Current Time: 12:43 am EST

Elis Griffyn's Blog Entry



 
 

Blog Entry
 
Monday, Oct 02, 2017
Death.

    Elouise Orlav

     

    Bleary eyes crack open. There’s a very real pain coursing through her, making it difficult to focus, to breathe, to make sense of her surroundings. The artificial light in the room causes her to squint, but it isn’t difficult to tell exactly where she is. She’s been thrown in here, many times before. Without the lights. Without means. She can feel an itch in her throat, but isn’t able to determine if it’s hunger, or fear. She’s prone to her position, tucked into a corner, too consumed with amnesia to understand why she is here. 

     

    When her eyes better adapt to the lighting, when the ringing in her ears settles to a soft whine, the room opens up to her. There is a man, tall and composed, fingers plucking live wires from the electrical box. He hasn’t noticed her yet, but the pathetic, mewling child on the other side of the concrete square does.

     

    And so, the man turns, smile assuring and words calm, casual. Chilling. “Morning.” Elouise already feels weird. Her body feels hostage to something, but she’s too confused, too overwhelmed to understand. So she stares up, cerulean eyes stinging with involuntary tears of pain. 

     

    He has become her nightmare.

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    New York City, New York.

     

    Forty-eight hours earlier. 

     

    "Mean Girls isn't on here!" Elis calls out, tilting his body toward the hallway. With a remote in his hand, he scanned through the Netflix library with little luck, pouting as 'titles related to Mean Girls' takes the place of his desired option. Well, Elouise's desired option. After admitting to never having seen the movie, it was decreed that they were to 'rectify this immediately' with the added bonus of pizza, charged to his card of course. 

     

    The apartment they occupied was more of a one room loft. Spacious and oozing in New York chic, bare brick walls and reclaimed timber flooring made the space a number one choice on Air BnB, and Elis had booked it out for the month.

     

    Elouise was down the narrow hallway, tipping the delivery boy with the contents of the man's wallet as he fell backward on the three-seater sofa and released the remote onto his lap in defeat. Elis hated picking movies. There was simply too much choice nowadays and this led to him rarely making a decision to actually watch something. No, his new distraction was podcasts, his inability to sleep causing the man to dedicate hours to random story telling, fact shows and Ted talks. He especially enjoyed the history-based episodes that attempted, and failed, to explain the truths of narratives he himself had lived through. Everything was just so dramatised when, in truth, many of the events of the past were just blood, confusion and dumb luck. But where was the fun in that?

     

    As Elouise returned to the room, he pointed at the TV and shrugged before leaning forward to receive the pizza boxes onto the low 'restored wooded pallet' coffee table. 

     

    "You pick. Find something else that my 'naivety to' upsets you greatly...did they give you extra dipping sauce?"

     

    So distracted by the pizza was he that he didn't even bother to look up at her. For that moment, with gooey cheese and pepperoni calling to him like a siren out at sea, he forgot himself. He forgot his plans for her, he forgot to watch his ever word, every movement. He forgot how much her negative words toward his kind had first stung, then goaded him into action. She wasn't Elouise, the women he was to convince of her wrongs and punish for her ignorance. She was just a woman that, though his many attempts to 'befriend', he'd accidentally befriended.

     

    Elouise Orlav

     

    With a pointed stare, she presents him with the ‘extra’ dipping sauce before she plops down. “When the f*ck did they remove Mean Girls?” She grumbles as she grabs the remote, ever click of the remote performed with a degree of irritation. Simultaneously, she plucks a beautiful greasy bite of cheesy goodness into her mouth, munching with ease as she navigates the Netflix plane. She remains unimpressed as she scrolls, polishing off a slice before she finds something worth watching. 

     

    The blonde leans back into the couch, head resting against Elis’s shoulder, all snuggled up in the much too-large sweater she’d thieved from him this evening. Her long legs are tucked up under her, the picture of comfort. And to the naked eye, Elouise is at ease here, with Elis. He’s spent enough time trying to convince her of his steadfastness, and she’s finally relented. 

     

    “Oh. Yes. Yes. Twilight!” She lets out a demure little laugh, arm snaking around his as she presses play, blonde curls bouncing slightly as her head falls back against the cushion. She falls quiet as the opening credits roll, free hand now entertaining a rather heavy pour of red wine in a stem glass. She isn’t drunk, but certainly inebriated enough that her guard is lowered. The significance of this, would follow soon enough. 

     

    “You’re in for so much fun. Sparkling vampires, baseball, and one of the sh*ttiest actresses ever produced. She reminds me of…” She squints. He wouldn’t understand the reference. Elouise huffs out an amused laugh, lips pursed in a smile. “And there’s four sequels. They split the last book’s adaptation into two sh*tty movies!” Is Elouise ready for a full blown movie marathon? Absolutely. And she’s going to torture Elis with it. 

     

    Sinking deeper into the reserves of his sweater, the blonde is more than content. For the first time in what has felt like a hellish eternity, she is relaxed. And strangely enough, it’s due to Elis’s company. “I sort of trust you, you know.” She makes the remark very quietly, brows pushed together in an almost frustrated way. As if she can’t believe it’s true. The truth of the matter is, she’s had the secret at the tip of her tongue for seven years. When Calvin returned, she had thought, surely, he would have given it away. To mock her. To demoralize her. Perhaps, instead, he was just as scared of the power said secret held. 

