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Here was the thing about Alice: she was unequivocally beautiful. Maybe her body was sharp, and her hair ragged, and her eyes held a weight in them unseen in our days, a weight of a woman who had witnessed evil and fallen in love with it. A stained glass window of a gothic church would have depicted her as a witch, dancing naked with the devil, and it often felt she was. Maybe she could smirk and force everyone to fall in line, reaching for an illusory love they would never get. Maybe her voice was scratchy and hoarse from smoke, but still it was soft as a thick rug on wet feet. Nonetheless there was something about her, something that told you to see her in those windows, something that told you to dream of her sleekly marble body at night. To imagine the fire in your fingers after touching her poison, and to delight in it.
I thought myself immune to such, and yet, on the fourteenth of February, I found my hand pressed upon the divots of her waist.
She was lying in my bed when I awoke, staring at my prone form. Her orangey-brown eyes that shone like the sun’s corona raked over my body, strpping me to my core, my soul pulsing green and grey. A burning gasp made its way up my throat and out into the empty air between us, heavy with her lack of breath.
“What—“
She smirked. Distantly I noticed the sound of my jaw clicking together. I already knew. She had a way of knowing and telling that was almost entirely unsemantic. A blink of her eyes, lashes fluttering on the icy white planes of her cheekbones, would offer me all the information I ever needed. Many times before had a Cullen appeared in my room overnight, and although I found most such instances frankly violating, I was becoming used to it. Nevertheless, none of them had dared approach me close as Alice did — not even Edward, who stood kindly in the opposite corner of my room, at least offering me some grace in the shock of awakening to a man in one’s room. He told me that the smell of my blood was too attractive, that coming too close to me was like overdosing on heroin. “I can feel my throat closing, and I’m struggling to get more air,” he said over an untasted sandwich, “and I’m trying to stop myself from going for more because it’s just— good.”
I did understand where he was coming from, but I wished he hadn’t describe it like an allergic reaction.
I thought it odd that Alice was so close to me, then. Her sharp-edged limbs lined up securely with the dips of my body. She was holding me gently, as if I were an infant quivering in the arms of a stranger. I could feel the cool pressure of her skin upon my side, my stomach, my chest. The soft movement of her lips in a false mimicry of breath sent frissons down my spine. I wanted to hold her close like this forever. I wanted to press myself to her and intertwine in an endless tango. In Greek Mythology, the human was originally a creature with four arms and four legs. The gods became fearful of them and split them into two, and it’s said that we spend the rest of our lives searching for our other destined half. I had laughed when I first read it.
As I looked at Alice, her smile small and fond, I realised that there was some truth to the tale. Maybe there were people out there, people you searched for eternally, and became one with when you found them.
I felt a shock of cold upon my palm. My hand, whilst I was in my ruminations, had moved its way up her body and cupped her neck. She glanced down at my skinny fingers. I was always pale, but I looked tan on her powdery skin. I looked her in the eyes. There was something about the beauty of them, some deep gem-ness of the orange color, that made me want to kiss her until she could breathe again, made me want to deliver my breath within her. My lips edged closer to hers, bit by bit. I could feel the soft touch of my eyelashes upon my face. She seemed deep in thought, considering something of dire importance. I wanted to kiss the crease in between hey eyebrows off her face.
“Do you want to go out today?” she whispered.
I blushed red, caught in my act. I stuttered for a second, my voice frantically racing to catch up with my train of thought.
“O-out where?”
“Out. I was thinking we could go shopping. Ahh…” she sighed, stretching out like a starfish, “— but there’s some new pieces at the thrift store. I saw them, if you know what I mean.” She smirked softly. I wished she would press those lips upon my throat.
“Why are you using your… wonderful and fantastical powers to find out what new clothes will be at the thrift store? And anyways, why are you even here? I thought today was your… hiking day, if you know what I mean.”
The sunlight was blocked by my thick curtains, but I knew if they were opened, the light would stream over Alice like a flowing river, and she would glow in the light with an undescribable beauty. It would reflect off of her curves and edges and bounce back over itself, and her skin would be crystalline. She shone in the sun. She shone everywhere, a light deep in my heart warming my body on the coldest nights.
"I thought I would play hooky," she said, the nearing sounds of a laugh bubbling up in the back of her throat. "I wanted to do something fun." Her hand stroked down the front of my body, slowly, as if to feel the solidity of my realness, my existence. I shivered. "I was thinking you could just spend a day with me. Just the two of us. I feel like we haven't talked in forever, you know?"
"How're you going to go out into the sunlight anyways? It's not like it's cold out, or something — I dunno if you could cover up plausibly."
"I guess we'll just have to figure it out. Anyways, are you coming or not?" She stretched out of the bed, twisting her back in a long arc. Her top lifted up slightly, and I saw the divots of her hipbones, the ridge of her spine, the tiny bump of skin where her jeans compressed against her. I saw her full body in the darkness of the room, and I knew I had to make a choice, had to do something. I stood with a jerky motion. Stepped behind her, smelt the soft acridity of saltwater, the poison of a lily-of-the-valley. She enveloped my mind wholly. I leant my head down to the back of her neck, touched my forehead to her nape, a reverent devotee to her own goddess. She turned to me, questioningly.
"What— what are you doing?"
I looked her in the eyes — Oh! Those beautiful golden eyes! — clasped her face within my hands, and brought her to my lips.
She was cold stone. It was similar to kissing a statue, and yet— yet! Her lips turned and moved in sequence with mine. I felt everything so acutely, the brush of her hair against my cheek, the nip of her teeth upon my lips. It was smooth and controlled, and it seemed endless. She was endless, endlessly beautiful, endlessly dead. I held her to me, lined her petite frame with mine, pressed my soul into hers. Her lips were beautiful. I felt them warm with my own body heat, felt them soften, slightly, part a small amount. She was smiling. It was positively fantastic.
I broke off from her, and she looked at me questioningly.
"Wh— why?"
She trailed off. I figured she knew everything, could see what we were going to do. I could see a confusion in her pupils. She looked up suddenly, face filled with realisation. Her eyes fell into a more lidded, seductive view. Grasping my waist, she pulled me down onto the bed with her, her body lying heavy on top of me. She smiled sensually down at me.
"Maybe we can leave the shopping for later, hmm?"