Perfect Blue
Human frailty is something so pure, so perfect in it’s combined state of living and dying all at once. The human body is dying every second of everyday. Anything can easily destroy the human body and the slightest wounds can prove to be fatal.
But for all its frailty, it is the most beautiful thing in the world.
I won’t begin with my boring life story, considering it’s not much to share anyway. I have learned no great secrets in my existence, I have not see the face of God, had long talks with angels or bartered my soul with demons to sit and chat with the Devil. I have lived a long, long time and that’s all there is to know.
My time started in England, the Renaissance in full swing in Italy as the Dark Ages ended and the world moved on from its Greco-Roman values and structure. Art exploded across the scene and artists like Michelangelo and Botticelli gave birth to new forms of art and sculpting, revitalizing a time that was once dark and ignorant of anything beautiful. Though in England, the Renaissance was slow to arrive, when it did, it too bloomed and flourished despite the royal crown weighing down. I fell in love with art though I had no actual talent myself. I just loved it, appreciated it and would not think twice in dropping down a shilling for some unfortunate’s artwork on the streets of London. My family was a wealthy aristocracy in London during the times when hundreds were starving, men were cutthroats and women whored themselves for what is now nothing more then a few cents. They were called "unfortunates" and it was unfortunate that no one would help them, including my own family, the Blakes.
I was known as a patron saint on the streets and those that I sought out constantly for their artwork in pubs and street performances knew that I would not mind giving them every cent I carried or better yet, bought them food and drink myself. It was my very act of selflessness that cost me my mortal life. Among my patroned saints was my childhood friend Basil. Basil had all the riches life could offer and while his father had the banks of London in his grips, Basil grew up bored with a need to do more then marry when he turned eighteen. One of the needy we helped and eventually befriended was an unfortunate named Nicholas. For four years, the three of us grew close, like brothers. Though our parents were highly displeased with us crowding and slumming with unfortunates for the sake of drinking and viewing art. My parents were especially ashamed, my mother being the queen’s lady in waiting and my father a surgeon, also for the queen. It all ended one night as Basil and I accompanied Nicholas to his rented room ran by nothing more then glorified pimps known as the Cambon Brothers. Basil and I soon left walking to our awaiting carriage where we were attacked brutally struck down first then dragged off. When I woke up I was terrified to see that Nicholas was with us, battered so badly I thought he was dead. It soon became clear to me that we had been taken by a giant, cloaked in black with gold spun hair and bleached bone skin. Rome was his name, named after the city state he came from hundreds of years earlier. He was a vampire and wasted no time in bringing us to his side.
He had chosen the three of us because of our bond. Because Basil and I were caring and selfless and rather then waste our lives away in London’s upper crust, we chose to slum with unfortunates like Nicholas. He thought it was a noble trait and admired that in us. Basil and I were scared at first, knowing we had so much to loose but Nicholas was thrilled at the chance for a new life, at things he never thought were possible before. Rome was our mentor, our teacher and guide. He took us out of London and to the center of the Renaissance in Italy where we lived and grew up in his villa for the next dozen or so years. Rome did not enlighten us further the he had to. We did not know if there was anyone else aside from us of our kind, we did not ask of his past, who he was and how old he was. We did not ask anything that did not relate to our present time. We were selfish in that way. But Rome never shared either. Rome left us to delight ourselves in what we wanted, growing up as spoiled vampire brothers. Rome was an art and slave dealer so his home during certain hours were filled with men from the streets and sometimes church and political figures alike looking to buy art, slaves or both. Rome had ties with Botticelli himself who often stopped by to drink and talk. Basil, Nicholas and I often sat on the staircase night after night peering down at a world we had never seen before but wanted so badly to understand. We stayed in Italy for the next hundred years, watching the Renaissance fade and end and watched as time elapsed into something else. When Rome thought we had been educated and guided enough, he sent us out into the world, promising he would watch over us. Basil, Nicholas and I started off together, but eventually, we separated and grew into our own.
