Green-Eyed Monster

~900 words :: Vampire Chronicles :: Louis/Lestat :: 1/24/03
Lestat’s not the only possessive one.

We float blindly through the red-tinged darkness of the swoon and for a short time that desperate need is met. That need to be whole.

Only tonight there had been something more, something driving me to possess him utterly. A need to erase from his mind all thought of everyone and everything but me. It is a selfish need, born of my own insecurity and pride, and this is not the first time it has happened.

I think back to the events of last night. That is what has brought this on. That was the trigger this time.

We had rented a few films, one of which I had avoided seeing in theatres. It was not something I ever wanted to watch, but he insisted. It bore little resemblance to his book, and even less to actual events, but it brought those nights nearly twenty years ago into painfully sharp focus.

When it was over, I went out alone to hunt. My prey was a young man, a teenager as they call them these days, easy to lure down a dark alley with nothing more than a smile and an admiring glance.

Afterwards, I wandered the streets of the city aimlessly, remembering how it had felt to be reunited after so long, only to have him snatched away. Remembering Akasha.

It was then that I saw her, flanked by two friends as she stepped out of the club. She was laughing and it seemed that even her voice was the same.

Something dark rose up in my throat to choke me and I felt a strange sensation as if I were watching myself from somewhere far away. All those emotions that had been brought to the fore by the memories, the rage and hatred and the terrible, burning jealousy, overcame me and I knew then exactly what I was going to do, and how much I would enjoy it.

They were on the other side of the street, walking away from me, but I was filled with purpose and my anger carried me there in an instant. With inhuman speed, I was past them and around the corner, stopping only when I was sure I was out of sight.

Turning around, I walked back towards them, my pace unhurried. When they saw me, I smiled as I had with the boy earlier. I remembered how to make small talk, how to charm, though I had always hated the sort of social gatherings at which those skills were required. I could have had my choice of any of them, but I had eyes for her alone.

I could hear her thoughts, the foremost being how lucky she was. She had left the club empty handed, without so much as a phone number, and now here I was, a dream come true. I asked her if she would like to have a drink and she was already picturing us in varying states of undress. I told her my car was parked a little ways down the street and we took our leave of her friends. It was almost too easy.

Half a block down, I pulled her into an alleyway, still smiling as I shoved her up against the wall. She tried to scream, but I was too quick for her, clamping my hand over her mouth before the sound could escape her lips. Her dark eyes were wide and full of tears, the smell of fear almost palpable, and I loved it.

She thought I was going to rape her, but I had no such designs on her body. The very thought repulsed me and I told her so. Stupid though she might be, she realized that left only one option.

Still smiling, I let go of her mouth and, before she had a chance to scream, dealt her a backhanded slap across the face that snapped her fragile neck like a twig. She fell to the ground in a heap, still alive, but unable to move. Her breathing was labored and she couldn’t gather enough breath to make more than a pathetic mewling sound.

I hauled her up by her shirtfront, holding her away from me at arm’s length. Strands of long, black hair were matted to her face with blood. Blood that didn’t even tempt me.

This was about so much more than blood. It was about bitter jealousy and wild, misdirected vengeance.

I think by now my face was frozen in that smile. I could see it reflected back in her eyes, my fangs showing clearly now. She couldn’t struggle, couldn’t even speak, as I ran my finger down her cheek, down her neck, coming to rest over her frantically beating heart.

And then I did to her what had been done before, ripping through her chest and pulling out her heart. I held the bloody organ in my hand, but unlike Mekare, I had no desire to take it into me. Instead I let it fall to the pavement and ground it to a pulp beneath my boot.

The girl was dead, of course, and now that my anger had receded I found I could no longer see much of a resemblance. I didn’t care. I wiped my hand on her clothes, but blood-soaked as they were, it did little good. Tossing her broken body into a nearby dumpster, I made my way back to the flat.

In the haze of the swoon, I hear Lestat laugh, hear his voice echo through my mind: “And they say I’m the possessive one.”