     

    The secret Jameson never got to know.

     

    The secret she’s sitting here, prepared to tell Elis Griffyn.

     

    “If I told you a secret, would you keep it?”

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    Elis slipped his fingers beneath a slice as Elouise topped up her glass, ensuring his shoulder would be where she needed it to be upon her return to their bundle of wool knit and limbs. 

     

    The closeness of her body was somewhat foreign to the vampire. How long had it been since he'd allowed himself to be so close with someone without an obvious air of tearing off clothing and losing themselves to the night?

     

    Oh. He knew. And the thought threatened to bring about a sigh that instead he pushed back, focusing instead on the moment. 

     

    "Ugh, I've tried to ignore the existence of this movie. It's hardly a true representation of any of the races involved, from what I've heard. I hate it when Hollywood glamorises vampires and werewolves. I..." he shut himself up with pizza as he felt a rant begin to surface. He had to remember both their stances of the races, and manage it accordingly. He knew how much she hated his kind. How there was no swaying her away from her detest. He'd tried with anecdotes of saintly figures down on their luck, of perfect specimens of charity and goodness turned against their will...and she wouldn't budge. To her, vampires deserved to be nothing but dust. And if their couldn't meet their end at the hands of a slayer, they should simply walk into the sunlight and be done with it. There was no wiggle room. And Elis had hoped to sway her by simply being good, becoming a confident and earning her trust. Though what had once been a mission to simply turn her mind had hit bumps in the road. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to do this maliciously, to seduce his way into her bed and relish in her torment as a lover outed themselves as her one true hate. Other times he simply wanted to prove a point and be done with it. 

     

    And other times still, like this very moment, he enjoyed simply existing, being the 'nothing special' he knew himself to be in her eyes, and eat pizza. 

     

    And then she said it. Well, she said a lot in only a few short sentences. And in that moment, every outcome, every possibly route for this journey hung on what he'd say next, and what she'd offer in return. 

     

    He pushed the crust into his mouth and chewed enough to swallow it down, turning his body to face her. In doing so, he managed to slip and arm between her shoulder and the sofa cushions, creating more of the trust bubble she'd already admitted to residing in. 

     

    "Always", he replied in his low tones. His accent, as always, was completely confusing. An odd mix of European and A well-spoken English - a mix of many years spent in many places, and all the fluent languages that remained in his head. "You can tell me anything" he continued, as the angel and devil appeared on his shoulders, both goading him on...albeit with completely different intentions. 

     

    Get her to tell you everything, they both agreed. Then we can break her, whispered the loudest of the two voices, while the other shook its head and appealed to his good side, to the part of him that simply deserved friendship and happiness, something he often denied himself. 

     

    "Thank you for trusting me" he slipped in before she had time to reply. "I trust you too", he lied.

     

    Elouise Orlav

     

    She breathes in his scent, cheek pressed against the fabric of his own jumper. The beat of his heart, she’s noticed, is resolute. On the move, or at ease, always a patient beat is found. It’s bizarrely reassuring to her. The words catch in her throat, locked away by years of practice. Not even in her drunkest, weakest moments has she ever come close to admitting it. Not once, in any instance has she slipped. And beyond that, never in any willing capacity has she considered it before now. She can’t decide why, in this moment, and with Elis of all people she wants to come clean. So she hesitates. Pulls back enough to see his face. Cerulean eyes detail each of his many features, a quiet admiration in her expression. Slender digits lift and trace the red scruff of his cheek, now unreadable. 

     

    “I’ve never told anyone else.” She confesses, hand falling to his lap, collecting his other hand not already around her shoulders. Between her two hands now, she holds his. Bella Swan drones awkwardly on towards Edward Cullen in the background, irate, stuttering, and dreadful.

     

     

    Four words leave her lips, inaudible. Her own breathing falters. She can feel herself beginning to panic, but Elis’ warmth and calm nature settles her back down. She isn’t ready to make the admission again. Not yet. So she sits up straighter, shifting so that her palms weigh on his chest. She leans against him in that obvious way, lidded eyes holding his gaze as the space closes.

     

    Her forehead presses to his. She’s silent, shallow breathing now almost nonexistent. Finally, there’s no hesitation as she kisses him, relinquishing the last of her barriers. 

     

    “I have a daughter.” She repeats against his lips, no unease as she gives him her deepest secret. “You know I was married before Jameson.” The idea of Calvin and her sharing anything turns her stomach. She’d tried to kill Calvin the first time just for that reason. She could give up the child. Selfishly, she wanted no part in raising a baby that shared 50% of her constant abuser’s DNA. It sickens her to think that for seven years, Calvin lived by her side, having survived her initial attempt on his life. That he influenced her, gained her love and trust, that he had the ability to manipulate her in the same way he had Elouise…

     

    Like a child, she curls up into him, a bundle of coziness in his borrowed wool. “She’s seven.” After another pause, she enables herself to continue. To let it all out. “She’s not really mine, though. I’ve never met her…not really. But I’ve watched.” There’s an earnest sense of pride in her quiet tone, lips holding back an admiring smile. Her expression falters once more, so heavy with renewed shame. “I gave her up to be free.” 

