By Quon and Tom
6.
It was the tofu burger that did it. Daniel had taken Paul to an organic
restaurant to discuss strategies and career trajectories. Paul wanted to listen, he
really did, but his mouth was packed full of curds, sodden and vaguely viscous,
tasting so profoundly of an absolute self-satisfied absence of flavor. Daniel was
talking; chewing and talking. Like everyone else here, he no doubt regarded meat as
murder. With a sinuous connection, Paul’s brain leapt to Carlos, a carnivore like no
other.
Carlos was a vampire, a murderer. Still, had Paul been too harsh, too quick to
judge? He would kill for a steak right now, an inch-thick slice of beef kept pink and
juicy in the centre. What must it be like for Carlos, to have to feed on blood to stay
alive? Paul’s fork drew lazy patterns through a sea of clipped, crimped salad. He
nodded at random moments in a masquerade of interest. He thought of his mouth
filled with the rich salty metallic taste of blood.
Poor Carlos, alone in the city, alone in the world. With friendship comes
loyalty and duty. Whatever he had done, was it out of choice or necessity? He must
be scared, he must be isolated. Even his best friend had condemned him as a
murderer. Paul finished his meal and decided to go and see Carlos.
The knock on Carlos’s door startled the lanky bassist from his sweaty
nightmare-fantasies of blood and sex, and he shoved at the sheets tangled around
him. The sun was setting; Carlos was a creature of the night, a sunlight-hating semi-
ghost, and he pulled on a black dressing gown as he stalked toward the door.
“Paul? What are you—”
But he stopped at the look on Paul’s face: an adoring sort of nervousness, a
sort of stupid-tinged bravery. Paul was afraid. Afraid of him.
“Hi,” he turned himself around midsentence. “Come on in. I was about to
put some coffee on.”
“Er, thank you.” Paul stepped hesitantly into the house, apprehensive, his
face pale. Carlos reminded him that this was not only his best friend, but also the
first person to realise that he was a murderer. A killer.
A vampire.
Carlos set the auto coffee maker to brew. Paul was determinedly looking
elsewhere, anywhere but Carlos, until the bassist finally sat down and requested that
Paul do the same. He took the chair opposite Carlos and watched him intently.
“Paul, I know what you’re thinking,” Carlos exhaled after a long, awkward
pause. “But you have to understand me.”
“I…I don’t know if I want to.” Paul looked slightly startled, but there was
courage in his eyes.
“I don’t know why. But I’m trying not to kill anyone. I don’t like this any
more than anyone else, Paul.”
“So why don’t you say that to Christian, huh? He’s dead, right?” Paul’s
voice became angry suddenly, with an edge like an ice pick. He jumped to his feet,
radiating fury.
“Paul, listen. Will’s in the bedroom right now and—”
“And he’s dead too, isn’t he?”
“No. Just sleeping.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Paul, please…” Carlos stood up, and Paul recoiled. “Don’t do this to me
right now. Please.”
“Carlos, I don’t want you to be a murderer.” Paul whispered, his eyes filling
with tears. Carlos put his arms out, and Paul came to him, letting Carlos enfold him
in a tight, desperate hug. He could feel Paul’s fingers clutching into the robe,
clinging to him.
Paul turned his face upward, his eyes seeking out answers in Carlos’s tired
eyes, jaded weary eyes that were far too old for the man. Tears traced their way
down his cheeks and he swallowed dryly as Carlos bent his head, tilted his face, lips
meeting for the first time. Paul let one timid tongue enter, one timid tongue part his
lips for a fleeting moment, before moving downward.
“Carlos…” Paul whispered huskily as Carlos’s lips found his ear, his jaw,
down to his throat where the pulse point jumped visibly in his neck. He’d never
imagined to be like this, here in the kitchen up against the wall with Carlos’s lips
against him…never imagined being kissed like this.
Paul’s breath came in sharply as something clicked into place.
He pushed away suddenly, as the bassist’s mouth passed over dip between
his collarbones; his heart was beating very fast. Dimly Paul realised that he was
terrified, and Carlos was looking at him, his eyes injured and confused. He backed
away.
“Okay, Paul. Just…just go. If you can’t trust me…”
Carlos’s heart sank, sank through his chest and down into the floor as Paul
strode decisively away. He shut his eyes and leant his head against the kitchen wall,
listening for the slam of the apartment door and the skittering of feet running down
the stairs.