I came to New York in the mid 1800’s where a thriving city was starting wars within itself. The Irish were coming by the boatloads and the "Native" Americans were growing angry. Immigration was a big process during that time so in the lower side of New York, which later became known as the Five Points grew and blossomed into the more violent, turbulent area of the city. New York gained its reputation even then. I grew to love the city, despite that even in New York and hundreds of years later, aristocracy still ran rampant. Knowing nothing but that, I adapted and took residence among the rich, still giving out my Christian name Sebastian Blake. Of course, Blake still held some kind of legacy and power, steaming from London and whatnot. For years I remained hidden in the shadows of the Blake name, ducking beneath the vision of my would be great nieces of nephews who I had never known, nor ever will know that also ran with the Blake name. New York is where I stayed and watched it rise and fall over the next hundred years as I did in Italy.
Focused now on the present, I spend nights in Soho wandering through galleries and openings, an invitation always handy for the great Blake name. In a total twist of irony, I pass myself as my great, great nephew of the original Sebastian Blake that arrived in New York during the 1800’s. So I’m my own nephew. It was during this great love of art that was instilled in me hundreds of years ago that I touched upon an emotion that had been denied to me until then. It felt as if I had been born for the moment I met him, that he was the reason I was alive, hundreds of years after my creation, for him alone. His name was Blue, of course not his given name but the name he chooses to go by. I had fallen for my vagabond painter that lived in a run down flat in Soho that he shared with no one else because he needed to paint. He was a painter of course, an artist that sold his work from time to time and was a small-celebrated success. He was frequently invited to the latest social gatherings, his gallery openings were announced and he had something that most artists in New York starve for, the attention of the city itself. Blue didn’t really care for most of it though. He didn’t have any kind of problems being drug, drinking or mental. He reminded me of Basil in that sense where he was just bored with his existence and wanted to do something with himself. That’s where I came in. I attended one of his shows, seeing the young painter himself. He stood at only five feet eight inches, his hair was a black ebony color, streaked and highlighted with hints of blue, which is where his name came from. He was thin, his hips bones often protruding from his dark low riding jeans, hugging the curve and frame of his slender thighs then loosening to fall the rest of the way down his knees, calves, shins and ankles, hiding the beginning of his tan workman boots. His upper body was covered in a sleeveless white fitted shirt, every bit of the fabric taunt across his slender frame, his arms bare from the shoulder to his elbow where from the elbow down to his wrists, he wore black sleeves. His hair length was to his chin most of it falling haphazardly over his almond shaped dark brown eyes. His lips were full and pouty, a lazy tired look etched into his fine features, his skin a pasty complexion as if he never saw the light of day himself.
I loved my mortal painter. I loved how he looked, how he felt, how he thought. His vice was smoking, something he partook of constantly. His fingernails, although fine in shape and texture were often coated and chalked with paint and his workman books could only been seen from the tips onwards because the rest of them were splattered in paint from many years of accidents. Though he could easily afford new ones, he chose to walk around in fitted, comfortable paint splattered boots. He was not entirely convinced that I, a well bred from good stock, overly rich living on Park Avenue Englishman could be interested in a underfed, over hyped Japanese artist from Soho. I told him I never had and never really cared for the status and label that my name and wealth put me at. I would gladly give it all up, just for him. Blue was not entirely at easy with me at first. He thought I was strange or bored which why I "slummed" with him in Soho, as a means to somehow relieve the boredom of money. When we argued, he used that against me a lot, saying I was trying to do something with my time. Blue didn’t seem to understand that the issue was not about money, but rather about me wanting to willingly be there with him. While I fell almost immediately for him, it took Blue sometime to fall for me. I waited patiently for him, coaxing him from behind a steel wall he had built around himself so no one could drag him out and lift him high enough so that when he fell, it would shatter him. I did not ask what had made him build the wall in the first place. I didn’t have to. I realized that with time, Blue slowly opened up to me, he slowly told me of his fears and how even though for the time being, he was the toast of the city, it would soon pass and there was be nothing left. So he never bothered to get his hopes high. He feared the fall more then anything. He moved shyly, scared always of what would be uncovered by me. But with time, Blue slowly gave away to me.
