Untitled

I stepped out of my bedroom and held the door to let Micah and Asher pass me. "Next," I yelled into the darkness of my house. No one came and my nose was met with the acrid stink of vampires in heat. I blinked into the darkness and saw the soft outline of my sofa. The browning was in my hand before I had a chance to notice the movement that was going on even through the shadows of night time. I was suddenly aware of soft kissing noises and moans and then I realized someone was having sex on my sofa. Before I could stop myself I thought of Richard. My eyes began to burn with the memory of his fluffy silken mullet spilling around his beefy shoulders.
"Richard. . . who ever you are, stop having sex on my couch," my voice sounded calm and even. Bully for me. What was Richard doing in my house with some girl? He hadn't been here when I went into the bedroom to have an orgy with Asher and Micah, oh god I'm so ashamed. "Stop or I'll shoot," I said. My arm was getting stiff from aiming. There's only so long a time you can aim a gun before your arm gets shaky and I wasn't stupid. Or was I? I didn't know, but right now there were more important things to deal with. I glanced around the room to get a sense of where the others were. I found them to the left and just a ways behind me. Asher had his arms wrapped around Micah's slim waist and they were making out wildly. I had a memory of Asher's beauty that wasn't mine. Asher before he was a physical and emotional bloody mess. I was suddenly sad and it was Jean-Claude's sadness, the regret that he was no longer making out with Asher and that he hadn't been for quite a while. I heard a ragged sob behind me on the couch. I still loved Richard and I knew he could never really accept himself. I wanted to reach out to him. To comfort him, but it could never work. I had to try. I opened the mark between us and felt Richard's heat. It was as if the walls between us had fallen down and weren't up anymore. I saw Richard, his frothy hair and tanned skin. He was in what looked like a small wooden room. My god no! Was Richard in jail again? Then I saw it all clearly for a moment before I was thrust out once again. Richard had seen me and been pissed off because he was always telling me not to invade his mind through the marks. But for one moment I had seen and I knew where he was. He was jacking off in an armoir, somewhere in California.
My attention was pulled back to the couch and the figures entwined in the dark. If it wasn't Richard who could it be? Who else would be crying like a baby for no reason while he was getting it on. Then I remembered who was here, in my house.
"Micah, is that you?" I asked, nodding in disbelief.
"I'm right here Anita," Micah said from behind me.
"Oh, yeah," I responded, "Micah, stay back, who knows who this could be." I stepped forward to pull back the covers, and turn on a light. Just then Nathaniel came down the hall.
"Nathaniel, I don't think of you that way, honest," I said sadly. It would be like rape, I just couldn't do it. He turned on the hall light.
"Anita," Nathaniel said, tearing, "why won't you spank me?" He started wailing.
"I already told you, Nathaniel," I said, "now drop it."
A head poked out from the covers on the couch. He had midnight blue eyes and black curls cascading like a dark waterfall against his pale pale skin.
"Richard?" I said his name as a question.
"No, no Ma Petite, it is I, Jean-Claude," said the man pulling the covers back more. Beside him in the rumple of blanket was Cherry. She was naked, and comfortable as she always seemed to be. I suddenly was very aware of how naked I was, I wanted to pull away their cover and use it to cover myself. To hell with it. I grabbed the blanket and pulled it to myself. As it came away Jean-Claude and Cherry's lower bodies were exposed. I could see a man licking along Jean-Claude's waist, he had short green spiked hair and was tall and slim.
"Richard?" I said his name as a question again.
The man looked up at me, pulling slightly away from Jean-Claude's body.
"It's me, Anita," he said, his voice held confused tones, "It's Zane."
I found myself ignoring him and was suddenly enthralled with Jean-Claude's swirling blue eyes.
"How could you, Jean-Claude?" I was suddenly very angry and that warmth of anger chased away the pain, which was cold. Jean-Claude was such a bastard.
"I am truly sorry Ma Petite, wait, no, no I'm not sorry. You are a stubborn bitch-mule, I'm sick of you treating me like merde and then running off with our dorky little nimir-raj. Screw you Anita, go soup over Richard, I don't care! You deserve him!"
I started to cry but stopped myself, I wouldn't let him see me cry. Just then Edward jumped through the front door and shot me in the boob.
