaste en el hospital de la ciudad, Grace y Bo te encontraron en la ruta cuando volvían a casa a mitad de la noche. Mejor dicho, encontraron los rastros de tu vehículo descarrilado, abriendo espacio entre los arbustos, directo al agua. Estabas a la orilla, como si alguien te hubiera arrastrado fuera del vehículo que ahora yacía en el fondo del pantano. Tú tampoco podías recordarlo, tenías la sensación de haber tenido un sueño largo y confuso: ojos brillantes como el carbón enardecido, colmillos de lobo estepario. Las noticias esa mañana en el Delta fueron sobre la exitosa inauguración del Club Juke y sobre tu aparatoso accidente y milagrosa supervivencia. Días después también se sabría de los cuerpos de los líderes del KKK en la región, mientras tú luchabas por tu vida, otras personas tomaron... ciertas medidas ante estos hombres. “Fue un trabajo interno”, diría la policía prontamente, zajando el caso pues no daban con pista alguna. Por los siguientes años te preguntarías sin tregua sobre lo que pudo haber sucedido si no hubieras cruzado caminos con Remmick esa noche, quizá fue para lo mejor. Pero eso aún no lo sabías.
Los gemelos te visitaron al hospital trayendo flores y las noticias de la velada anterior, explicaron a detalle las bicitudes y peleas de borrachos, pero también del romance que danzó toda la noche, y el trance en el que Sammy parecía haberlos llevado. Pearline a su vez, hechizó a su primo menor, sin lugar a dudas. “Cuando puedas salir de aquí te haremos bailar todo lo que te perdiste anoche.” Dijo Stack tratando de aliviar tus dolores, la morfina no surtía el efecto deseado. “No debimos haberte dejado ir, Mary se había ofrecido. Yo mismo pude haber salido a buscar los cheques que necesitabamos”. No quieres siquiera pensar qué habría pasado si uno de los gemelos hubiera coincidido con ese trio de músicos extraños; conociéndolos, seguro habría sido una batalla campal. Una voz del futuro te susurraba “Fue mejor así”.
Tu recuperación completa tomaría semanas, las amistades que conociste en esta travesía te visitaban de vez en cuando en las mañanas. Pero al anochecer, apenas cerrando los ojos, explorabas partes de tu memoria que creías perdidas. El motor incesante, la velocidad y el viento en tu rostro, las luces parpadeantes, el camino fangoso, el agua helada, dos fuertes brazos te sostienen, te levantan y te asfixian en partes iguales. Entonces... las pesadillas. Otras vidas, todas terminaban igual, con la yugular abierta como la llave de una fuente, alimento para las bestias. El horror de una persecución te despertaba, pero no te atrevías a abrir los ojos a la oscuridad ¿qué sabía tu corazón que tu mente no podía poner en palabras?
La mañana que saliste del hospital te sentiste una extraña en las calles que apenas habías logrado familiarizarte hacía unas semanas. Trataste de caminar como una persona normal, te repetías la dirección del pequeño piso que los gemelos consiguieron para ti “un obsequio por las molestias”, por casi haber muerto, querían decir. Te indicaron que escogieron la calle más urbanizada y transitada de toda la zona nocturna para que nunca te faltara fiesta y compañía. Pero sabías que escogieron el Downtown para evitarte largos transitos en automovil. Lo aceptaste sin más, tampoco es que tuvieras ganas de conducir pronto. Una vez que encontraste el edificio notaste que tu nuevo hogar se encontraba en el segundo piso de una casa espléndida seguramente construida en la primera década del siglo.
Una vez dentro pudiste apreciar su antiguo esplendor, algo deteriorado y empolvado, pero será suficiente. Lo único que no habías discutido con los gemelos es cuánto tiempo te quedarías. Por supuesto te alegraba que el Club tuviera éxito y que personas de cada vez más lejos lo visitaran para su disfrute. Pero no podías evitar pensarte una extraña, alguien que no encajaba ni en lo blanco ni en lo negro, asumías que tu participación era temporal y pronto llegaría el momento de partir a otra ciudad, a otro “proyecto de inversión”, como les llamabas a tus delitos. Stack te hizo saber que podrías decorar como quisieras después de cobrar tu primer cheque como administradora de Moore Entreprise. El Club Juke era apenas el comienzo de negocios de entretenimiento afro-centrados, y tú ayudarías en todo.