The first kiss alone took time and patience on my part. I wouldn’t press but I didn’t let it go entirely. Blue gave me his first childlike kiss, very quick, very shy and just a ghost of what it could really be. When we kissed sincerely for the first time, he melted against me, his hands clenched tightly in front of him, his eyes gathering tears at the corners. When we broke apart, he collapsed into my embrace, holding onto me, shaking badly, like he was cold or better yet…afraid. He brought his hand up to his eyes, rubbing away at the tears there that tried to escape as he then returned his embrace back to me. I held him gently, my hold being so strong, I felt I could snap him easily without trying. That was another thing that made me love him. His actual frailty. How easy he could break under my hands, in my arms. How I could easily kiss him forever, drowning him, denying him life giving air. It was something I had to constantly watch and that too became my fear as well as my love. I feared I would loose control and hurt him without meaning to and because of my fear, I never dared to sample a taste of his very essence, his blood. The fear that I would not be able to get enough often left the feeling of foreboding in my mouth. My mortal painter became my addiction and I needed him to need me just as badly as I needed him. His work changed ever so slightly and I began to notice he used me in a lot of his works. Though I was hardly a model, my eyes became a big part of his canvas as if I was always watching him, watching over him, or simply there. My likeness only showed up once or twice but each time it was done, he did it was adoration. I loved him so much it pained me to not be near him sometimes. My emotions were so intense, I wondered if he felt anything at all.
It was not until my first year with Blue that my brothers once again contacted me. Basil and Nicholas had made their way into the city after circling the globe a hundred times over. They had grown, made lives, companies, fortunes fallen in and out of love countless times with both sexes and then left wherever they were just to do it all over again. Basil himself first contacted me. My high-class brother from London sent me a letter, his own flourish writing that he had learned and never unlearned gave away it was him before I even reached the end.
"Sebastian,
I have returned to the New World.
I would like to see you as soon as possible. Nicholas and I are keeping each other company while we wait for you dear brother. We shall meet again.
-Basil"
I was glad to hear of my brothers. And sure enough, I met with them again. In my travels alone I came across them in Central Park, shortly after sunset as the sun’s rays left their final marks across the evening sky. Basil, Nicholas and myself were all abnormal in height during our time, but now it was normal. All of us reached six feet naturally, Basil and I filled out naturally so we were lean and well toned. Nicholas however, who had permanently suffered from malnutrition was still somewhat lanky and gaunt in his shape. He hid it rather well under tailor made suits and coats of cashmere and leather. His dark brown hair was swept away from his now clean and pale face caramel colored eyes peered at me first under well-shaped eyebrows. He smiled slightly the lines around his mouth almost completely gone over time while the tips of his fangs peered ever so slightly. Basil turned to face me next, his once solid blonde hair now washed in highlighted colors of brown and darker shades of blonde was neatly pulled back, the tail falling to the middle of his back over his black coat. We all looked our age being early or so twenties, all of us in boots and jeans. I myself had taken a liking to my mortal painters colors and work dark blue jeans, a white shirt with a black thick coat since the days have gotten colder. My own black hair was coiled and tied so the bulk of it was at the base of my head while the ends hung loose. It was a trick Blue had taught me. When I reunited with my brothers, we hugged, all happy to see each other again. It had been years since we last saw each other. Somehow, we always managed to contact each other in between the years. With the marvel of letters becoming email and the regular home phone turning into mobile phones, the possibilities of contacting each other between time and space became endless. After we parted and began to walk, feelings of the hunt teachings Rome taught us crept through my mind. We were once again stalking under Rome’s careful eye to make sure we were not ambushed or caught by others. We fed for the night and after allowing color back into our skins we settled into one of the million Starbucks that popped around the city and ordered coffee. It was mostly for warmth purposes and I held my foam cup, removing the guard from around it and held it against the palms of my hands. Nicholas did the same as Basil began that conversation.