     

    It’s the same mistake she won’t allow herself to make with Logan. No matter what it means for her or her life, she’ll hold onto her son. She had wrestled with the thought of giving him up, sure it would be the better option for him. But in the end, she knows she’s the only person willing to die for him.

     

    And that will never change.

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    Elis pushes his cheek lightly against her touch, offering up a slight smile in return. His lips remain closer, his eyes watching her as both voices in his head relish the contact, again for their own reasons. They’d come so far and he found himself offering up congratulations to his persistence, glad that he still had what it took to bring someone so completely to a point of trust that he could get whatever he willed from them, with very little effort on his part. The modern age had made it easier - the odd text, a couple of adorable kitten GIFs, and so on. When he first used his charm for his own personal gain, the effort had been greater. Meetings had to be arranged, lavish gifts sent. More effort but, in return, more reward. Elis had navigated oceans, he’d led armies, he’d controlled territories. Grand gestures from lulled suiters. This with Elouise was nothing more than a personal vendetta of sorts, and as he turned his head to nudge her fingers with his nose, allowing their lips to glide across his soft, closed lips, he found himself wish she was still leading a crew. For how much sweeter would this all be if she were gold robed and forced to swallow her intent to the many.

     

    It was obvious now what voice was winning. Though not for the lack of trying by the other.

     

    He hand fell to his lap and he followed it with his gaze before looking back to her, brought back to the moment by her words. This truly was a deep secret. One she kept so close to her chest that he was honestly shocked she was sharing it with him. A shock that was soon replaced with an internal ‘oh!’ as her lips pressed to his own, sealing the deal on his recent ‘project’.

     

    Elis kisses her back, his free hand lifting to cup her jaw as he deepens the kiss. It’s soft, gentle and unasking. It doesn’t demand anything other than the moment, he doesn’t call for anything greater, anything more intimate than what this is. To him, she’s confirming that admission of trust the best way she knows how - with close contact and secrets. And he takes it all gladly, allowing his lips to move to her cheek as she pulls away far enough to continue her story.

     

    She has a daughter. And for the briefest of moments, Elis feels his stomach lurk in that reliable way it does whenever he is forced to remember his own, lost family. It causes him to loose the moment slightly, to blink her enough that he has to take a moment to steady himself. With every kiss, every lover, Elis always feels the pang of guilt, all these years later. His wife had been his world, their family born from the love they’d shared, within he home they had built for themselves. They’d been everything to him and he’d lost them. Lost them to this curse he was now trying to convince Elouise ‘wasn’t as bad as she thought’. 

     

    He’s grateful when she moves, thankful that she’s unable to see his expression as he is forced to check himself and regain the composure needed for the task at hand. This was her time, not his. Her moment to upload all of her secrets and inner demons into his hands, for him to do as he pleased with. But honestly, honestly…he’d not expected this.

     

    ‘I gave her up to be free’

     

    Elis slips his arm around her, his fingers seeking out her own so that he may knit them together, both for the added sense of intimate closeness the moment required, but also simply to steady himself. 

     

    “I…”, he finally spoke, stopping to dampen his lips with the tip of his tongue, tasking the remnants of their kiss. He suddenly felt very warm, her body more of a weight that a reassuring pressure. And he knew that whatever he said next would finally be the starting block for whatever road he was set to take. “Thank you”, he offered, frowning a little as he allowed his one free hand to push his fingertips through his hair, resting it so the heel of his palm pressed to his forehead.

     

    She’d given up her child to offer both of them a better life. He couldn’t fault her. And in that moment, he found himself angry at her, angry at how hard she was making this for him.

     

    In his head, he starts his reply several times over, calculating the outcomes, both in how she’ll react and what he’ll get from it. They could continue to talk about her child and he could continue to simply be ‘Elis’ a little while longer. Maybe they’d kiss again, maybe they’d cross the open room to his bed and continue to break down walls. Or he could take back his thank you and turn this all against her. Call her out for being selfish, shatter her, ruin her with words that backed up every hateful feeling she felt toward herself. The possibilities were endless and each action had a very real consequence. He had the floor, the mic was in his hands. So now what?

     

    “I had a daughter too.”

     

    The words fell from his lips, sneaking past the barriers that sat firmly in place, their sole purpose to keep his history hidden from others. But here he was, on the verge of spilling it all. 

     

    “I had three. And two sons.”

     

    He felt his fingers lock a little tighter to her own as he pulled her closer, burrowing his face into her hair. His entire body wrapped itself about her but his eyes remained fixed on the door. Starring forward. Unblinking as the fear of what he’d see when his eyes closed was too much to bear. 

     

    “I had a family and they had their own. My wife, our children and a grandchild.”

     

    The very few who knew his story had never understood the timelines of events. For despite his weathered looks and mess of red hair, Elis’ body had never reached thirty. Nor, in fact, had it ever reached twenty-nine. And there he was, a grandfather never the less. And it was this far that often helped people realise that he wasn’t from their time, that he instead came from a place lost to the history books or, in his case at least, before them.

     

    “They’re gone now.”

