Title: Wretched Happiness
Summary: In the cold, twisted recesses of a lonely mind, sometimes love and obsession become something …else.
Warning: This story contains graphic elements that may be extremely upsetting to some readers. If you have specific triggers, I encourage you to skip this one.
This is an entry for the Disturbed on Halloween contest: fanfiction (dot) net/u/2524904/Disturbed_on_Halloween
Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight series, or any of the characters created by Stephenie Meyer. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
I plunged into her, hard and hungry, as desperate for her warmth now as the first time our bodies joined, days ago. I'd longed for this, to claim her, to savor her on my tongue, to unleash the fullness of my lust upon her, to inhale the heady fragrance of life that clouded my every thought. It was better than any imagining, even through the lens of restraint I had to maintain, mindful of her human frailty. I felt the surge of ecstasy building within me, the familiar creeping tension, low in my groin and ascending my spine. It bubbled urgently, demanding the thrust of my hips into her pliant sex. The flash fire of my orgasm left me buzzing, but all too briefly. I looked down at her, pale and spent, and brushed a lock of hair back from her brow.
With a kiss and words of affection, my desire was renewed once more. I could not fathom ever being truly sated. I took her again, spurred on by the sensation of my earlier release coating our bodies, and the wet sounds of flesh meeting flesh.
The moment I first saw her, I was struck dumb with desire. Whether it was the silence of her mind, or her shy, unassuming nature, I was transfixed. I watched her in secret as those around us went about their mundane existences, pretending the world was theirs when in fact it belonged to me and my kind; immortals, supreme predators. I saw them try to win her attention, and laughed at their efforts, at the futility of turning her – a goddess – into something as insignificant as themselves.
She remained aloof, and tried not to be seen looking my way, but it was obvious to me. She tried to pretend that everything about me didn't draw her in, but I caught her furtive glances, her coy smiles. She was protecting her tender heart from the rebuff she expected I would deliver. No doubt, she saw herself unworthy. She couldn't have been more wrong. Other women paraded their wares, hoisted, bared and flaunted them. She would tug at the hem of a knee-length skirt, fiddle with the neckline of a demure blouse, tuck an errant wisp of hair behind her ear, all with eyes downcast. Insecurity was just another of her naïve charms. She was entirely ignorant of her own devastating allure, and that I was at her mercy.
Days and weeks passed, and I was ever in the shadows, on the fringes, unobtrusive, watchful, waiting for a sign that my time had come. I was certain of the eventuality of our union, and longed to shower her with gifts and praise her transcendent beauty, but she wasn't ready.
So, I waited.
Other men - boys, really - spun weak webs of entanglement around her, but she refused to be snared. I had to suffer through her petty dalliances, but deep within me I hoped that she recognized they were inferior, that they would pale in comparison to the man that awaited her, when she finally accepted our destiny together. I loathed them for their nearness to her, for the privilege of touching her, caressing her flawless skin, kissing her trembling lips. In my weakest moments, I plotted their deaths, slow and painful. I imagined their pleading screams in my mind, tasted their blood on my lips as their eyes grew cold and empty. I never dared to act on these fantasies, for fear of drawing unwanted attention. Our only law was deeply ingrained – my true nature must remain hidden.
I studied the little cycles of her life as they unfurled with the passage of time. There were mornings with coffee, and hot showers. There were lessons to be planned, books to be read, papers and exams to grade. She prepared meals, enjoyed films, cleaned, worked in her meager garden, and occasionally entertained friends. Before bed, she would putter about her modest home, switching off lights, checking windows and locking doors, sometimes for the second and third time since coming home.
Little did she know, I guarded her more securely than any bit of steel, wood or glass.
She would climb the stairs to her bedroom, dress in a well-loved shirt and descend into slumber beneath piles of down and flannel. Some evenings, she chose instead to bathe; long, languorous steamy soaks, indulgent with wine and candles, and sometimes with self-pleasure. I could hear all from my perch in the tree outside her window, but I preferred to listen from the dark recesses of her home, forgotten spaces adjacent to her room where I could admire her at my leisure. I would hear her as she fondled her pert breasts, and explored the secrets of her slippery sex, whispering aloud the filthy things her imaginary lover would say to her, emitting breathy moans as her lonely orgasm flickered and waned. I longed to reveal myself to her, and fulfill her desires with my own hands, tongue and loins, and drive from her the need for fantasy. Countless nights found me spilling onto my own hand, smelling her arousal on the air, hearing the hum and glide of an artificial phallus bringing her the pleasure that should have been mine to provide. I dared once to creep beside her bed where the implement had been discarded, and tasted her succulent juices there. I cherished traces of her ripe flavor on my tongue for days afterward.