We spoke of the world, at the marvels that we saw and had witnessed, the rises and falls of modern day empires. We spoke of the wars, the horrors of it and the destruction. We spoke of money and funds and the irony of passing ourselves off as our own dead relatives. Then, Nicholas and Basil spoke of the countless times they had fallen in love. I was almost horrified to see my brothers had taken it so lightly. They did not see the beauty I had come to see in the human form, the beautiful frailty of it. They went through mortals, taking one after the other in their beds without second thoughts. They only loved their simple beauty, not anything deeper. So when they turned to me and questioned me on my life, I simply stated I was in love. Deeply, painfully in love. Basil and Nicholas seemed horrified at the fact that I could have fallen in love with a mortal. They questioned me on it, asking if I was sincere. When I told them yes, Basil was the first to speak of it.
"Sebastian, you couldn’t possibly."
"Why not? Why is it so hard to believe?" I countered my brother.
"You only love the frailty of the human. Nothing more. Believe us, we have been there." Said Nicholas.
I refused to believe that my devotion was based on nothing more then love for the fact that I could easily crush Blue. I shook my head in disbelief as I said,
"I truly love him. It is something deeper then what you say."
My brothers looked at each other and then shook their heads, knowing nothing they could say at the moment would change my mind.
I stayed with Blue, despite what my brothers thought. Two years of Blue’s time was invested in me and he had slowly eased out from behind his steel wall. I had decided for sometime to be honest with him about what I truly was and Blue nodded, nodding very nonchalantly as if I had just told him the time rather then I had been alive for the past couple of hundred years. I thought he was humoring me, taking it as something the rich must do to be "eccentric" but Blue said he wasn’t questioning anything. He knew things were very much possible and he didn’t doubt much. He also added that for two years he had never seen me drink or eat anything and the earliest he ever saw me was sunset and there would be moments where I was cold like a corpse. He loved me still. My mortal painter loved me knowing exactly what I am. I didn’t scare him and that fact alone drove me closer to him. I made love to my mortal painter the only way I could then, just pleasuring him. That was my pleasure, seeing him shutter, his skin quivering under my touch as he came, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He was completely beautiful. His skin pale, smooth and soft like a china dolls. The only thing different was the fact that he was warm. I spent a few nights, one right after the other, having Blue sit on my lap his legs open to each side of me as I worked my fingers in and out of his velvet insides. He would tense up, tighten and moan softly through his darkened flat. Candlesticks and pots were lit around the bed during our love making sessions and with every movement, every moan, the flames would dance upon the wick, throwing shadowy mimics of us against the walls. I loved how his body grew tense and he seemed to climb towards his final destination of ecstasy. He would shutter over and over again, my name lingering on his lips as he came, passion spilling across our laps as he fell back on the bed, his chest heaving as he tried catching his breath. The first time we did this, he began to cry. He cried so hard that I was actually afraid I had hurt him without meaning to. He rolled to the side, covering his face as he sobbed uncontrollably. I laid beside him, putting my arms around him, pulling the sheets of his bed around him, covering his nudity as he then turned towards me, putting his arms around me as he cried against my chest. When he was done, he had swept his hair away from his face and he sighed, smoothing his hands over his now damp face as he apologized. I later learned that it was his way of coping with the fact that I had broken down the last of his defenses.
When more time passed, Nicholas and Basil contacted me again. They had left for a while in hopes I would come to my senses about Blue and let it go, but when they returned, they were almost upset to see I was still in love with Blue. A few days after they came back, Basil and Nicholas told me that Rome was in the city. Basil walked with me to my left, Nicholas to my right as we walked up Broome Street, crossing Canal as we kept going.
"Rome has come into the New World."
"The New World? Has he come to New York?"
"He is in New York."
I nodded a little as I said,
"I see. Is he angry with me?"