"That's for letting me let it get so far with Donna!" he screamed, "some friend you are."
It was finally time for us to see who was better. Edward had started it and now we were going to draw down on each other. I went to aim but found that I had been pointing my gun so long that my right arm was swinging around with no regard for what I wanted and how I was trying to control it. I just couldn't stand not having control. I shot several rounds off into the wall and heard the strangled scream of Dolph from just beyond my front picture window.
"Father!" someone was yelling, and it was me.
Suddenly black streamers were streaming in front of my eyes. It was like there was darkness and it was black and it filled up my vision and then I could see nothing more than the black streamers. Then there was nothing else and it was all gone. Which led me to believe that I might have passed out, but then I was on a bed wrapped in crimson sheets and I knew I was awake.
I tried to figure out where I was. I looked around the room at the black carpet and white-gold walls, elegant dark wood furniture and oriental inspired art. I was in the middle of a huge four poster bed with black and red pillows strewn at the head of it. Jean-Claude lay next to me with one arm flung off into space. He muttered something in his sleep and I knew he was really and truly dead to the world.
There was a painting on the far wall. A portrait of a man I didn't recognize. He had these beautiful midnight blue eyes and long black curls of hair. From what I could see of his head and shoulders I estimated his height at three feet. I was a good guess when it came to height. If he hadn't been so short I would have sworn the man in the painting was Richard. I didn't remember putting a portrait of Midget Richard in my bedroom. Where could I be?
Then I remembered what I'd learned in my four years of college when I had en aen a degree in preternatural biology which made me infinitely wiser and beyond question of all others: Cotton sheets = my bed. Silk sheets = Jean-Claude's bed.
I felt the sheets. They were like silk against my fingers. It reminded me of Jean-Claude's amazing voice and I was drawn to look at his cold dead body. His long auburn hair was in a braid that curled like a snake around his body. He was naked excfor for a pair of lavender shorts and an edge of sheet. That one thought brought me back to myself. I had to check out the sheet and find out where I was before someone came through the door with a gun. The thought made me wonder where my gun was, I felt suddenly more vulnerable then I had when I hadn't thought of being without my gun.
I felt the sheet again and let my necromancy fill me. It was my power. Not Jean-Claude's, not Richard's, not Micah's, not Jason's, not Belle Morte's, not Nathaniel's, let's see who else did I know who's power this wasn't? Ok, think of any person, anyone in the world. Whoever you're thinking of--unless it's me--is not the person who's power it was. Anybody, besides me, it was not their power. It was my power. Mine.
The power whispered through me like a cool hand, but not a cool hand, though it was almost sort of like one. The sheet was too smooth to be cotton, but I wt sut sure if it was silk yet because Asher might be playing vampire tricks on my mind to make it feel like silk when actually it was not silk, but something else.
I was yanked from thinking at the sheet by a force of power almost like a huge hand, but as before not quite an actual hand. I could feel anger and self-hatred storming down the hall towards me, coming for me. What did it want with me?
"What do you want with me?" I yelled from the bed.
It got closer and closer until it was right outside the door and then it continued by and burned further down the hall. Ok, maybe it wasn't coming for me. Then something started towards me again, hitting me like a big werewolf man with large shoulders and tanned-all over skin. This time I wasn't as startled and when the anger and self loathing poured under the door I was already in my new lingerie.
When the door burst open I was once again startled and I found myself relearning how to breathe. I was really going to have to get some flashcards and study them in my spare time.
Richard stood in the doorway his breath heaving with anger and his eyes wild. First all I could see--besides his heaving breath and wild eyes--was his hair. It had been shorn off. He held the remains of his glorious mullet in his left fist and in his right was a pair of scissors. Then I saw blo blood stain on the front of his pants. I felt my eyes go wide and gave my self one more lesson in breathing before I found my voice enough to say, "Richard . . . What have you done?"
He swaggered, eyes blinking at nothing.
"I . . . gant . . . do thish, Niters," he blathered and collapsed in a heap on the floor. I did the only thing I could think to do. I screamed. Then I thought of something else to do. I picked up my cell phone to call Richard. He would know what to do. But wait, what was I forgetting?