Writing Lazy Eye

[Claire]

[FONT="Arial"]It's been a while. I'm pretty happy with how this story turned out. Warning; language, blah blah blah.

I'm too lazy to use the [pindent] tag. :/

---

The candles have burned out, but the scent of smoke still lingers in the air. On top of something else…that I really don’t want to think about. And even in the dark I can make out the lanky body of Nils, dead to the world on the bed next to me. Somehow his skin seems to shimmer, as if it was reflecting what little light the moon is giving through the window. The curtains must have fallen off. Oh christ.

I can only stare at the ceiling. I don’t want to move. I think I would like to curl up and die, actually. So I lie here for a while, with Nils’ corpse strewn across my bed, his feet dangling comically off the end. I’m pushed up against him so I don’t fall off the edge - my bed is only a twin. What were we thinking?

I don’t believe we were. God dammit.

Okay, I still don’t want to move but to stay here sounds absolutely disgusting. So I gingerly roll off the bed and I really couldn’t care if I fall on my face, but like a cat I subconsciously land feet first. As soon as I stand my head swirls with dizziness - no doubt my mind overreacting to the situation. My stomach’s down in the depths and might as well be screaming “why why why!”

From this new vantage point I can see the bed in the moonlight and SHIT, there’s blood on the sheets.

The room runs away from me and I find myself in the hallway, where the air isn’t oppressive. It doesn’t feel like such a sin to inhale.

I aim to take the stairs slowly, but my feet slide from the landing and I descend three-by-three. I reach the bottom miraculously, but hardly, upright, and mentally queasy.

Why why why.

Charlotte is in the kitchen, vigorously stirring something in a giant bowl. I have no idea why but I walk in that direction. The overhead lights sting my eyes after having seen darkness for so long.

“Good morning,” she says, sounding a bit confused. I must look really bedraggled. But I can’t think of a response - this is not a good morning/night or whatever. And my mind is stuck on one unwelcome thought that I certainly don’t want to put out there.

So I ask a stupid question. “Why are you baking at…what time is it?” My voice sounds absolutely grey. She stops stirring and stares at me with an arched eyebrow.

“It’s like 10. Are you okay?”

No, I’m not. And I just noticed the taste in the back of my throat, dredging up the memory of…shit, I need to get out of this house. But where would I go? I’ll have this same thought no matter where I am. So I guess it would be better to get out of myself. Though I know nothing will happen, I imagine my insides - soul, essence, whatever - just zooming out of my body and through the walls. Instead, of course, I remain in the excessively bright kitchen. I can almost smell Charlotte’s suspicion rising.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Nils gently descends the staircase - gently, but quickly. There’s hardly any time between the soft sounds of his footsteps and the slamming of the front door. The noise and its frantic implications make me cringe. My head drops into my arms, crossed on the counter.

“Did you guys have a huge fight or something?”

Or something.

“No.” My answer may have been too fast.

“I don’t believe you.”

I glance up, but not at her. I can’t take her scrutiny. “We really didn’t.”

Since I’m getting nowhere I walk away, even though I don’t have any place to go. The bed sheets. They’re white, and not my choice sleeping material. But they were on the bed when I moved in, so whatever. Hooray for bleach.

And in the same vein (no pun intended?), hooray for Charlotte and Lucio. But I enter the laundry room and just my luck, their bottle of bleach is nowhere to be found. The detergents and such are all lined up neatly on the shelf, but there’s no bleach.

Why why why.

It could be in either of their bedrooms for some odd reason - well actually, knowing them it’s perfectly normal - but I don’t want to just barge in there and ransack the place. I glance into the kitchen, where Charlotte is pouring her batter into cupcake tins.

Do not ask her. Do not ask her. Do not--

And yet I go back to the kitchen and peek around the corner. This will not end well.

“Where’s the bleach?”

Her expression is still disbelieving. “Why?”

“I’m doing laundry.”

“You’ve never used bleach before.”

Nothing is painless. I escape to I don’t know where, back to the laundry room I suppose. Maybe the bleach is in there and I just overlooked it. Wouldn’t be the first time. As I pass the front door I hear steps from the other side, and I speed up to avoid running into him. When I reach safety he meekly enters the house. Abnormal. Though his timing couldn’t have been better; Charlotte had followed me out of the kitchen and he became a roadblock for her.