"He’s not. He’s just worried about your infatuation."
"It’s not an infatuation."
"Don’t tell me, tell Rome."
Within a few hours, I, along with my brothers met with Rome. Rome was staying in one of flats that Nicholas usually keeps for no other purpose then having a spare flat. Seeing Rome was like seeing a breathing statue. He sat in one of the cherry wood chairs his black floor length coat pooling out around his feet his shoes polished leather. He wore black pants and his long waist length blonde hair, highlighted with white streaks fell down the back of the chair. When he brought his hand up, his tapered slender bleached bone fingers with glass fingernails were shown as I heard his deep voice.
"Hello my child."
I felt suddenly overpowered and I almost choked before I said,
"Hello Rome."
Rome stood to his feet, his monstrous height, towering well over my brothers and I. I never really guessed how tall Rome was, but I would have to say six feet five inches…maybe more. His straight blonde hair fell over his shoulders as he leaned down to embrace me and kiss my cheek with his cold mouth as I returned the gesture. He then moved back as he said,
"You’re warm still."
I nodded as he then stepped back, Nicholas and Basil looking at him as well, awaiting their own greeting. We all loved Rome as the fathers we barely remembered or didn’t even know. Rome then said,
"It’s been too long my children."
He spoke gracefully as he leaned down to repeat his actions to Basil and Nicholas before he said,
"So, speak to me. Tell me of what you have been doing."
We each found chairs and circled around Rome, sitting down to speak of our lives as he listened. It made me think of times before when the three of us sat around Rome in the villa, discussing what we did, what we saw and things we didn’t understand. Rome educated us in that manner, letting us speak and letting us ask questions so he could answer. Once we were done, Rome looked at me his bright amber colored eyes focused on me as he said,
"I’ve heard you were in love."
I nodded, not hiding the fact. I didn’t blame Basil or Nicholas for telling him since it would have been something I told him anyway. Rome nodded and then said,
"What do you love about him?"
"Everything. Even in his worst moments, I love him deeply."
Rome nodded carefully as he rested his hands against the arm rests as he said,
"I see."
He seemed to think as he then looked away. It was quiet and I looked over to my brothers who in turn looked back at me. Rome then stood up as he said,
"We’ll discuss it later. For now, let’s go out."
We agreed and got to our feet as we left.
Rome did discuss this later. It was something he chose to do without my brothers being witnesses. We returned to the flat that Nicholas had later that evening. With a flick of his wrist, towards the fireplace, the logs cracked and burned as a full fire was going. Rome stood in front of it for a moment before turning away, letting his hair fall back over his shoulder as he said,
"Have a seat please."
I nodded, sitting down, taking off my leather coat as I leaned back. Rome then slipped out of his own coat as he said,
"What is his name?"
"Blue. It’s what everyone calls him. His-"
"I’m not interested in his real name. What worries me is you."
"Me?"
"Yes. You claim love for this mortal but I’m not sure you’re aware that you only love his frailty."
"Basil and Nicholas said the same."
"They’re right."
Rome took a seat across from me as he crossed his long legs. He then said,
"Vampires feel everything more then a mortal. We can fall in love easily and the pain as a result is much more. The depths of the human mind could never understand the agony we suffer. When we fall in love, we are fickle with our emotions because we love one thing and magnify it. The frailty of a human, the way they can easy be overwhelmed by emotion, by sickness, death can so easily pluck their life free the mortal plane…it’s easy to see why we adore them so."
"It’s not just that Rome. I feel so much for him. I love everything about him, including his frailty. I cannot imagine my life without him."
"You will one day have to. The cruel twist of fate is that we can live forever. Mortals die Sebastian. Continuing with him would mean that one day, you will watch him die."
Death had never occurred to me. Not to Blue who was so perfect in every way. But Rome reminded me that frailty to me included frailty to death. He would die one day. I hung my head, the pain of having to one day imagine myself without him already blossoming in my chest. I then thought of something and picked my head up as I said,
"Can’t I make him one of us?"