     

    He was grateful to continue to get it off his chest, he realised. For it would remain inside him and fester otherwise, as was so often the case when he left it too long. Though the majority of his sounding boards suffered sudden amnesia, or a trip to the grave, once his tale was told. And as he breathed in the woman nuzzled against him, he wondered which direction Elouise would be heading.

     

    Elouise Orlav

     

    There’s a distinctive comfort Elouise finds balled up against his chest, face hidden. Her dignity is in his hands, but it doesn’t require a wordsmith to sooth her soul. Elouise isn’t difficult to please. Validating her is as simple as staying put and holding her close, both of which Elis accomplish without flinching. Her demeanor remains resolute, unafraid of the sting of rejection, now. He knows her secret, now. And the best response is to deliver one of his own. But the mood changes. When Elouise bares her soul, the words are concise. Her delivery doesn’t leave a question of how, or why. It doesn’t feel improbable. Despite an unease in her chest, and the nagging feeling that perhaps she doesn’t want to look him in the eyes, she does. Her eyes are quiet, kind, if not confused. 

     

    “Five children. Someone was busy.” She’s not making predictions or judgements of his past. She’s the absolute last person to have a right. And she doesn’t move to cause offense, so she settles back down against his side, hands fidgeting with his again. “Sometimes I watch her.” She confesses, that quiet yearning ever present. “No one understood why I’d still go to visit my mother. No one sympathized that I’d subject myself to her. She wasn’t maternal.” Her eyes close shut, unable to split her thoughts between her daughter and Trista. Something so pure shouldn’t have to share space with the Devil. For someone unable to confess the most grievous of sins to her own spouse, Elouise wears humility well in this moment. “But I could sit out, in secret, and watch her from my rooftop. Watch her grow up, if only for a few days…protect her, if necessary.” She shakes her head softly, disappoint weighing her expression. “I never revealed myself, never got too close. She’s blissfully ignorant, and I’ll keep it that way.” 

     

    “That’s how I got to New York so quickly. I was already stateside.” And because she lives for the moments she can see the girl, the memory of just the day before replay like a movie.

     

     

    The sun sets. Dull cerulean eyes watching as the last rays of light depart from the skyline, leaving Elouise under the gray sky before darkness begins to set with certainty. She is planted on the rooftop of her childhood home, observing, still unseen, as a little girl runs around the expanse of fields between this house, and her own. It brings a small smile to Elouise’s otherwise expressional face, her demeanor curiously amused for someone whose frequent moods are so mercurial. There’s an emotional connection, a pull so strong it takes all of Elouise’s fortitude not to find her way back inside, return to ground level, and engage. But for seven years, she has kept to herself. Because, to her world of friends and acquaintances, Elouise Orlav is a selfish, domineering woman. But in this one, simple instance, with this one child, she holds back her own desires. She squelches her own selfish wanting like boots in the mud, knowing this is as close as she will ever come to her. 

     

    She’s been watching for hours now, the unknown overseer, the girl unwitting to her eternal protector. Her blonde curls bounced the same way, gangly legs and pale, freckled skin a direct match. Even her eyes, though this set filled with childish delight, all belong to Elouise. The older woman watches with muted disappointment that as the sun sets, Calvin’s parents call the girl back inside. A soft sigh departs her lips once the girl is out of sight, leaving Elouise to perch for only seconds more before she retreats inside for warmth from the crisp autumn air.

     

    She is completely alone now, the house wrapped up in the darkness of twilight. She can’t turn a light on, or risk showing signs of life. So she hunkers down for the night in her childhood room, waiting for the sun to rise, so her vigil can begin once again. Her fear has been, and always would be, that the girl would turn into Calvin, or, worse, herself. By nature, or nurture, she had waited to see the change. Yet, she seemed the picture of health, in the midst of a carefree youth. Calvin’s parents haven’t made the same mistakes with their granddaughter that they had with their son.

     

    Prudence will never be something Elouise can take credit for. She’d abandoned the girl, choosing to save herself over her own child. She was half Calvin’s, and in Elouise’s eyes, that was enough fault. But Prudence is perfect, unaffected by biology. Prudence is, and always has been, Elouise’s best kept secret. Half the people who knew of her existence were dead, now. And even those who she holds nearest and dearest to her heart have not even the slightest inkling of Prudence. Of course it had eaten Elouise up to deny Jameson knowledge of Prudence, but her husband has always been unpredictable. And now more than ever she glad for his ignorance to her.

     

    Because, no matter what that can possibly go to sh*t in Elouise Orlav’s life, Prudence Bassey will remain untouched. She would always have a piece of her mother in her name, a move Elouise has always considered far too blatant. But, the compound is secure, the people here are loyal, secretive, and discreet. In the past few years, Elouise's visits to the compound have been more and more infrequent, not just because of her late mother’s domineering parenting, but because Prudence’s memories have the extreme likelihood to last. So, she makes herself scarce to protect her daughter’s emotional fortitude. As far as Prudence is aware, Calvin’s parents are her own. A falsehood, but it makes her life much, much more simple. 

     

    In the darkness of the early morning, Elouise stirs as her text tone goes off, personalized for Elis Griffyn. She lets out an annoyed groan, blinking away sleep as she types out a brief message and hits send. Normally, she’d express deeper caution, but her drive is gone. Her defense, the one so perfectly crafted through the years was lowered. She isn’t going to close Elis out anymore. 

