Dead Girls Don't Cry by Casey Wyatt Page B

Jonathan.
    Unlike humans, vampires know they have all the time in the world to mend fences, so most of us push off unpleasantness to deal with later. I believed someday, Jonathan and I would work out our issues. The elephant in the room between us—how I became a vampire and how he tricked me into it.
    Reconciliation would never happen now. I had to two choices, deal with it or push it off.
    I did the vampire version of Scarlett O’Hara – tomorrow is another day and ignored the elephant.
    At the moment I had bigger issues. The most pressing – I couldn’t sleep soundly anymore. Dreams invaded my brain – other vampire’s dreams and nightmares. And fantasies. Ugh. I didn’t want to know which of my family had a fetish for hairy toes and bright red nail polish. I was about to give myself a lobotomy with a cafeteria spork, when Ian surprised me with a gift as I zoned out, bleary-eyed in the mess hall.
    “You can control the bond,” he slid over a fruity drink pouch. My new favorite beverage.
    I stabbed the straw through the silver foil. “Great. Mind sharing the secret with me?”
    Ian laughed. The sound resonated down through my toes. The harsh mess hall lighting turned his blond hair nearly white, giving him an angelic aura. “I love your cheek. ‘Course, I’ll share. Lose the drink and don’t squirm.”
    He reached across the table and grasped my forehead with his large, smooth palms. Every cell in my body sang at his touch. As if sensing my thoughts, Ian’s lids lowered. Within a second he was back to his usual cocky self, a half grin plastered on his lips. “See, the trick is to relax your mind. Don’t fight the emotions.”
    “How do you know this?” Had I imagined his reaction? I must have been desperate for affection.
    A dark cloud passed over his face. The blue in his eyes grew deeper. “Never you mind. Now, try it.”
    As commanded, I closed my eyes and let the images, thoughts and emotions through. They flooded over me — too much, too fast. TMI. Again, with the hairy toes, this time with pink polish. Ick.
    My brain choked on information overload. “Now what?” I yelled, opening my eyes, startling the human crew in the room.
    Ian rubbed his thumbs across my lips. “No need to shout, luv. Close your eyes and visualize a surf board—”
    “I don’t know how to surf!” Nausea roiled my stomach. “Hurry up before I puke.”
    “Fine. Imagine a curtain, like the kind on stage. Pull the cord and shut them out. Simple.”
    Cramps twisted my gut. I fought the flood and imagined the red velvet curtain at Fang Bang. In an instant, I was on the stage. The family, eyes closed in sleep, occupied the audience seats. Dream bubbles floated over their heads. Live action sequences played in each window.
    “Close the curtain, Cherry.” Ian stood next to me on the stage. “Wonder how I got here later.”
    I moved out of the spotlight and into the stage left wing. A beam of light shone onto an elaborate gold cord. Two thick fringed tassels dangled from the end. On the real stage, it took two stage hands to lower and raise the heavy curtain with a thick, grimy rope.
    “Close the curtain, luv,” Ian gently urged.
    I marched over and tugged the golden rope, silken and soft under my hands. The curtain quivered and remained open. I pulled again. Nothing. Stubborn curtain.
    The toe fetish surfaced in my mind. Oh hell no!
    I yanked harder, using my body weight as leverage. Red velvet rippled elegantly as the curtain cascaded to the floor. The raging torrent of emotion diminished and I could think again. The family’s thoughts were a dull hum in the background, much like the real stage, where I could hear the audience before I saw them.
    The vision faded to black. “Thank you,” I breathed out and opened my eyes. The cafeteria was empty. An unopened juice pouch lay on the table in front of me, a parting gift from Ian.
    Sooner or later, I’d learn how he knew this stuff. Rogue my ass.
     

 
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