top of page
NocturnalAlchemyBanner.png
  • Instagram
  • Pinterest
  • Facebook

WARNING: This short story is poorly crafted, makes little sense, and contains cringe-worthy prose written by a post-Twilight Teen Jessa. Current-Day Jessa cannot be held responsible for any of the resulting eye-gouging or muscle spasms that may occur due to shudders. Thank you for understanding.

 

Jocelyn stood by her open window, the cool night breeze beckoning her outside. The sheer curtains that clad her dark bedroom twisted on the wind, wrapping softly around each other and brushing her legs.


It had been too long—was always too long—since he had come. A month and four days, she thought quietly to herself, pushing it to the back of her mind. In an effort to think about something else—anything else, really—she focused on the night.


It was oddly serene, a sort of delicate peacefulness that seemed to contradict the feelings tormenting her inside. Tonight she could see the stars clearly for the first time in ages and she hoped, if all else failed, that would be enough. If nothing else, he was looking up at the very same stars.


Tonight. Please tonight, she prayed.


Jocelyn had waited at her bedroom window every night for two years. She never knew which night he would appear. He was like a shadow. Existent, but intangible, uncontainable, and as fleeting as the night itself. So she waited, for one hour every night until midnight, watching carefully for any sign of his arrival.


A gust of wind blew violently and from the open window, causing her long dark hair to spill onto her emotionless face. If Jocelyn had learned anything from her unconventional love, it was that hope was dangerous.


It was so hard, though. Not to hope.


It was almost time to shut the window, the hardest part of every night. She turned back just to check the clock once more. A minute past midnight.


"Not tonight," she told herself quietly, but as she turned back to close the window doors she saw the figure of a familiar creature looming the darkness.


"You came,” she whispered.


“I came.”


“I waited, like always.”


“I know.” He smiled at her darkly. That was his way—darkness. He belonged to the night, to a different kind of world than hers. It both terrified her and thrilled her.


"Will you stay?" Jocelyn tried not to beg. It always started like this: her request, his denial, her begging. It was the rhythm of their relationship, but the music was beautiful. It made the rest worth it.


"Jocelyn, I can't. Not this time."


She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't waste precious time on tears, wishing he would stay for the short time he was here.


The light from the moon hit his black hair so that it glistened, making him a terribly handsome predator.


"Please, James." It wasn't begging this time, it was an acceptance of defeat.


James closed his eyes, hating his own refusal but knowing there was no other option. He wanted for Jocelyn to have everything she could ever wish for.


He wanted her, and that was deadly.


He touched her cheek gently, trying to tell her all he couldn't say with words through his simple touch. He didn't think he could leave her tonight, but she wasn't his to claim. Jocelyn was fragile; she wasn't his kind.


Jocelyn was afraid to turn around, she feared he wouldn't be there. She saw James's face in her mind all the time and she was deathly afraid of losing it. It got harder every time he was gone.


Suddenly with no warning he kissed her. It was more passionate this time, it said more.


Once his lips claimed hers, it became more violent, more intense. A torrent of wind threw itself through the open doors, forcing James and Jocelyn to the back wall of the room where they could retreat from the angry night. James pushed her against the wall, killing her a little inside with the way he touched her. It had always been like this, even from the beginning—a terrible, violent love. A forbidden storm of emotions that couldn't be bottled up or closed out.


James needed her, he could feel it take over every fiber of his being. So he stopped.


"James," Jocelyn pleaded. "Let me come tonight. I want to leave with you."


He glared at her. He had stolen her away and now she didn't want to return to where she belonged.


"I'm not going to do it."


"You promised. You said you'd turn me."


James didn't remember promising, but he didn't say that. His burning urge to take her made him angry. Why could he never control himself when he was around her? His black eyes searched her face, taking in the pale eyes and the wind flushed cheeks. He knew how much this hurt Jocelyn, because it hurt him too.


"I know you want to do it," she said angrily. Jocelyn was finished being the weak submissive one, always becoming vulnerable to James's answers, is unchallenged control. She would have fight for what she wanted. What he, too, wanted.