     

    It’s several minutes of cherished silent before Elouise speaks again. He’s allowed her his acceptance, and his comfort. Her fingers make circular patterns in his palm, lip pursed before she breaks the silence. “Her name is Prudence. My middle name.” It hadn’t been her choice, but she was glad for it. Where no social connection existed, Elouise would always be able to account for her daughter as a legacy, this one hopefully not plagued with misery. “She’s beautiful, nothing like her father.” She grins, that same mote of pride swelling in her chest. 

    “Were you a good father?” It seems an impossibly silly question. But Elouise has never once had a model man in her life. Her father, Calvin, Jameson. They’d all let her down in heinous, unspeakable ways. She can read the love in his expression of their existence, but she wants to hear it from him. A man proud of his progeny. But he was unlike Nigel Warrock in that he did not deny his child, unlike Calvin, she assumes, in that he treated his wife humanely, and unlike Jameson, in that he would never be a flight risk.

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    Elouise seems to drift a little with her thoughts, her fingers playing with his own in the way one would fiddle with a pen or a piece of paper when unable to fully concentrate on the moment. He wonders where her head is. What time, what place her thoughts are travelling to. And in that moment, he resents her. Fully. For when she closes her eyes and thinks of her child, its with nothing but love, however distant. She can close her eyes and find peace in the knowledge that her girl is safe and well. And if she needed to, she could get into a car and rediscover her.

     

    And Elis could do none of that. For whenever this family fully occupied his thoughts, every blink was a nightmare. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw them, bodies and bodies and blood, as he remained helpless.

     

    He never knew what happened to his sons. They were both taken away, removed from view. Their ends would not sting in quite the same way the destruction of his wife and daughters would. And of his grandchild, fat and healthy and so very loved. They’d all been offered the choice. The ‘gift’, as Vlad called it, of immortality and power. And out of love for Elis, they had all refused, knowing he wished not for them to suffer this life as he did. And he had paid the cost of his love for them, staked to the ground and forced to watch their destruction, both at the hands of Vlad's followers, and then to the decay of time. For too many years he was witness to their bodies rotting beneath the elements, unable to do anything but watch. Nobody came, nobody dare as the rumours of demons and devils spread from village to village. But there were no demons. Just a man forced into immortality, forced to witness everything he loved become dust.

     

    Elis’ chest stuttered a breath as her question brought him back from that dark place his mind was falling into. But her question merely aided the pain in growing in his chest. Was he a good father? At the time he’d believed so. And even now, despite it all, he knew he’d made the right choices, or rather, he’d chosen the right fate for them. Death was better than this. But he wished, oh how he wished it had not gone down the way it did.

     

    “I don’t think I can answer that”, he finally replied, looking ahead to the television, though taking in nothing of the movie other than blurred, muted tones on the screen. He shifted a little beside her and finally caught her eyes. They were old eyes, dark and tired with creases to their edges. And when the light hit them just right, a universe of colour revealed itself within his pupils. He blinked quickly, his tongue dampening his lips once more as yet again, he scanned through possible outcomes to every following sentence resting upon his tongue. “They’re dead.” he continued. “And I’m not.” Both statements so matter of fact that he was momentarily able to step out of his painful reminiscent and force a smile - the culprit of those creases around his eyes.

     

    “I did everything I could for them, and for my people. I worked hard during the sunlit hours and I protected them when the darkness set in. I was father to them and father to my village. I gave them everything I had to give, every ounce of myself, and asked for nothing in return aside from their love. And oh how they loved me, right through to their final breaths. If the measure of a ‘good father’ is how much his family loves him, then I was good. And I do not question it. But I carry their deaths on my shoulders and I pray to the nothingness above that if their spirits still wander, they are at peace.”

     

    He felt his eye twitch, the corner of his lips following suit as the slightest memories gurgled to the surface with his breath, like a sudden, regretful memory when you’re moments from sleep. He swallowed hard and brought back the smile that had faltered as he’d spoken.

     

    “Am I a good man, Elouise?” He lifted his hand from beneath her touch, brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “For continuing to survive despite their deaths. For fighting to be a good person in their memory, despite my flaws? I am no saint, but I am better than many and I have done so many good things throughout the years, all to prove that this existence without them holds merit, that I am worthy to continue to live while they, and so many others, must die. They died because I made the choice that the alternative was so much worse, that the darkness awaiting them was more painful than death. I chose for them to die because I loved them. Because I wanted them to be free. So tell me, am I good man?”

     

    Elouise Orlav

     

    Her expression is riddled with confusion. Hopeless to understand his point-of-view. His words. Attempting to normalize them, to keep him normal. She doesn’t want any dark twists and turns. And she hadn’t anticipated for his own tale of familial woe to bring her down. She’s afraid to ask any further questions, unwilling to hold onto the knowledge. To know him any better than she does right now. However, it doesn’t sound any different than terminology they’d used on the compound. It’s bizarre, yes, but she isn’t totally put off yet. “I think you are a good man, Elis.” She makes the remark with a gentle sincerity, the lump in her throat settling as she finds her voice again. 