"You’re too young still." Answered Rome.
I once again felt agony tear through me and tears pushed at my eyes, threatening to spill. Rome then said,
"I encourage you, greatly to ease away from him. It would only bring agony to you in the long run."
Ease away from Blue? The idea itself was foreign. I couldn’t imagine not seeing Blue from the moment I woke up to the moment the sun began to rise. I couldn’t even begin to fathom the thought. I saw my mortal painter a few hours after that and held him in my arms for what felt like a few moments. He looked up at me, his eyes so perfect, his hair moved away from his fine face as his slender paint covered hands snuck around my coat and he pulled me closer to him as we kissed. Blue had come a long way from his child like kisses and embraces. He could easily hug me now, pull me close to him and kiss me with everything he felt. I could taste him through my entire being, feel his hands on my skin long after I parted ways with him. I couldn’t imagine ever being without him. When he moved back, he smiled as he pulled me further inside his flat and asked me what I had planned. I told him nothing he bounced around for a moment, excited I didn’t want to do anything but be with him. When he went to change, I noticed a stack of envelopes on his desk. Some of them had fingerprints of paint on the top and I saw one of them was an invitation. Blue had declined invitation after invitation, much like I had just to stay with me. Blue came back to me shortly afterwards and collapsed into my embrace as he kissed me, his eyes heavy as I then mumble to him, his mouth close to mine, that I loved him. He only closed his eyes as he said he loved me too. I could have wept then and there, knowing he loved me back. More time passed as Rome left, giving me the chance and opportunity to leave Blue. But I couldn’t. My damned soul was with him and I felt I couldn’t ever breathe again if I didn’t have Blue by my side. But when Rome came back and questioned me if I had left my mortal and I said I didn’t, Rome’s fine features fell slightly as he frowned, no lines appearing as he then asked me why. I couldn’t tell him what I said before. My teacher, my father, my world and education was all Rome and I had never doubted him before. But at that time, I questioned him. I didn’t think he would understand the agony I would go through if I did not have Blue. But Rome only placed his hand on my shoulder and said,
"I know more then your credit me for my child. I was at your age once, knowing now what I know, I wish someone had told me to let go when I had the chance. You will only suffer more later on. Believe me. The pain you feel now would only be a hundred times fold when you have to watch him wither away like a flower."
I could only fall onto myself, bringing my hands to my face as I cried out, knowing he was right. I would have to let go of Blue.
I did it without warning. I went to Blue’s flat and once I came in, he could tell something was wrong. Then I tried to steady myself as I told him I had to leave. I had to leave and I would never come back. He was frozen in his spot at first and I could hear his mind working, his mind trying to wrap around what I just said. Then he shook his head, in denial as he came closer to me, his arms going around my neck and he hid his face in my coat, telling me not to go. He loved me too much, he couldn’t go on without me anymore. And as I heard his words, I felt his tears and I actually heard his heart breaking. I reached up to his arms, carefully moving them back away from my neck as I pleaded him not to do this. I begged him not to make it harder as I began to cry as well. My own blood tears falling from my eyes, staining my own washed out skin, falling on Blue as he shook his head, telling me he couldn’t let me leave. He clung to me as much as he could as his knees shook and I understood his fears as he slowly began sliding down. I followed him to the ground as he still held onto me, asking why I was doing this to him. What had he done wrong to make me leave, did he offend me in some way, had he hurt me and if he had then he was sorry, he was so sorry. He apologized as I tried moving his arms away from me, telling him it was not him, but my own actions that caused our separation. He would not believe it and he apologized again, begging me not to go. I held onto him once more, feeling it would be the last as I cried into his hair, kissing his forehead as I slowly pulled his hands free from my coat and hair and set them down on his lap. I got to my feet and without looking at him again, I left.
