Here's another original fic, freshly betaed by lovely Aecyko.

Author:Sari_Malfoy
Rating:hmmm...not sure but it's somewhat decent
Genre: magical realism/psychology/scifi-fantasy??
Summary: "My best friend is a bloodsucker."

Leave a comment will ya? Just to say hi??





Bloodsuckers


My best friend is a bloodsucker. A fiend. I didn’t think it would harm our friendship, but it did.

I didn’t care about the girls and boys she had drunk from, or the people she had killed. She kept that away from me. She never fed too close to her home or mine. I found it so endearing when she told me she’d love to bite me if she could. We made do with what we had available to us. We only saw each other shortly before daybreak. That was the time she was most full of blood,content ,and didn’t feel as tempted to make me into one of them. Or, she didn’t feel as tempted to suck me dry.

It had been like that for a while. We had known each other for a year, and she had been out of the bloodsuckery closet for the most of it. We were like honeymooners, in love with ourselves when we were together. She told me she loved being the strong one, the dangerous one, the merciful one. She always granted me one more day without her biting me. I was her happy sacrificial lamb, in love with the thought of eternity in her eyes and my own blood coursing through her veins. I didn’t want to be a bloodsucker! I wanted to be its willing victim. I wanted her to use me as only she could, only to find out she couldn’t use me because I wanted to be used. Or something. It was complicated for the two of us, suffice to say.

First time she bit me was a shock. No warning, no hint. As she bit down on my neck, my mouth filled with my own blood. It felt very thick and warm and the semi-familiar taste of it was both sickening and fascinating because I knew if I was able to taste it, I would not make it out of this alive.


“Don’t worry, my pretty girl. I won’t kill you. I just had to taste you finally.

“How was I?” I asked as soon as I was able to draw a breath and speak.

“More than I could’ve imagined. I tasted your love in you. That’s so much better than all those strangers giving me their last moments of life. I mean, that’s powerful stuff, last moment! But it was nothing next to you.”


I glowed in the radiance of her high praises.

The second time was like a long awaited return to home. That time she almost took it too far, nearly killing me. I don’t know if I tried to protest, I was too caught up in the moment to understand any of it, really. I guess she noticed she was going too far and stopped. She rushed me to the hospital. I don’t know how she explained my state, or if she explained anything at all. It was close to sunrise, and she had to hurry home before her own demise.

She didn’t bite me for a long time after that. We talked and talked about it. I told her I wanted her to do it, that I didn’t care how far she took it. I wanted to lose my blood, and I wanted her to take it in. She resisted. Instead, she offered the same to me, to have some of hers.

The thought had never crossed my mind. I wasn’t interested in bloodsucking unless I was being sucked, but when she looked me in the eyes, hers filled with tears, asking me why I didn’t want her, I knew I had to. After thinking about it hard, I came to a conclusion it would be easier to drink if it wasn’t still warm, but then I realized it would coagulate too soon. Blood I could drink, but coagulated blood…no thank you. I had to drink straight from her. In hindsight, I think that’s when things started to change.

Some say blood is power. They’re wrong. Blood is pain. Or pleasure. Pain for the one you drink from and pleasure to you, or vice versa, but rarely the same for the both involved.

Her blood broke something inside me.


In the meantime it was getting harder and harder to explain things to my husband of three years. A mosquito bit me. I think it's just a little bit infected, I'll go have it looked at tomorrow, I promise. M is going through a hard time, I have to go stay with her for a couple of nights. I have to go stay with my sister, she just left J. Oh that bruise? J swung at her and missed, and he hit me instead. It's really nothing, dear. Doctor said I'm a bit anemic, no worries. She suggested I take some iron pills. Could you be a dear and get those for me on the way home? I have to do something tonight. With H. We're going to see a film. I don't know which one yet.

Poor excuses on and on. I don't know how he believed me. Maybe it is because we all believe what we want to. It depends on our own personal inclination, whether we want to believe the good or the bad. He wanted to believe nothing was wrong, so he did.

One day around midday, a little after having my first taste of blood (except for my own), I went for a walk and ended up wandering to her single-room apartment. I had a key that I had had made with me. I didn't take it with me intentionally, but I guess my subconscious was playing tricks on me.

I lingered with every step, soaking myself in the feel of her unique world, the one she had created for herself and for me. As usual, she was sleeping heavily and soundlessly, almost like a fresh corpse. A bottle of pills was neatly placed on the bed side table.

The walls were filled with pictures. Pictures of everything, of horror creatures, oriental bodies wrapped tightly together, animals in cages, animals running freely, movie posters, cartoon figures...she was intrigued by so many things. Her small bookshelf was filled to the brim with books she had bought and books she had stolen. Occult books, poems, geography books, pictures of old Renaissance paintings, sex guides, crime stories, biographies, Evergreen girls' books, you name it. She read it all. She had the worst case of a thirst for knowledge that I had ever seen on a single being. She wanted to know everything, read everything, taste everything, mold the world to be ready and waiting for her.

I took the scissors from her kitchen drawer (I knew where they would be) and started to cut off her dark brown hair. Soon it looked more than a bit like my own, done once in every three weeks in an expensive salon. I made a mental note to ask myself later what was I paying him for.

After cutting her hair I started stripping her clothes and replaced them with my own. We weren't a match made in heaven when it came to dress size, but I was just barely able to squeeze her into my jeans and T-shirt. They were more than a bit loose for me, but they fit her like a glove. I put on her pyjamas with the pictures of penguins on light blue icebergs and went to sleep on her couch under a Burberry blanket. I slept like I was on pills.

It was already getting dark when I woke up. I got up from the couch and took a good book from the shelf, The Art of making Noise, and walked to my bed. It was as empty as I had left it. I felt a bit tired and groggy still, but I knew that a good book would be the best beginning for facing the night and getting something to eat. The thought that gave me most happiness was that I would be meeting my best friend later tonight, if she was able to make up another wild story for her husband