I close up the laundry room and of course, there’s the bleach container on the floor next to the washing machine. But the incriminating sheets are upstairs, and to get them would mean to pass both Charlotte and Nils and carry the evidence before their very eyes. I’m trapped.

“Why are you wearing Lucio’s pants?” Charlotte says.

He thought it was a good idea, last night. It wasn’t embarrassing at the time but I’m much more sensible/conscious now, and jesus christ. Lucio wouldn’t notice otherwise questionable bloodstains on his pajama pants.

“Oops?”

I turn around, devastated. And there are the bed sheets, sitting in a basket. I suppose Nils brought them down earlier, how thoughtful. Too bad he doesn’t know how to work the washing machine. Anyway, that’s twice now I’ve been lucky. I must have something terrible coming up.

I frantically stuff the sheets in the washer and add the bleach et al, fearing that Charlotte will barge in demanding answers. Even though I start the machine and lock away all suspicion causing items, my anxiety remains. I hear neither Charlotte nor Nils outside the laundry room, and she should have come in here by now. Maybe they left? Three blessings would be too much too expect.

Regardless, my stomach turns a little when I leave the room and come face to face with an interrogative Charlotte. I decide to play innocent.

“Are you following me?”

“Yes. Something weird is going on with you and Nils.”

Just as I thought. I can’t handle this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I silently step forward, but she moves in my way. Oh no, no no no.

“Yes you do! You’d better tell me, or-”

And her eyes lighten up in a definitive shit-hits-fan moment, and she steps back with the force of enlightenment. Blood rushes to my face - not mine, god dammit - and I have never felt such a need to kick down the front door and run.

“You guys finally did it, didn’t you?’

The way she describes it is fu-… freaking awful. Like a gnarly clawed hand just squeezes my insides mercilessly. The foreign blood plummets to the very bottom of me and leaves my face freezing cold and feeling colorless. Or maybe seafoam.

“Oh my god.”

Nils appears on the staircase, his deer-in-the-headlights expression and pallid skin color probably mirroring me perfectly. “What?”

I’m out of the house before I realize it, powered by the force of humiliation. I barely notice the front yard streaking past me or the feeling of my feet hitting the ground. I don’t believe I’m in control of myself at the moment. I rocket into the forest and skid to a halt, trying to regain my composure. Or at least what little composure I’ve ever had. But even surrounded by damp trees and the smell of wet dirt, I’m unbearably uncomfortable.

With myself.

Some amount of time passes, maybe a few minutes or even a couple of seconds. When you’re having an irrational breakdown it’s hard to tell. My heart should be pounding but my chest is still and lifeless. I’m still not used to the emptiness.

We joked about it before. I can’t hunt, not people and certainly not animals. Before it didn’t matter I was a vegetarian, and overly sensitive. Still grossly squeamish. I can’t bring myself to run at lightning speeds for fear of colliding with something, even though it won’t hurt. I can’t jump to the tree tops because I’ve always been scared of heights, and even now it’s no different. Other than unhindered immortality, I can’t embrace the perks of being inhuman. And for once I did something completely out of character and despite my better judgment, and even though it wasn’t really sex I feel fu-…freaking dirty. I’m the worst vampire ever.

“Amelia?”

And yet his uncharacteristically soft, miserably sorry voice manages to be the calming hand on my shoulder. The instant switch from desperate self-loathing to mellow comfort could be enough to send me into convulsions.

I whirl about to see him, towering over me with a face screaming of regret and concern. He feels like a completely different person, and somehow at the same time exactly the same. I grimace inwardly for experiencing something so cliché.

His eyes avert to the ground as mine reach them. Though icy blue, they’re such puppy dog eyes. He resembles a Bassett hound, minus the drooping old person skin. He appears to be struggling with words. Frankly, it’s heart wrenchingly adorable.

“I’m sorry,” he utters.

“For what? You didn’t do anything…bad.”

“I can tell you’re upset.”

This perceptive, concerned Nils is almost disconcerting; he should be running around naked or something.