Weeks became months, and my world completely revolved around hers. I knew the time she awoke, when she left to go to work, where she shopped, how she cooked. I knew that late nights with wine begat late mornings with extra coffee, and that a trip to the bookstore frequently yielded bags under her eyes the next day. I knew her mother's ringtone, and I knew the sound of her truck as she sped from the driveway, seeking solace in a drive along the coast. I knew her fears and desires, her cravings and peeves, I knew the flavor of her moon blood, and the scent of her lust. From her favorite dish at the local Chinese restaurant, to the last hundred movies she'd rented and how long she'd kept her favorites, to her preferred brand of cosmetic. Nothing escaped me, and when she chose to see me, when she was ready, I was prepared to cater to her every need.
She would want for nothing, under my care. I would be her everything, just as it was meant to be. All I had to do was bide my time.
The holidays were approaching and she'd grown melancholy, as do many who live alone. On All Hallows' Eve, I saw her stumble on her doorstep, overburdened with packages and a large pumpkin, frustrated to near tears. My resolve crumbled. The weather had turned damp and brisk, and a rime of frost coated the walk. She dropped a bag of groceries, loose oranges cascading down the front steps, and I couldn't bear to see her so unhappy.
I scooped up the wayward fruit and steadied her elbow when her step faltered once more.
"Isabella, let me help you," I said, using my most soothing tone. Surely she would hear my sincerity, even though we'd never before exchanged words?
A little squeak passed her lips, and I felt terrible for startling her. "I'm so sorry – I saw you fumbling, and thought I'd help. Here, your hands are shaking!" I took her keys and opened the lock, then held the door wide. I stepped in with her, locking the door securely behind us. I perhaps tipped my hand by taking the groceries straight to the kitchen, when I should not have known the way, but her wide-eyed, speechless smile told me my help was welcome. I set about putting things where they belonged, noticing that she'd forgotten several spices from her list. "You've forgotten the cumin, again, and paprika. I should go with you next time, to help you remember."
I put the kettle on for tea, arranging her favorite cup and saucer just as she always did, and noticed her standing stock-still against the door frame, shivering, clutching at the lapel of her overcoat, looking somewhat frantically at the front door.
"It's alright , my dear. I locked it up, safe and sound. You're safe, here with me."
She barely nodded, but continued to tremble.
"Are you chilled? Of course you are. Here, sit with this and I'll make you a nice soup to warm your bones." I handed her the tea, fragrant with bergamot, and wrapped her legs in the blanket she kept nearby. I made myself at home, glad to finally be of use, thrilled to finally show her how easily I fit in her life and her home. I served her at the small table in her cheerful kitchen, so that we could visit.
I noticed several bags of candy, and a cauldron-shaped bowl, and smiled. "Is this for the children? For Halloween? Of course. Would you like me to carve your jack-o-lantern?"
She didn't speak, but her eyes widened happily when I produced a narrow filet blade with which to carve the pumpkin. I decided on a cruel grimace – children loved to be frightened this time of year. I opened the top, preserving the stem, and proceeded to remove all the strings and seeds. "Oh, you should feel this! Cold and slimy. It feels like… dead innards!" I laughed, wishing she'd join me. It felt so good to be in her home, open and free, sharing her life.
I carved out the sinister face, complete with devious eyes and a toothy snarl, and admired my handiwork. She pushed her bowl aside, the soup cold and hardly touched. "Isabella, you hardly ate a bite."
"Mmmm…mm… maybe y… y… you should gggggo. I'm nnot f… f… feeling well."
"Nonsense. You need a warm bath and a good night's sleep, and I'm just the person to see that you get it."
"Y… you shouldnnn't – my mmmother will b… b… be here any…"
"Oh Isabella, your mother is in Florida. Have you forgotten? You must have quite a fever. She hasn't lived here in years. Come, now, let's get you into your tub."
She stumbled as she stood, bumping the table and overturning her cup. Just then, the doorbell rang. "Trick or treat!" Several young voices chimed. She hurried to the door as if to welcome them, but I held out my hand to her. "I'm more worried about you, than a handful of children right now. You go on up, and I'll set out the candy. They can help themselves."
Her eyes darted back and forth, from me to the door, and I could see she was anxious. I knew she adored Halloween, seeing all the school children dressed as little goblins and superheroes. She trundled reluctantly up the stairs, watching over her shoulder while I did as I promised.