Estabas pensando que esta podría ser tu vida por un tiempo, entonces escuchaste un golpe sordo como el de un candil pesado cayendo sobre la alfombra de la habitación. Apenas te dirigías al origen del ruido cuando alguien tocó tu puerta. Escuchaste la voz de Mary, inmediatamente dibujando una sonrisa en tu rostro. “He venido a encontrarte en tu esplendor una vez más, sister. Y con la misión de preparar tu fiesta de recuperación”, sentenció la castaña. No eran realmente hermanas, por supuesto. Pero decía eras como familia para los gemelos después de esos años de complicidad. Y si Elias y ella comenzaban a salir, era mejor asumirte en ese papel. Mary apenas se instalaba con algunos artículos para limpiar la duela de madera y desempolvar el mármol de la chimenea y cocina, mas ya te contaba todo sobre el escándalo y la lucha por su divorcio para finalmente reunirse con su amado. En cualquier caso, la conmoción producida por su separación fue prontamente opacada por los cuepos hallados del asesinato múltiple de aquellos asquerosos racistas. Pero aún no llegaba ese momento de la velada, y
“Elijah vendrá con un par de sillones y una mesita que irán a juego con tu cama, bueno, colcha... Esperábamos recibirte con más pero se gastaron el presupuesto en la compra del departamento.” Confesó Mary.
“Están dementes, es demasiado para mí sola. Además podría conseguir aquello en unos días y...”
“¡Ja!, ¿y en dónde nos sentaríamos esta noche?” Mary guiñó un ojo.
El plan era conseguir una pequeña banda que quedara en el salón con los muebles improvisados, cenar cualquier cosa y embriagarse con botellas de mezcal, ron y pulque que habían conseguido especialmente para tu bienvenida de vuelta al mundo de los vivos. Sería íntimo y caótico en partes iguales. Dentro de unas horas Bo y Grace, Sammie, Pearline y Annie llegarían para celebrar esta nueva etapa en su vida. Tú estabas recuperada y Hogwood estaba muerto, el universo parecía en equilibrio por un momento.
Para cuando el sol se había ocultado la música ya llenaba la calle de tu nuevo hogar. Risas y melodías flotaban como el humo de tu cigarrillo. El piso, aunque vacío de muebles y comodidades, se hallaba vibrante y luminoso gracias a las personas que te acompañaban. Durante la noche, bebiste lo suficiente para perder la inhibición y bailaste descalza estrenando la duela de madera. Tus amigos repasaron el repertorio de canciones que te habías perdido aquella noche en el Juke y tocaron nuevas, duetos entre Sammy y Pearline, solos en piano por Delta Slim, la noche era una estrella que se fugaba aceleradamente. Hasta que las historias y risas fueron interrumpidas por una sonata... una sola voz cantaba fuera de tu balcón. Fue imposible ignorarlo, su canción ocupó todo espacio para la escucha. Así que la fiesta completa asomó la vista a la calle desde tu ventanal.
They tell me I’m poor, they tell me I’m young
I tell them all to hold their tongues
If they could part the sand from the sea
They’d neve part my love from me
Era el hombre de la noche de tu accidente, el del banjo. Esta vez se encontraba solo, llevaba la misma ropa de aquella vez. Fue facil reconocerlo, nunca habías ese magnetismo por la música salvo por la mágia que hacía Sammy cuando le ponía todo el corazón a sus canciones. Por otro lado, era evidente que el hombre cantaba para llamar su atención.
One, I love, two, she loves
And three she’s true to me
Over the mountain I must go
Because my fortune is too low
Su acento, inconfundiblemente irlandés, fue distinguible en las notas de la melodía. No explicabas la profundidad de la sacudida que eso te generó. Había solemnidad y anhelo en partes iguales. Una devoción a una mujer. No, a la tierra de origen. O quizás ambas. En cualquier caso, el irlandés continuaba...
“Lo habíamos evitado en el Juke hace unas semanas, no volvió después de la inauguración. Y helo aquí.”, aclaró su hermano.