     

    “It’s easy to be selfish.” Lord, does she know. Elouise has always been selfish. Vindictive. She holds on too tight, and smothers too easily. She is cruel to the people who love her, and she can’t always attribute the treatment to fear. She’s just…difficult. Complicated, most say. “It’s easy to make the rash decision and enjoy fleeting happiness. Because love is a selfish thing, sometimes.” She shakes her head, shame filling her chest cavity. “I could have kept that baby girl, but what could I have been for her? I wasn’t mature. I would have ruined her, even if I loved her.” Not that she’s any more prepared now with Logan, but the timing is different. And she’s unsure if her psyche could withstand existing outside of Logan’s life. If she’s really, truly honest with herself, letting him go was never a sincere consideration.

     

    “When I was a child, my mother would throw me in The Box.” There’s an eerie confidence to Elouise as she speaks, unafraid of the topic as she once had been. The dam had broken with Prudence. Now, Elis would get to see inside of the parts of Elouise’s life she’d hidden from everyone else. “It was under the shed. A concrete bunker. My mother was a bit of a doomsday prepper.” Her grip tightens around his forearm, as if to assure herself that while she relives the horror, she’s present, and in the present, neither The Box, nor Trista can harm her. “Sometimes she’d throw me down there for misbehaving. Other times, she didn’t have a reason. She just…did.” She flinches, a deep, slow breath calming her. “It’s easy to lose track of time. Minutes, hours, days. Time became meaningless.” She bows her head into the crook of his neck, hot breath tickling his neck. 

     

    “I didn’t want to be that for my daughter. A tyrant. Too many demons bogging me down from being there for her. I got past it all though. I let my pain be my strength. When I ran away with Calvin, I thought I was free. But he was exactly the same. Worse, sometimes.” She couldn’t bring herself to delve so deeply with Calvin. She still isn’t capable. “But what do I say to my time with him? If it hadn’t happened, Prudence wouldn’t be alive. And can I begrudge her, her life? She’s an innocent child.” Her hand lifts to grip the collar of his sweater, a mechanism of further comfort. 

     

    “I’ve wondered what my drive to live has always been. Death is so easily obtained. I guess…it’s always been Prudence. And now, Logan.” She clears her throat, blue eyes blinking as she processes. “Because of them, I don’t have to wonder what it is I live for. I can look at them, and now. Even if Prudence doesn’t need me. Even if Logan grows up, and is horrified of me. It’s a precious gift, to be a parent. Devastating and ecstatic all at the same time. I didn’t know it could be so powerful.”

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    “Time is meaningless”, he agrees, looking back at the thousands of years he’d existed. Thousands. It seemed so absurd. Mortal lives were fleeting seconds in comparison to the time Elis had spent on earth. Everything he’d done, everything he’d seen, and here he was, finding what? Understanding? Understanding from someone who was but a speck of nothing in the grand scheme of things, in the lifetime of Elis Griffyn.

     

    She continued to speak and he did indeed take it in, but all the while he could feel a bubbling anger begin to stir inside him. Anger toward himself for trying to find comfort in someone so pitiful. Anger in her for thinking her opinion of him mattered. He had no idea where these feeling were coming from. She knew no better. She believed him to be the same as her. It had been his design all along. But now they were here, finding their equality, and it tasted bitter on his tongue. And one by one, the possible routes on their journey were closing down, and the alternatives were dark and dangerous. He reimagined their initial conversations. Their discussion over her hatred of vampires. His entire reasoning for this. And somehow he’d let himself be sidetracked by affection and comfort in a friendship with such a complete waste of f*cking space.

     

    Elouise didn’t understand parenthood. And she was naive to think she did. Two children but where were they? One left to live a lie, the other with friends while she continued to live the life she pleased. She didn’t know the challenges, the pain, the constant, constant worry. Elis had done everything for his family and he’d lost them. Even that journey into the woods, the one that inevitable brought about this immortal curse, was all to provide for those he loved. And Elouise, nor anyone else in this time, would every understand the hard work and commitment needed to truly provide for and protect loved ones. It was all too easy for them.

     

    He looked down to her hand upon his sweater, to her fingers laced about her collar, and he wondered where he was in her mind. Why was she telling him all this? Of the child, of ‘the box’, of it all? Yes, he’d worked to build up her trust in him but hadn’t Jameson done the same? Hadn’t she loved him once? And in loving him, shouldn’t she have shared these secrets?

     

    He was overthinking, sure. But she was confusing him and he’d never been one to enjoy a lack of control. He needed to take it back, take back command of the moment and lead it in the direction he’d had planned from the start. For he was afraid she had greater plans, plans of further affection, possibly of love, and that was more than he’d intended. There was a fine line here. One he didn’t want to cross. He didn’t want anyone to love him. He never had. Love was so special, so powerful, and it was reserved for those now dust within his history. He’d never loved again, as a punishment he’d set for himself. And no-one had the right to love him either. 

     

    He looked from her hand to her face and parted his lips to speak. But instead of words, they took their own cue and once more found their way to hers. He kissed her, a little harder this time, a little more wanton in the delivery. It was forceful. He intended it to be so. He pushed her backward toward the arm of the sofa and allowed for the weight of his body to press her into the cushions, his lips now to her neck. 