“Yeah…” I’ve never been very open, in any case. But I want to take off this strange, melancholy mask he’s wearing. “Just because of my own stupidity.”

“You thought it was stupid?”

I’ve never been good at cheering people up, either.

“No. You know how I am. You know it’s not your fault.”

Honestly, this is one conversation that, if yesterday I was told I’d be having it, I would never ever believe I’d be having. Never; ever: never. In most situations I am entirely ineloquent, so of course I’m completely and totally tongue-tied here. Nils’ silence is doing nothing to help, either. Primarily I want him to be happy again, but I definitely wouldn’t mind feeling better myself. Except I don’t think that will happen without the aid of a time machine or at least some kind of memory cleanser.

Vampire “sex” is really nothing like that of other species. It’s a misnomer. Just a name for an intimate act of supposed passion. It still makes me want to puke, and I can’t do that anymore so I just have to live with the mental nausea. This goes right along with my inability to hunt for myself due to squeamishness: vampires in love get their physical thrills by drinking from each other. It sounds stupid, but there’s nothing else we can do. Or that they can do. In my former life I couldn’t even handle kissing. Celibacy was beautiful bliss. Last night was a moment of devil possession, probably. Temporary insanity. Astral projection. I blindly mistook reality for a lucid dream. Sounds like something I would do.

Okay, not really.

But now I’m thinking back to the very first time I ever saw him: a slow day at the coffee shop where I worked, me pulled aside by Victoria fawning over the sharply dressed rocker looking boy sitting in a dark corner of the building. I never believed in love at first sight but I swear I felt something, and not just the gasping and fluttering heartbeat I fall into when dazzled/star-struck. There was a spark in my stomach. At the time I attributed it to the boiling lava hot chocolate mocha I had barely taken a sip from. But now I know it was something more.

I know first impressions are usually wrong. Imagine my surprise when, months later, I see him again with stronger eyes, and he is just a shell of the stylish model he once appeared to be. Though twice as gorgeous as before, he seemed to have the maturity of a pre-pubescent boy. He didn’t/doesn’t know the meaning of tact. Or common sense. He’s more naïve than I am.

And still I felt hopelessly in love, and I didn’t understand it one bit.

In the present, he’s still staring at the ground morosely. Though wearing a frumpy black hoody and jeans, he seems a lot like the first Nils I saw. Distant, unattainable. Even though I attained him last night.

“Listen, Nils, you need to cheer up,” I say, trying to sound as composed as possible. “I’m fine. I’m just a little freaked out, but not because of you. If I had a shred of normalcy in me I would be swooning to the moon right now.”

He finally glances up and stares directly into my eyes. The fleeting butterfly wings in the general area of my heart almost make me reconsider that normalcy thing. Though for its brevity and subtlety it won’t make me reconsider that dead thing.

“I wish I would have known this would happen,” he sighs. “Then I wouldn’t have done it.”

Damn his diction. And if I hadn’t gone on and on about how vampires can’t/don’t have sex, I would be damning my own word choice right then, too.

“It’s okay, really. Everything is going to be all right.”

In a sickening instant, I realize exactly what is going to happen here. This is turning into a sappy love scene in which someone will confess their undying love for another, and all that cal. This is something I would like to avoid.

But Nils remains unconvinced. I may not have that luxury.

“Nils, please.”

Nope.

“I’m not mad at you, or anyone. I could never be mad at you for anything.” I would like to end it there, please. I’ve really never been very open.

Still nothing. Is he baiting me?

“I love you.”

My heart beats. It doesn’t flutter, it’s not empty. It actually, honestly, really and truly beat. It stops my breathing. It knocks me backward, my head swimming.

Because he said it, not me.

His eyes are pleading and sincere, as if he is afraid I will just laugh it off. How silly. It’s not that I don’t believe it because of his facetious personality. I don’t believe it because I don’t deserve it.

And I realize this has become a sappy love scene, exactly. Now you have a disbelieving, self-belittling person in the mix. Exactly.

I need to say it back now, I know. And I will really fu-…freaking mean it. I just hope he doesn’t act like me and think I’m lying because he doesn’t deserve it, or that I’m just saying it because he said it first.