“¿Y si uno de ustedes baja a afrontarlo de nuevo?” Dijo Mary
“No, y no le vayan a abrir la puerta o dejarlo entrar” advirtió Annie
“¿Pero por qué, qué sucedió? No está haciendo nada malo, quizá es solo una coincidencia. Esta es la calle de los bares y centros nocturnos, quizá venía caminando y nos escuchó.” Intentaste defender al extraño.
“Nah, es un tipo rarísimo que no acepta ‘no’ por respuesta.” cerró Elijah.
“Saludos, damas y caballeros. No piensen que vengo a molestar, mis disculpas. Solo quería acompañar su velada con algunas canciones románticas y quizá un par de tragos. Pero oh!”, fingió sorpresa este extraño carismáticamente incómodo. “Les recuerdo muy bien, pero que hermosa coincidencia” Hizo un gesto de reverencia.
“Remmick!” recordaste. Todos tus amigos te advirtieron con sus miradas que no debías congeniar con el hombre. Como en muchas ocasiones, ignoraste las señales. “Te recuerdo bien, tú y tu banjo mágico.”
“Es usted muy amable, señorita. Cuán halagador recuerde este humilde servidor. ¿Entonces, gusta de mi compañía...?”
Interrumpiste por accidente “¿Cómo se llama esa canción que tocabas hace unos segundos?”
“One I love, señorita, ¿le gustó?”
“Es hermosa.” Ofreciste una sonrisa cálida y le pediste que te llamara por tu nombre. “¿Por qué no sube?” señalaste las escaleras que darían a tu puerta, pero tus amigos comenzaron a protestar, esta vez sin ocultar el disgusto. Annie tomó tu brazo y dijo “No sabes lo que dices, nos vas a poner en peligro a todos.”
No entendías sus palabras pero sus ojos inquietos no podían mentir, inmediatamente tuviste que retraerte en tu disculpa. Remmick insistió en hacerte sentir mejor, fue amable. Siguió su camino, no sin antes entonar como despedida: “Para usted” y dijo tu nombre con una dulzura que ya no se antojaba incómoda.
It’s when I’m awake, I find no rest
Until her head lies on my chest
And when I’m asleep I’m dreaming of
My one, my dear, my absent love
One, I love, two, she loves
And three, she’s true to me
And when the fire to ice will run
And when the tide no longer turns
And when the rocks melt with the Sun
My love for you will have just begun
One, I love, two, she loves
And three, she’s true to me...
No volviste a verlo en los siguientes días, pero su música te acompañaba día y noche. Aunque tus amigos te contaron sobre lo que sospechaban de su naturaleza, te costaba imaginar que fuera cualquier cosa excepto por un músico. Mucho menos un vampiro, como sugirió Annie. En cualquier caso, fantaseabas secretamente con encontrarlo de nuevo, por eso comenzaste a salir. No eras particularmente una party girl pero definitivamente sabías disfrutar cuando era necesario, del baile y la música, de la compañía y la bebida. Todo en equilibrio. Tu calle, hogar de los centros nocturnos, te brindó la oportunidad de visitar todo tipo de establecimientos: desde la cantina tranquila de adultos mayores, los bares elegantes con blues de fondo, hasta los clubs de rock n roll y rostros jóvenes derrochadores.
Pero en ninguna de esas noches como estrellas fugaces lograste coincidir con el irlandés. No por eso tus sueños cambiaron, seguías viendo las imágenes desastrosas de tu accidente, salvo que los brazos que te sacaban del agua claramente eran los de tu músico, ¿te estabas volviendo loca?, ¿así se sentía estar enamorado?, ¿lo estabas? Cuando más joven realmente no te habías enamorado. Habías tenido romances fugaces mas nada que implicara gran apego. Rápidamente decidiste que no era obsesión romántica sino una peligrosa curiosidad por saber más de Remmick. Pensabas que tus sueños solo eran eso, sueños. Y que de ninguna manera podrían ser recuerdos de aquella noche, los médicos advirtieron que quizás nunca recordarías lo que realmente sucedió. Una noche en la que estabas absorta en tus pensamientos chocaste con una mujer. Rápidamente te disculpaste, ¡pero de quién se trataba! de nadie más que la mujer del trío musical, Joan.