James knew he couldn't stop it and it made him angry. He knew that she would win this time and that his refusal, his control of the situation, would fail. His power in their relationship was precariously balanced on the edge of a knife, even if Jocelyn didn't realize it. James knew that she was fighting without much hope of winning, that she didn't understand how easily she could make him do anything she wanted.


"You always leave me," she continued, "and I wait for you night after night praying that you'll come. Then when you do, you're right here"—she wrapped her arms around his cold back—"until I blink. When I open my eyes, you're gone and I cry myself to sleep!" Jocelyn was yelling fiercely, blaming her pain rather than admitting it. "It's your fault and I'm tired of it. So either do it tonight, James, or don't come back."


Anger flared up in him. How dare she talk to him like that! Didn't she understand the danger? How precious she was? That he was trying to save her rather than destroy her?


Jocelyn's anger was forced. She knew it was the only way she could try to get through to him. He was so stubborn! She could see how he shook with anger, maybe even longing (she hoped). Jocelyn had only ever wanted one thing from him and that was for him to stay. He always ran away to go hide and hunt with those like him, where he could be free of the temptation humanity offered. She thought that perhaps if she were like him, he might stay with her.


Jocelyn was taken aback by how much she loved James and it cost her every minute he wasn't with her. She knew he was going to leave now, gone for another couple of months—maybe even years, who knew? So before he could disappear, thinking it may even distract him from his anger, she lunged at him, throwing her entire body on top of his, forcing him down onto the bed. This time she didn't hold back.


What was the worst thing he could do, bite her? That's what she wanted.


She kissed with urgency, with longing, with impossibility. She kissed with every hope she had ever had, she kissed with every kind of passion she had ever felt.


James couldn't help it. He was a mess, so frustrated with feeling powerless, so in love with the girl who is now on top of him. He felt it coming but was too weak to hold it back this time. It will change things, he thought fleetingly.


Jocelyn made her way down to his neck, kissing desperately. When would he push her off and make another excuse to leave? She didn't think about it, she just wished her closeness would convince him to stay a while longer. As she kissed, her neck became exposed, taunting James. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain close to her collarbone.


She choked down a scream as the pain dissolved to pleasure. James pressed his mouth closer, drinking forcefully.


"James," she croaked strangely, not recognizing her own voice. She was starting to get light-headed. She tried again and his sucking stopped.


He looked at her, red coloring his lips, and chuckled deeply.


"What?" Jocelyn asked, reaching up to feel the punctures on her neck.


"Your expression," he stated manner-of-factly.


She looked down at her fingers, now dripping with her own blood.


"Here," he said, taking her bloody finger tips to his mouth.


"Is that it?" she asked, a little dizzy.


"I didn't turn you." James narrowed his eyes.


"Well then do it!" Jocelyn turned her neck to him, offering herself back to him.


"Jocelyn, no. Not tonight."


"But... " she wailed, unable to find words. "You just bit me, what about that?"


He shook his head. "That was an accident that shouldn't have happened. "


Jocelyn wanted to cry. Her eyes started to tear up and James put his hands on her cheeks gently.


"I promise I will turn you. But not tonight."


"When then?" she quizzed.


"Next time I come. You can leave with me. But I have to go now."


"Don't leave!" she sobbed.


"Jocelyn," he almost begged. She could make his heart split in two. "Please, just let me go. You have to."


"I know. But I always hope you won't."


He smiled at her. "I'll be back. I promised."


"Yeah, but when? Will I have to wait up every night for a year this time? I can't do that. I just can't."


James sighed heavily. If he was going to leave, he had to stay solid in his stance. He couldn't let her know how much he would give just to stay with her. She could never know how difficult it was for him to return to the night.


"I don't know when I'll be back, Jocelyn. Just please don't close the window." He'd gotten seriously close to begging. He had to leave now.


"I wont," Jocelyn swore.


James climbed out of the window and looked back at her one more time. The wind was still blowing hard, tossing his hair back and forth. "I love you, Jocelyn."


She smiled. These were the lyrics.


"I love you too, James."


She watched as his figure faded into the darkness, blending in to the vastness of the night. He was gone.


Kommentare


Copyright © 2019 Jessa Lucas

All rights reserved. This work or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

bottom of page