Life was at a standstill. I wasn’t sure of how much time passed after that. I left my flat almost right away, telling the doorman that if Blue or any of his associates should come by that I had gone to London. And then I felt as if my entire life stopped. I spent days in a room, locked away from everything because nothing mattered anymore. I slept but only because it was forced. Even then it was torture because every time I closed my eyes I could only see Blue and I heard his final words to me before I left. I answered to no one not even my brothers. I wanted to waste away, to die because I was not strong enough to handle the totality of the pain. I missed Blue and I knew that this could not be normal, what Rome had explained to me. After God knows how long, I did eventually leave my locked, sealed off room and traveled back into the night. I sought out Blue, finding him nowhere outside. I stood among art galleries, listening to mindless prattle about something or other, looking for Blue or his friends. Eventually I asked around, hearing that Blue had not been seen in public for weeks. He had taken to hiding himself for reasons unknown. Overhearing his friends speak about him, I discovered that he had not been doing anything lately. Barely eating or drinking, he gave up smoking, sleeping, functioning in general. I went to his flat and stood on the ledge outside his window and peered in, seeing Blue was sitting like a mindless doll on the floor, one of his friends watching over him to make sure he didn’t do anything drastic. I longed to go back to him…but I couldn’t. And the pain I felt relapsed and I felt as if it would never subside.
It never did. A year passed within a blink of an eye for me and it felt as if the pain was fresh. Basil and Nicholas seemed to understand, knowing that one’s intensified emotions could hold them down for years, for centuries. As an attempt to try to rise me from the ditch I had dug myself in, Nicholas suggested that Blue had probably gotten over it. A human’s mind and heart are sometimes as fickle as our own. I somehow wanted to believe that, I wanted to believe that Blue had grown out of it, he rose up and started painting again and go on as if I never entered his life. So I checked on him, only seeing the same thing I had before. Blue had not left his flat for the entire year. His friends had become his caretakers, coming in and out, watching over him making sure he ate and didn’t hurt himself. He had not spoken a single word either and he neglected everything around him as if nothing was happening. I felt I had destroyed the most beautiful thing in the world. It was then that I realized that mortals are more fragile then just in the body. Something in Blue had shattered completely. Betraying everything Rome had taught me, that he had warned me against doing, that he had asked me not to do, I went to Blue. I could no longer stay back. A year had gone by and the pain we both felt had not lessened since. It didn’t even fade slightly. When I knocked on the door of Blue’s flat, his friend answered and gasped slightly, seeing me finally standing there, the reason for Blue’s anguish. He turned as he called out my lover’s name, saying there was someone to see him. At the time, Blue was on his bed, his back facing us and he didn’t move. I dismissed his friend, giving him some money and sending him on his way as I closed and locked the door behind him. I removed my coat and shoes, getting into bed with Blue, wrapping my arms around a frame I knew so well. It had changed slightly, he was thinner now, his bones sticking to his skin a little more, but he was still warm. His hair had grown out a lot, now it was falling past his shoulders, the hints of blue still racing through the ebony locks. I brushed my fingers over his face, listening to him breathe and hardly move. When I kissed his ear and apologized, he finally reacted and he turned slightly to see me. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask questions, he just put his arms around me and leaned closer and let me apologize over and over again. Finally, the pain began to leave. Neither one of us moved for hours, we let the night envelop us, saying everything we wanted to, but couldn’t at the time. Blue didn’t let go for hours either, he just held onto the side of my shirt, scared that I would leave again. Around three that morning, Blue finally moved. He picked his head up, black hair falling around his face as he cleared his throat a little and then got out of bed completely. He padded his way to the kitchen, his bare feet falling against the wooden paneling of his floor as opened the refrigerator door and got something and then came back. He stood by the bed and looked at his table where the year old cigarettes were sitting. He picked up the pack and shook one out anyway and lit it as he then paused. Eventually, he moved again, setting his bottle of water down and then picking up a large canvas from off the wall as he then walked it over to the center of his flat and then dropped it, letting it fall with a dull thud sound. He then organized himself and once he had everything around him, he put his cigarette out and began to paint. He used his hands, some tools, the tips of his fingers and very fine brushes. I laid in his bed, turned over only to watch him work. By dawn, he was still working and I had to leave. I got up and he dropped everything as he asked me where I going.
