A/N: Semester finals are over, and I'm celebrating. Happy Denali Night, y'all. This little succubus one-shot has been inspired by "Government Hooker" by Lady Gaga and "Cannibal" by Ke$ha.
Drinking My Tears
"Tanya, what's wrong?"
You're cute when you're nervous. You'll be cute when you're dead, too.
It's even cuter how you care, or how you at least try to.
I can't help what I am. I don't want to stop being what I am now. It's all about power and control… and paying my dues to Sasha. She made me into this beautiful monster. Why shouldn't I embrace it?
This isn't new to me. Nothing is. Nearly every night I do this; it's all a game, and you're an idiot for thinking that you were someone new or special in my life. Human men like you are all the same. The process never changes every time I do this. I go to a nightclub, I find a silly human man like you, the seduction is easy, and the man ends up dead. The hunt never alters. Sometimes I try not to kill the men. Do you know how often I don't? Not very.
I try not to feel any remorse, because this is what I'm created to do, but I can't help but sometimes feel sorrow for the men I kill. Sometimes I imagine how life would be for me if I kept them around. It's silly, I know. Imagining a relationship with a human. It's not even worth it.
Your anxious question sticks with me, though. What is wrong with me tonight? I'm supposed to be good at this. Kate, Irina, and I started a revolution of this. At least, it will be.
I don't want to be sad. You touch me carefully and cautiously, wincing at the coldness of my skin, and I can't bring myself to the level of cockiness and triumph that I'm usually at. Sometimes I even laugh when I finish the act. I don't start drinking my tears until the job is done and I sit alone, waiting for my sisters to be finished. I feel like the halfway point between them; Kate doesn't feel any remorse—ever—and Irina sometimes feels so terrible about it that she thinks she's putting shame to Sasha. Irina and Sasha always had a bond that I couldn't relate to.
It's bitter how I'm the one who probably feels the worse now.
You guardedly try to make something good out of this, and I praise you for that. I wish I could thank you. I don't even know your name. As of now, you're just Number Ninety-Six. At least you care, Number Ninety-Six. Didn't I warn you, though? Every part of this process was a warning. How I snaked around you at the club. How you asked for my name and I told you in a sensual purr. How I laughed to myself when I took you here.
The little pitter-patter of your heart reminds me that you are, in fact, terrified. However, that's okay to me. It's better to be scared of than to be scared. I never get scared anymore.
In a way, I don't want you to be afraid. You've told me you love me, and I shouldn't take it seriously, but why is that etching itself into my cold heart? It doesn't make sense. When I think of all the men I could have spared, I realize that I might have liked some of them. It's a shame how I can't keep anybody alive. It's an even bigger shame how I could ever imagine myself with a human, of all creatures.
I look down at your face, and I admit it, Number Ninety-Six. You're cute. You're also somewhat innocent. Succumbing to the grace, sexiness, and charm of a femme fatale without even knowing what you've gotten yourself into makes anybody innocent in my eyes. And in my eyes, you are worth sparing. There's a first time for everything.
I try to slowly remove my body from yours, but it's not slow enough.
There's not much you can do with your penis ripped off.
You scream to the heavens, and I can't blame you. Number Ninety-Six, I don't think I'll be able to spare you. I'm sorry for breaking my unspoken promise. There's always next time, though. And I can't just let your blood go to waste. There's a vampire in need here. You would understand.
I mean, if you were alive.