Summary: I wonder why she would want to die so badly, what could possibly make a young girl like her so suicidal. I wish that she did not want it so badly, I wish I didn't have to kill her, I wish I knew her name…
The colors danced and swirled lively, brightening the dark room. It was not a particularly large room, but it was large for a hotel. However, it was rather nice, what with the plasma T.V. in the middle of the wall. A wall that stood parallel to a spotless white couch and the room's occupants who happened to be sitting on that plush couch.
A flash of white and darkness flooded the room for about a second until the same livid person with the seductively attractive voice appeared again. And she was singing. She was screaming and crying out along to the beat, with her flawless snow-white skin and sharp black eyes, flowing mahogany hair with natural crimson highlights down to her waist swung about her.
The guitars melody and drum's beat howled along with her, bending the sound and waving it in and out to the complicated harmony woven along with her words of a loveless romance. It amazed you; it was so perfectly put together, so well written it was out of the ordinary. Even the person that avoided head-banging heavy metal rock would be lured in by her powerful voice if not for her angelic face contorted in to a pained expression.
She was restless on the screen, spinning, twirling, waving her arms high above her head, twisting and doubling over so absorbed in the not-so-simple song. Even in her wildest moments she was lithe, her body drenched in the passionate grace of a goddess. She was simply radiant. To say her band members were bright like stars on a moonless night just wouldn't do.
They shook and swayed and moved with their instruments in hand, fingers moving swiftly over strings, arms swinging wildly keeping the rhythm in check. They were god in this universe of mind-blowing perfection of sound. Their faces showed varying degrees of emotions through out the song, tensed afraid to let loose their secrets to the world through their melodies, relieved to be exposed, afraid that their words would be taken with out being embraced by their intended meanings, scared that they would never again attain release at such a magnitude.
And then the song ends with a burst of power leaving the listener dazed and gripping the last of the haunting notes that hang tangibly in the air. Addicting like a substance, powerful and inspiring, a painting of words sewn together by master artists.
However, it is not the touching depth or her words, or the writhing tortured expression that is sometimes mirrored by her dark yet alluring counter parts that leaves the current viewer astonished. It is the recognition, the familiarity that slowly sets in after minutes of watching that leaves the blond woman, who is an angel of darkness herself, mortified. Eyes wide, jaw dropped low, she is unable to move, wrapped in thoughts that are racing in her mind not giving an answer to many questions that she is too stunned and terrified to even ask.
It's dark on the bus, the curtains permanently drawn across the transparent glass, blocking the persistent rays of warm, yellow-white. That isn't unusual, neither is the fact that my almost-brother has been laying on the couch with his arm draped over his eyes for the past two hours even though he can't sleep. He says it's in that position that he gets his inspiration. I am not going to argue with that notion; it's whatever floats his boat.
I look down at my small black notebook, lying closed on the table. Nothing has been coming to me lately; it's the only thing that doesn't have an irritating schedule behind it, my own inspiration. I sigh, deeply, an unneeded amount of air collecting in the empty pit below my throat.
From the front of the bus, Aubrey turns and raises and eyebrow at me, he's supposed to be driving, but his eyes aren't even on the road. We're supposed to be heading some where up north, Alaska maybe, to record our next album. Every one seems to have an infinite amount of patience when it comes to these things. To me the bus just can't go fast enough, though judging by the way the trees and traffic signs speed toward us through the dark tinted windshield, were are probably going eighty or ninety miles per hour.
"What's wrong Bella?" He asks in a voice so low I can barely hear him when I sit down in the passenger seat next to him, my little black book still in my hands.
"Nothing." I stare at the over cast sky, the brush and weeds at the side of the road, the nothingness that fills the land for miles. Over time, the large purplish lumps I'd only seen in movies and post cards shrink back in the ground, and I can almost see the tops of buildings and life.
"Where are we?" My voice must have sounded shaky to him because he looks at me with his brow puckered, as if he's worried I'm having a break down.
"Washington." The lightening flashes, and clouds blacken, raindrops fall swifter, harder onto the glass the farther north we travel. A sense of peace floods through me intercepting a vague feeling of recognition and foreboding that trickles down my spine. I shudder, Aubrey sighs heavily as he flips on the wipers. My eyes follow the black moving across the windshield, words forming in my mind like the smearing moisture across the expanse of glass.
Without warning I flip open my notebook, scrawling words fast across the lined pages, surprisingly the words are neat and legible. From the corner of my eye I can see Aubrey shaking his head at the sudden normalcy of me writing, so soon after my mild episode. The pages fill themselves; another part of me has taken control. Memories I don't have, feelings I have never felt come alive to me, heart break, and anguish. I make it sound like I've experienced them; it feels like a past-life's identity resurfacing shoving me out of the way.
That is how I have always written my songs. Like someone coming up with brilliant lyrics and whispering them in my ear. When I stop, I look at the radio clock on the dashboard, it's been almost an hour since I started but I just might be holding our new hit single in the palm of my hand. I open the window a crack and smell the air outside, gasoline, rain and fast food, humans.