"It’s dawn."
He ran over to me, throwing his arms around me, doing his best not to stain my clothes with his hands as I kissed him, promising him I would come back that night. He seemed unconvinced.
"I will never leave you again."
He nodded as I reached up to his eyes, my thumbs sweeping away his tears as I kissed him once more. I promised him I would return that very same evening. Once I had assured him of that I left and went to rest, for the first time in a year, I wanted to get the day over with.
I returned that night like I promised and made love to my mortal painter whose fingers and hands were still stained with paint. His mouth tasted like the year old cigarettes he consumed and fresh water. His body never changed from my touch and accepted it just as easily as he did a year ago. His hips still flexed and rose to my touch his body tensed and shook when I brushed against his insides, the pads of my fingertips smoothing over every part of him that I had missed for the past year. I could taste him on the tip of my tongue as kissed his neck, sucking gently as I heard him whimpering. Again my tortured hunger came to play as I felt his life throbbing both in my hands and in my mouth as he allowed me that closeness. In the heat of the moment, I heard him say,
"You can if you want."
My eyes closed as my fangs remained on his skin, not penetrating but wanting to so badly. I lapped at his soft skin, going mad with want before I pulled away, knowing that if I dared to taste I would finish. I kissed him instead, telling him I wouldn’t. I loved my mortal painter too much to risk that.
My agony was torn away now that I was with Blue again. When I dared to seek out my brothers, Basil and Nicholas already knew I had returned to my mortal. They said nothing, knowing that what I felt was not an infatuation, it was not my desire to just simply hold a mortal because they were frail. I truly loved Blue. In fact, I felt as I had lived all this time, just for him. It was no wonder I had not easily fallen in love with countless mortals like my brothers…because I was waiting for him. I had waited centuries for him and I would never loose him again. Despite what Rome said about my being too young to work the trick that could make Blue immortal like the rest of us, I decided to try. I thought back to how Rome did it to my brothers and I, wanting to work the trick on my beloved. As I thought of it, I spent countless nights along side of Blue, both of us in his bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, his fingers crossed with mine as his head rested on my chest. I could not even continue to carry the thought that I may never be with Blue again. The very idea of it caused me to become desperate and I asked my brothers for help. Nicholas and Basil both thought it was a bad idea to go against Rome’s wishes any further. He had said I was too young and it should be left at that but I was pushing it. I wanted to make Blue one of us because I would die without him. Knowing that I was serious, Basil sought out Rome once again.
When my mentor returned to the New World with the knowledge I wanted to make Blue an immortal, he was less then pleased. He frowned once he saw me and he shook his head as he then cupped my face and said,
"Sebastian, my young child you do not know what you ask."
"I know the pain it’s caused me if I’m not with him. I will die without him Rome."
He still frowned but his bright amber colored eyes told me how sad he was. He then said,
"We are not meant to have love for eternity."
"I want this to be eternal. I never see myself changing my mind. I never want to be without him."
"Does he know what you are?"
"He knows."
"If you say you do not love him for just his frailty then this may have a chance. But you have to be absolutely sure that this is not for his frailty. Once you have him as an immortal, the frailty will vanish and you may fall out of love."
"It’s not his frailty. It is more then that."
"Then I shall do as you ask of me."
I was not able to live without Blue. And in turn I did the most selfish thing and robbed him of his mortal life. He was not angry with me. He didn’t care enough to be angry. I told him it was selfish, what I was doing to him, what I did to him. He only shook his head and said he didn’t care. I took my mortal painter and made him simply my immortal. Mine, my truly selfish act of labeling him as mine, mine and no one else’s. I was like a child that never wanted to share. But I reveled in the fact that Blue was submissive to my needs and he did need me just as badly as I needed him. He was my perfect Blue and I look forward to the rest of eternity.
- Fin