I ran her bath, hot enough to make her skin pink, just the way she liked. While she soaked, I made up her bedroom with fresh linens, candles and soft music. I laid out a pretty negligee I'd sent to her anonymously, but had never seen her wear. The color would look lovely against her skin. It was so quaint of her to continue wearing the threadbare high school tee shirt of some native boy she'd briefly dated, but after tonight I'm sure that would be a thing of the past.
She emerged from the bath, shy and dewy fresh, with a bright blush upon her cheeks. She could barely look at me, but the scent of adrenalin was heavy in the air. I slipped the negligee over her head and bid her lay down, then stripped to match her level of undress. I spoke to her of her incomparable beauty, of the years I'd waited to tell her so, to touch and hold her, to make her my own and confess my endless love and devotion. Her breath was erratic and shallow, driven no doubt by arousal at my words. I was emboldened to tell her… everything.
"Your blood, Isabella, it sings to me." Her eyes darted to mine in confusion. "I'm not… human, my love."
She gasped, and scooted away. The distance she placed between us fractured what remained of my once-human heart. "No, my only love. Don't be afraid. No matter what I am, or am not, none of that matters as long as I have you. All I want, all I've ever wanted is to find you again, to love you, protect you and keep you safe. Let me love you, Isabella. Let me love you…"
Kissing her, feeling her lips on mine, was the sweetest nirvana, the holiest moment of my too-long existence. I was powerless in her arms, broken and made whole, damned and redeemed, all with the touch of her lips to mine. Our bodies tangled, fierce hands and urgent movements, and I was unprepared for the ferocity of her need. She clamored for more, writhing, crying out, and in a moment of terrible weakness…
…I tore her flesh asunder. My teeth sank deeply into the throat of my beloved, and I drank. And I drank. And I drank.
In the throes of passion, she collapsed in my arms, barely breathing, tears upon her cheeks. I feared for a moment that I had taken too much, that my thirst had gotten the better of me, but I knew fate could not be so cruel. I listened as my venom claimed her, and made love to her again.
I reveled in the sweet yielding of her flesh, the sounds of her body parting and accepting me, the sight of my manhood claiming her. I was mesmerized by the sight of her quivering beneath me, hair flung haphazard across the pillow, her luscious breasts bouncing in time with the snap of my hips. Her delicate hands were clenched, somewhere between agony and bliss, and her lashes lay delicately across her cheek, damp with precious tears. A part of me cursed myself for doing this, for hurting her with my love, for succumbing to my base instincts as man and as beast. A greater part of me knew it was fated to be.
All Saint's Day dawned, bright and clear, and I lay at her side. Her body had grown cold and still, but I knew the venom was working, changing her, ending her fragile human life and granting her the miracle of immortality. All my dreams had come true, every wish, every hesitant hope. I would have my heart's desire, my beloved, my La Tua Cantante, forever beyond time.
The second day dawned and her body looked ever more fragile, although I knew she was becoming as indestructible as me. Her pale coloring, icy white in the morning light, was glorious. I could barely stand the wait until she awoke.
The third day dawned, and my anticipation overflowed. I gathered her in my arms and bathed her again, wanting her to be clean and refreshed as soon as she awoke. I dressed her in silk and lace, hoping she would approve of my choices. I knew her newborn thirst would be great, but I hoped she still felt passion for me, as well. I looked forward to joining together again, as immortal lovers.
When the third day waned, and the sun set, I began to worry. I knew I had counted the hours, and tried to comfort myself that the interval was an average. Some newborns turned in barely two days, some took four. There were a variety of factors – body mass and such – that had an impact. She was a healthy sized girl, perhaps just a few more hours…
The fourth day found me frantic.
The fifth, out of my mind…
On the eighth, I called Carlisle.
On the ninth, he finally dragged me away. We watched from the trees when the police cruiser arrived and when, hours later, they carted her out on a stretcher, draped in white.
I caught a glimpse of her glossy brown hair, and the faintest hint of her intoxicating scent, nearly obscured by the cloying stench of decay. My beloved Isabella…
How I would miss her.
"Whom shall I call on? Who will share with me
The wretched happiness of staying alive?"
I owe an enormous thank you to MiztrezBoo for her kind and thorough assistance. The best betas and pre-readers are the ones that aren't afraid to call out what doesn't work, hold your hand while you fix it, and make you feel wonderful when you finally get it right. *poses for the squirrelcam* xox
Please visit the c2 for the Disturbed on Halloween contest and check out the other entries www (dot) fanfiction (dot) net/u/2524904/Disturbed_on_Halloween
Thank you for reading!