As our large tour bus pulls into the gas station everyone is suddenly by a door, ready to jump out of the metal hellhole we've been living in for the past three months that we've been on tour. Through the rear view mirror, I can see the shadowy bus come to life. Asher is bent over a mirror combing the sides of his garnet red hair down and expertly gelling the top into three rows of long spiky mow hawks.
Seth just whips his head from side to side, shaking out his dripping curls that usually straighten out all by themselves while they dry, and puts on a dark, long sleeved shirt. Riley feels like being crazy today, obviously, because he deliberately puts on tan shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. He shrugs when I give him a look.
We all exit the bus and jump around a little before heading off in different directions, Seth stays behind to put gas in the bus, he seems out of it. He just stares into space for the longest time before I have to look away before I am caught staring again. I decide to blow off some steam and run south of the way we came from.
After ten minutes of zipping along the countryside, with the mountains as my guide I stop. I didn't expect to find a city, but just as well I have found what I was looking for even if it wasn't were I planned it would be. I walk down the streets quietly taking in the sights, burning them into my brain. Every alley, every shop and car parked along the side of the street catch my attention.
I here a sound in an alley as I pass it, I take a step back and peer curiously into the darkness. A girl, leaning against the side of the building, is crying. Her tears glisten and fall to stain the cement black. Slowly she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out something silvery and thin. I smile wearily at her and approach, as she brings the blade up and across her wrist in a wide ark. I hear her gasp and she falls to her knees, blood beads up along the exposed flesh and pours over on both edges of the cut, the two fat drops meet on the back of her hand and drip to the ground.
I breathe in deeply and walk even more quickly to her slumped, bleeding, masochistic form. Her breathing quickens and she moves the blade up, down and diagonal, vertical, and horizontal. My eyes widen, I grip the wall next to me for support, to stay in control. She looks up at me with terrified eyes, wider then mine. She lifts the blade up to me, beckoning me toward her with it. "Please!" Like asking for candy, like asking me if I would eat it.
I walk too fast for her to see, grabbing her by her upper arm, the one with the knife in it, and pull her deeper into the shadows. She presses the pocketknife in to my hand and looks at me with pleading eyes. "Please?" "Why?"
Except I do not ask these questions, if she wants me to kill her more than anything why would I not, how could I not? She asked for it and I give her death, what she wanted. Trying to justify my actions is not at the top of my to-do list at the moment. I grab her wrist and lick the back of her hand where the blood had been pulled by gravity.
I flip over her hand lighting fast, ignore the crack of her bones protesting, and suck at the slashes. The cuts are much deeper than I anticipated; the vein just below her ripped skin is completely severed sending blood in all directions, I don't need to bite her at all. Nevertheless, the blood is coming out too slow, and I have no patience what so ever when it comes to feeding.
I move my mouth from her hand to her neck and bite in. She stiffens then relaxes, she must know what is coming, I am the vampire, and she is the unfortunate girl who gets the life sucked out of her. I wonder why she would want to die so badly, what could possibly make a young girl like her so suicidal. I wish that she did not want it so badly, I wish I didn't have to kill her, I wish I knew her name.
After that last thought it is finished, I pull away and look at her face for the first time, black hair, and dark skin. She looks peaceful with her eyes closed, blissful even. It would be wrong to dump her in a trash can like I have some many others, I already feel bad for killing her, giving her a decent burial is the least I can do.
I open the door to the bus slowly, I feel like crap, and/or very depressed. It is not always like this after I feed, only when the ones like the girl tonight. The ones who are happy to see me, they make me this way. It is nice to know someone in this world has something to live for when they fight back. Then it is even more depressing when I realize I am taking them away from it, their rare, happy world.
I try to keep a straight face as I climb the stairs, it's almost midnight now and everyone's lying around like slobs, graceful, angelic, gorgeous slobs. Asher looks up from reading what I had recently written in my black book and smiles. I raise an eyebrow.
"It's good, I was starting to get worried when I checked the dates on these things and realized you hadn't written something in two days. You know I really think this right here is going all the way to the top!" While I might be sitting next to him, it does not mean I have to listen, so I tune him out for a second. He is like a brother to me and I love him, I really do, but he always gets like this about my lyrics and poems. He would probably be crying if he wasn't undead, he gets so worked up about these things.
When the tone of his voice changes I can tell he is talking about something besides my "brilliant mind" I look up and listen again. "That works out because I wrote something new today too, while you were out." He goes back into the back room to get it and Aubrey takes his place on the small couch.
"So when is the next gas station?" I ask I can already envision the tortures of boredom I will have to endure on the way.
"The Olympic Peninsula," He says it full of wonderful and mysterious sarcasm, "The rainiest city in America, Forks."
..:Disclaimer::.. I do not Twilight, or its characters, but Seth, Aubrey, Asher and Riley are my own.