     

    “Tell me you trust me again” he whispered against her cheek as his hands wrapped about her waist. “Tell me you trust me and that I’m good.” he asked of her, fully aware of how each and every word was to be spoken. It was the fake insecurity of a man wanting approval. But there was no insecurity within Elis Griffyn. He knew exactly what he was doing. Let her say those words and let he know his truth. And she’d be forced to change her opinion and her ways. For how could a good man, a trustworthy man not continue to be so despite the curse that resided within him? He would tell her the truth and she would change her ways. Because Elis WAS good. Vampires could be good. And she would see that now.

     

    Elouise Orlav

     

    The important thing, the key to this arrangement, Elouise’s ability to tell Elis everything weighs on a very simple fact. She doesn’t love him. She could never love him. And knowing that this relationship will never be more than in it is emboldens her to reveal herself, knowing that losing him wouldn’t affect her. Because for Elouise, love is devastation. It’s a labor, like any Trump Organization project, that doesn’t pay-out in the end. Her love for Jameson is a living, breathing thing. It’s an eternal, devoted affection, surpassing the lies, the secrets, even an attempt on her life. 

     

    No, this is fundamentally different. Being with Elis is a safety net. There aren’t feelings. Elouise is beyond opening her heart again. Not while it still belongs to Jameson Orlav. This man is a pastime, knowingly rendering himself as a means of entertainment. But somewhere, she’s given more of herself than she’s intended. Allowed herself to feel warmth, pity. Sympathy. Perhaps it’s backfiring, now. She doesn’t know. 

     

    But pressed back against the arm of the sofa, she’s prepared to let him make her feel something. Anything. Like Soleil had. But this wouldn’t carry any casualties with it. This could be simple, if she let it. She wants to let go. “I think you’re good.” She whispers against his skin, prepared to offer herself in the last way she knows how. “I trust you.” But now, she doesn’t know if she does. Her heart, her loyalty, they’re fickle. The only figure, only man she’s ever given it to without a second thought was her husband. And even then, he didn’t get all of her. The secrets, the things about her she couldn’t bear to reveal, he’d probably never know.

     

    And she can’t explain it. She can’t possibly make heads or tails of her choices. Because frankly, they don’t make sense to her, either. The sporadic way she makes her moves, her choices in friends and lovers. There are parts to Elouise that are too far gone. Irreparable. And to her, there wasn’t much damage Elis could do, that wasn’t already done.

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    She repeated back the words, sealing her fate with whispered, breathless sentences.

     

    Elis’ body is running hot, the layers of clothing and the warm bubble of the apartment far too much for his body to bear. While the rest of his kind run cold, it’s his beating hard and pumping blood that singles him out. An immortal soul within an indestructible, mortal body. 

     

    I trust you, she says, and it’s enough for him. She trusts him, she trusts a vampire and with that realisation, he can’t help but laugh a little. But the humour in the moment is for him, and he swallows the laughter back with his lips pressing once more to her neck. 

     

    He can feel her heartbeat quicken, he can hear the blood pump quicker through her veins. It’s a noise he works to constantly block out. To ignore. For when he lets the sounds of life open up to him, it’s deafening. It’s too much. So he shuts it out and it helps. It helps with the few hundred years he’s held back from killing for thirst. It helps him to seek blood only from those freely willing to offer it to him. It helps him to continue his ‘goodness’. Until now. Until the moment where he can literally feel the throb of her blood beneath his lips, calling to him. And it takes a hell of a lot for him to hold back from breaking skin and taking his fill. 

     

    The world wouldn’t miss Elouise Orlav. He could kill her now and existence would continue. Nothing would change and the last months would be wasted. No, this wasn’t about killing her. It was about changing her point of view. It was about making her see that she was wrong, that she’d always been wrong. Vampires could be good. ELIS was good. He was good and she trusted him. He was obsessed and he didn't bloody care. For she was wrong and he was right. And he hand to make her understand that.

     

    He lifted his head, his hair falling about his forehead as he looked down at her, nose to nose. Her lips glistened, her eyes partially closed, skin flushed. 

     

    “Elouise…”

     

    He pressed his mouth back to hers for the briefest of moments, tugging at her bottom lip as he pulled back once more to see her face. Everything was by design, for the brush of lips to the honest, caring look in his eyes. He smiled a half smile, nudging his nose to hers once, then twice, before kissing the tip. A hand took his weight as the other moved to brush his thumb across her cheek. 

     

    “I never lied to you…I respect you too much to lie to you…” he lied, pushing back a few of her stray hairs as he continued to watch her eyes. “But your faith in me, your trust, I have to tell you…”

     

    Oh god, how he was milking it. The little devil on his shoulder was all but eating popcorn as Elis continued to lay on the sap, to draw out his ‘great admission’. He had it all planned in his mind. How he’d tell her and though she may show some confusion to start with, she’d understand and accept him. How could she not? He’d told her a truth that he’d kept from so many. He’d shown her months of support and friendship. He’d always been there at the end of a phone, had come to her side when she was in need. He’d gone above an beyond, however bloody irritating he often found her to be. He’d been the absolute perfect gentleman and confidante and this would be the crowning moment of glory. 