Pero te dio la espalda rápidamente escapando de la escena. Gritaste su nombre, la perseguías entre la multitud nocturna. Maldijiste tus tacones, aunque bajos, incomodos. Y en el proceso llamabas la atención de una pequeña audiencia, no importaba, debías llegar a ella. Cortaste camino en un callejón que te llevaría al camino donde ella giró. Después de varios giros en peligrosas calles, la encontraste. Se veía aterrada pero no era a ti a quien veía. Volteaba por encima de su hombro en todas direcciones, entonces te percataste de la mancha roja en su abdomen. Ensuciaba su vestido conforme continuaba emanando, pero ¿en verdad era sangre? te costaba creerlo.
Estabas a punto de llamarla cuando la mujer aulló de dolor, te ocultaste detrás de un contenedor cuya sombra se conjugaba con las del callejón. Ahora gimoteaba y preguntaba a la nada “¿Cómo pudiste? confiamos en ti, ¿cómo lo hiciste si pensabamos lo que tú?” No recibió una respuesta. Estabas sospechando que había perdido la cordura, hasta que un golpe como relampago extinguió su mirada. Cayó al suelo y tú ahogaste un grito. No necesitabas ver más, alguien la asesinó frente a ti, corriste sin voltear atrás. Quien fuera que la haya atacado definitivamente sabía que la estabas observando. Tú solo habías deseado saber más sobre Remmick, maldecías.
Hasta que regresaste al abrazo de la multitud pudiste tranquilizar tu corazón que parecía reventar en tus oídos. Inexplicablemente, llegaste de vuelta a tu departamento. Intentabas razonar, no era la primera vez que veías un asesinato, pero éste fue tan violento, de un golpe tan implacable que le arrancó la cabeza. Jamás imaginaste tales heridas eran posibles, estabas acostumbrada a las balaceras y persecuciones entre facciones enemigas. Pero esto lo superaba todo. Tus pies y manos nerviosas intentaron llevarte por los salones, cerrando ventanas y cortinas. Cuando llegaste a tu habitación el rabillo de tu ojo detectó dos luces brillantes que emergían de la oscuridad en el edificio al otro lado de la calle, frente a ti. Todas sus luces estaban apagadas, extraño, recordabas que era un centro nocturno muy activo hasta el límite de lo molesto. Entonces lo miraste fijamente, la silueta de un hombre que en la oscuridad te observaba, no había dudas. Lo inquietante eran las luces que tenía por ojos, brillantes como el carbón encendido, ¿o te lo estabas imaginando? Podía ser el impacto de lo que acababas de presenciar, o quizá, quien sea que haya cometido el asesinato te había encontrado y te observaba. Cerraste las cortinas de golpe y te dispusiste a pasar la noche entera en vela.
Remmick contemplaba pacientemente detrás de la ventana, sus colmillos y garras ensangrentadas, podía sentir las gotas deslizarse suavemente por sus manos y cuello. Había logrado seguirte por los tejados, no podía imaginar su suerte. Horas antes, mientras Joan había salido a cazar para alimentarse, -pues el trío de vampiros había decidido mantenerse escondidos un tiempo, hasta que se levantaran las sospechas de quién había asesinado a los miembros del Klan- (otra de las ordenes de Remmick), debían salir uno por uno sin conversar con nadie, y sobre todas las cosas, evitar a toda costa llamar la atención del grupo de los Moore. Joan volvía agotada de una caza raquitica, cuando encontró las luces de la cabaña apagadas y la puerta a medio abrir. Su mente no registraba lo que aquello podía significar, tampoco lo pudo creer cuando vio el cuerpo cercenado y con quemaduras de Bert. Remmick los había traicionado. Después de su encuentro contigo lo decidió, sus pensamientos imperceptibles para sus vampiros creados planearon la estrategia de acabar con los hombres a los que había aceptado trabajar para... cerrar definitivamente el Juke. Y en su lugar, borraría todo rastro de ellos para empezar de nuevo; nueva caza, nuevo objetivo: la dama del vestido de seda, la que amaba su música, su nueva musa. Después de todo, le debías tu vida al haberte salvado del accidente en el humedal.
