Page 55 of Thirst

“You're sure?” he asks. “There’s no going back. Your world will be gone forever, and a new one will be born. There will be no more sun. You'll be here forever.”

“Where?”

“Here. With me. In the pale moonlight. We will become one with the night.”

“There’s nowhere else I'd rather be. Do it. Please.”

Amari nods, then my breath catches in my throat as his eyes turn completely red. Girthy veins emerge in his neck and face, and his mouth drops open in a snarl. He shows me his gold grill, and I watch as the canine teeth of the grill slowly extend into sharp fangs. They're terrifying, and yet I'm unafraid.

I crane my head back as far as I can, and I don't flinch when Amari’s hand tightens around the back of my neck. I give in to him.

“Take me away,” I plead, and it’s the last thing I say before I feel the sharp, agonizing pierce.

I jolt awake, literally sitting up in bed like the Undertaker popping back up. My room is completely silent and dark, but the sound of my heartbeat is as loud as cannon fire behind my ear. I breathe heavily like I've been running in place, and my bedsheets are soaked in sweat. Yet, I can't tell if I'm waking from terror or thrill. The dream was a nightmare, but I don't feel afraid. I don't know what this feeling is, but I know I can't stay in bed.

I toss the sheets aside and plant my feet on the floor. My mind hasn't been the same since the scene played out at Fantasies. I watched the man I've been seeing—the man I recently slept with—turn into something else entirely. It was like he lost control and showed his true colors, his rage brought on by seeing me be disrespected. I saw his strength. I saw the veins. I saw his eyes … and … he froze time. I can admit that I'm confused about all of it, but I know what I saw. Amari froze time, leaving only he and I with the ability to move freely, and he spoke to me in the stillness. He told me he’d wait for me. Wait for me to do what? Accept this craziness as the truth? I don't know what he’d be waiting for, but I feel like I'm losing my mind.

I've been on this same merry-go-round of emotions and unanswered questions since I saw it happen right in front of me. It’s like I know what I saw, and when combined with everything else, I know what the only conclusion is. But I can't accept it because we don't live in a fantasy world. I know Epstein and his people were on that island eating babies and drinking their blood, but those were people—contrary to what they may believe about themselves. That was horrible people doing horrible people things.

Vampires don't exist.

My emotions swirl into a typhoon inside my mind, and with my adrenaline still maxed out from the dream, I can't sit still. Once again, I need an outlet to release all of this insanity I'm feeling. So I jump out of bed and run into my living room. I turn on all the lights and snatch up a new canvas, setting it on the easel and immediately reaching for the paint again. Without thinking about it, I pop open the brown, dip in a brush, and let my arms and hands work all on their own.

The best art comes from the moments when I don't even have to think. I simply open myself up and let whatever I'm feeling come flowing out of me like water, refusing to give into inhibitions, worries, distractions, or fears. I give no regard to what the final outcome will be, or who it’ll offend. I just go, letting my heart be consumed by the art until it’s finished with me. My brush dips into a few colors—gold, white, brown, black, red—and I let the chips fall where they may.

Then, out of nowhere, I know it’s over. I drop the brush onto the tarp and sit down on the couch, out of breath like I've been released from possession. I feel better. My emotions and energy have been put to good use and I'm exhausted like finishing a good workout. I breathe hard and let my eyes slowly move up to the canvas, and when I see what I've done, I swallow hard.

I've painted a closeup of Amari’s mouth. His plump lips are parted, showing a mouthful of gold teeth with geometric designs, and the canines are long, pointed fangs.

Thirty-Three

“Damn, girl. Did I wake you up?” Janae asks when I open the door. Apparently, I look like death. I feel like it, too.

“Nah,” I reply, turning around and just leaving the door open for her to walk in. “I barely slept. It was a long night.”

Janae steps into the apartment and closes the door behind her. She looks cute as usual in a black and white outfit curated for work, and an abundance of silver bracelets dangling from her wrists. I, on the other hand, look like hell as I walk into the kitchen wearing last night’s polka dot pajamas with all of my sleepiness still on my face.

I grab the coffee pot and start the process of trying to wake myself up, while Janae wanders into the living room. From here, I can see her gawking at all of the paintings I have lined up against the wall side by side. She squats down, looking at the details in each, then gets up and turns to the one still on the easel. When she sees it, she gasps and clutches invisible pearls.

“Aaliyah,” she says in a panicked voice. “You did all of these?”

I stand next to my coffee maker, breathing in the smell of the pot filling. “Of course.”

She doesn't even look at me. Her eyes are glued to the image of Amari’s open mouth and the gold fangs on display. Even from the kitchen in the morning sunlight, he looks both menacing and enticing. Janae can't seem to tear her eyes away from him, and all she can see is his mouth.

“This is unbelievable,” she says with conviction. “I guess you found the motivation to start painting again. This is your best work yet.”

“It’s him,” I admit. She finally turns to look at me and we stare at each other for a moment. “I can't explain it. Ever since Amari and I started going a little deeper, I've had this new desire to paint again. I woke up last night and painted the one on the easel after I dreamt about him. In the dream, he had fangs just like that—gold and sparkling in the moonlight. I couldn't get it out of my head, so I stayed up and painted it.”

Nae’s head turns back to the painting. “It’s the best thing I've ever seen you do. The detail is crazy. It’s both sexy and haunting at the same time. You dreamt of him as a vampire? Why, because of the whole drinking blood thing?”

Her question brings me to a crossroad. I could go right, and tell her I believe Amari is a real life vampire and scare the hell out of her. Or, I could go left and play the entire thing off. She was already worried for me before I went to his penthouse, and while she has been supportive after each time I've seen him, I know she thinks the blood play is outrageous. She's ready to hurt him if he does anything out of pocket.

So do I risk setting her off? If I tell her I think he's a vampire, she’ll tell me to never speak to him again. That’s probably what I should do. But I haven't decided what I'm going to do just yet, and I don't really want to be influenced to make a decision either way. This is the adventure I asked for, and I'm just not sure how to navigate it yet.

I need time.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I reply, grabbing my cup and filling it with hot coffee. I use the act to make myself look less stressed than I actually am. “It was just a dream, but it felt real, and the imagery stuck with me.”