     

    “I wanted to tell you from that first moment in the restaurant. I was so close. But you had such different opinions to me and I was afraid. I was afraid you’d see me as something, as someone I’m not. I’m a good man, you said it yourself. But I’m more than that. Elouise, I…oh, I wish I knew the right words for this. Words that don’t make this feel so dirty. I’ve lived for many years. So many years because I’m immortal. Despite the outer shell, I’m…well, Elouise, I’m a vampire.”

     

    Elouise Orlav

     

    ‘I have to tell you…’

     

    She waits for the fall. Amused. Prepared. Because nothing, not a thing in Elouise’s Orlav life has come to her simply. She should have suspected that a catch existed with Elis Griffyn. Something different. At first, she wants to believe it’s an oddly cruel attempt at a joke. But like Maya Angelou commands, he has shown her what he is. And she believes him the first time. He doesn’t need to repeat himself. Her frozen, deer-in-headlights response does not mean she has not processed his omission.

     

    Her long body slips away like a snake, repulse obvious in her demeanor. He hasn’t won her over by any means. He’s only validated her further. “And you thought the best method was to force yourself onto me? To endear yourself?” She scoffs, backing up until her shoulder checks the nearest wall. She stays put there, staring him down from his place on the sofa. “You’re a f*cking monster.” The words are meant to cut, to demean. Her mood has shifted, her interpretation of him entirely different now. “Proud of yourself?” She lets out twisted laugh, pale hands shaking until she grips corner of the wall to steady herself. 

     

    “Your family is better off dead. I’d rather be dead.” She makes the come-ons, the biting remarks, because, she’s not entirely stupid. He’s a daywalker. He’s far more powerful than any other vampire she’s come head-to-head with, and she’s aware she isn’t going to walk away from this alive. “The only credit to you is that you didn’t kill them yourself.” She has that deranged, toothy smile plastered to her freckled face. “Did they suffer, Elis?” 

     

    She tilts her head, ready to deliver more blows. To instigate. “I hope they did. I hope you watched them die. I hope they screamed your name, and died without peace.” Sweet, sweet feathers to be ruffled. 

     

    Elouise Orlav is ready to die. She’s been ready. She just hadn’t thought the opportunity would be so beautiful. She never intended to go quietly, but this seems out of her dream journal.

     

    Elis Griffyn

     

    Elis pulls himself up from the sofa in a heartbeat, forgoing the usual snails pace he put on when parading as a mortal. He takes a step forward toward her, then another, his body a blur as he feels his anger rising.

     

    No, this was not how it was meant to go. This was not the correct outcome from his months of worming his way into her life. Elis was a f*cking saint compared to some many that she passed off as friends. Her husband being a prime example. Yet here she was, calling him a monster, calling him out. And worse?

     

    ‘Your family are better off dead.’

     

    It cuts into him. It tears through his flesh and scores deep into his heart. He can feel the anger erupt in his chest, feel the complete annihilation of Elouise Orlav on the horizon. She was nothing. She was dirt. To call him a monster? Fine. It wasn’t the first time and he was sure as all hell it wouldn’t be the last. But to spit on the memory of the only thing he’d ever held dear, of the family he’d lost to his own doing. The pain of his decision bore into him every day, every f*cking day since the moment he’d first tasted their spilt blood on the air. Since the moment Vlad had taken action against him. It was the forever weight upon his shoulders and no one would let him die, no one would allow him the sweet bliss of death - for even the fires of hell would be better than the pain he felt for their loss.

     

    Another step again, this one calculated, slower and intent-filled as he studied her face, feeling his body twitch against the lava that was ready to erupt from him.

     

    ‘Did they suffer, Elis?’ F*CK YOU. ‘I hope they did.’

     

    Another step more and he was all but pressed against her, the heat of his heavy breathing filling the small space that remained between them. His hands remained at his sides, clenching, pulsing to a rhythm.

     

    p.p1 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica} p.p2 {margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px} span.Apple-tab-span {white-space:pre}

    He’d not said a word. Nothing came from his lips as he raised his fingers, ready to find her neck and…snap. But in that moment, preparing to end her, both voices once more revealed themselves, again with their mutual guidance. And as his arm brought his hand up to pass her shoulder, he roared with frustration and let his fist fly at the wall beside her head. The room rumbled, the bare brick shattered into pieces behind her as, as quickly as he’d done it, he was gone.


Posted at 01:28 pm
Actives (25) Fresh Blood (3) View All The Fallen (2) Graveyard
Seraphina, mist, Cristina Scabbia, Andrei Codin, Syrenity, Kevin Pearson, Fall, Abel Morales, L A Doneoven, Orangesrlife, Jack Pearson, Nick Clark, Kate Pearson, Prince John, Cheryl Blossom, En Sabah Nur, Delouis Whamchest, Beth Pearson, Ofelia Salazar, Randall Pearson, Llewyn Davis, Black Cat, Betty Cooper, Poe Dameron, Cameal Ham  Himura Kenshin
Bijou Larue
Malakai 
Balthazar L
JaceWayland 
Home | Profile | Forums | F.A.Q. | Donate | Terms of Use | Privacy Policy | Contact Us
Created by Arctic Moon Studios. All rights reserved. © Bloodletting 2006-2016

Official Sites for Bloodletting
Blogger1 | Blogger2 | Twitter | FB Group | FB Fan Page