“I love you, too.”

And there’s an instant smile. He doesn’t hesitate or question me, he just accepts it and smiles. Maybe he’s too naïve for his own good. But I’m so relieved.

“I’m glad we could clear that up,” he says, absolutely beaming. I’m still dumbstruck.

“Yeah…”

“We should probably go back inside or Charlotte will think we’re doing it again.”

Ew. Why must he say these things.

“Okay.”

So we go back together, awkwardly. There is no holding of hands, no interlocked arms. I’m utterly bamboozled. It’s as if the past ten minutes didn’t occur at all. As if we were talking about something insignificant and not our own fateful connection.

Then again, he is Nils. Who knows what the hell is wrong with him.

Before we reach the porch, he faces me. “Are you hungry?”

The thought of consuming anything rebirths my mental nausea. “No, are you?” How could he be after last night? And for all I’m complaining about the memory of it I sure do mention it a lot. Jesus.

“Yeah. I’m gonna go hunting.”

He suddenly closes in and leans over so that his face is level with mine. The breathing stops again. I’m half startled, half scared he’s going to try something.

He doesn’t. The smile stretches, and then he’s gone. And I don’t know what to think. So I go inside alone and slightly dazed, and positive I’m going to play 20 questions as soon as Charlotte finds me.

She’s still baking, so in reality hardly any time has passed at all. Somehow, that’s discouraging. Because I don’t feel like dealing with her questions, I avoid her smug smile and fall on to the nearest couch and shrink.

“Sorry you had such a traumatic experience. Did he taste bad or something?” she says. I have nothing to respond with. Because even though I don’t want to admit it to myself or anyone, he tasted so incredibly…no, I really don’t want to admit it.

Maybe in a thousand years I will. Right now I just really really really wish I could puke.[/FONT]

[Dragon Warrior]

[size=1]I'm astounded, Clurr. You have left this pirate speechless :] You have, in all regards, the right to be proud of this. I haven't enjoyed a serious OB story like this in a long while. The real majesty of the whole thing is the fact that the perspective of the story keeps changing throughout it. I couldn't figure out what the story was about until almost near the end, and that was the best part.

I started off thinking she had sex with the guy, especially since some girls bleed on their first time. But then you said "corpse," so I assumed it was a murder or accident. Then when Nils came down the stairs, I was confused how the dead could be walking. I didn't think it'd take a paranormal/fantasy twist. And then when they mentioned vampires, I understood the reason you worded it "corpse." Very clever, and very deceiving. I love that.

The style and writing of the story was fantastic too. Your wording, your expressions, your analogies left me content for more.
[indent][i]"Nils appears on the staircase, his deer-in-the-headlights expression and pallid skin color probably mirroring me perfectly."[/i][/indent]
I particularly liked this line. It was worded so perfectly and vivid that you could paint the picture with your mind. You have a definite talent and/or skill for weaving a very powerful and intriguing story, whether it's just a short segment of someone's life or an elaborated biography.

You bring our attention in right from the start and keep it because you tease the reader. You give a little detail, but not enough so we keep guessing and wanting more. That's a very good skill for a writer, and I suggest you keep at it. I'd love to read more stuff like this in the future. I better stop, though, or I'll be giving you endless props for the next hour or so :P[/size]

[Claire]

[quote name='Dragon Warrior'][size=1]I'd love to read more stuff like this in the future. I better stop, though, or I'll be giving you endless props for the next hour or so :P[/size][/QUOTE]
[FONT="Arial"]
:D:D:D:D; Feel free! Hahah.

Seriously though, thank you so much for your kind kind words. This is pretty much the only place I can hope to hear anything like that and I'm so happy that I do, occasionally.

I'm pretty bad about finishing what I start (there are quite a few stories with these characters that are about a year in the works and have never been touched again) and you'd think hearing encouragement like that would get me motivated...[/FONT]

[Dragon Warrior]

[size=1]No, I understand. I'm the same way. I just get too many ideas every second of every day, I can't stay focused on one project without wanting to start another. That's why short stories can be such a relief, if pulled off correctly. But you definitely have the knack for it. :][/size]