Euphoria, Vampire/Werewolf AU, shapeshifting & manipulation
Rue watched the blades of grass sneak their way into spring alongside the perky leaves so green they seemed photoshopped. Lonely streets used to the worn-out nine-to-five workers sitting in front of their TVs by five fifteen were now stomped by their dirty sneakers found in the depths of last year’s wardrobes in exchange for the winter boots which took their places. Silence switched for laughter as the local kids flooded the neighbourhood, finally released from the gloomy clutches of rain and snow and wind that kept them home. Daily troubles dispersed into oblivion; somehow, even the most pervading inner uproar lost their grip faced with as much as the slightest sign of sun and warmth.
Rue watched them all from behind the windowpane. She, too, yearned to swim in the sea of daylight despite being utterly submerged in darkness. That, she sometimes thought, might have been the single bravest act of rebellion she could have undertaken. Admitting, even if just to herself, a desire for something better, something more.
Before another thought had a chance to take shape, a blink of an eye caused the night to befall onto the roofs of houses across the street. A soft and heavy star-smudged blanket devoured their ardour and, for a few hours, it was winter again. But no matter how cold, sleep was a blessing gifted only to some. Rue was not one of them.
Another blink, and behind the glass a figure appeared. Without a flinch, Rue kept her gaze fixed. The figure moved ever so slightly, and only then Rue began to slowly trace it up the simple white dress. Stomach, chest, shoulders. The scarlet of Jules’ eyes was scary and yet familiar, improbable and the most real thing this world had to offer. Her smile held its softness as she waited for the window to open before her as it did every night. She came in, quieter than death. Rue pretended not to see bloody stains edging Jules’ otherwise angelic demeanour; tried not to think whose blood it could’ve been. As long as she could feel herself be engulfed in the shiver that came with cold palms finally meeting her starving skin and transfixed by the puncture of the ever-open wound on her neck, nothing else mattered.
“Tomorrow’s the night,” said Rue. Her voice muffled in Jules’ hair. “Will you...” The question wandered off, just for a moment. The loss of blood brought weakness and a strange mist rose in her mind. The only thing she could still focus on was Jules’ warm breath, the sweetness and exhilaration of her tongue tracing Rue’s wounds. But the question came back, too. “Will you look after me? Like you promised?”
“Of course.” She took her time to answer, but for Rue, that was enough. “Don’t you trust me?”
“I do.” The possibility of Jules doubting that, getting angry, not coming back, startled her. “Of course I do.”
“Good.” She kissed her, left the taste of metal in Rue’s mouth. “Good.”
The following night, Rue waited.
I transformed early, she reasoned. Though her body ran through the woods in its beast-like form, her mind was sober – she had all night for reasoning. She’ll be late. I could’ve told her.
The world seemed more desolate than ever.
She will come. The moon high and round and bright. She promised.
She contemplated the stars while her body busied itself with a mushy arm of a tramp stuck in between its teeth.
The night was almost over.
Jules didn’t really come, at least not to stay. She showed up, for a moment, closer to the end of Rue’s monthly turmoil instead of its beginning. She gazed at Rue’s werewolf form from afar, curious but not sympathetic; her dress covered in red. You came! Rue wanted to cry. You came, you do care!
But Jules only shook her head, amused with Rue’s misery. Then, she walked away.
The next day, the two disappearances and one animal-inflicted death made the headlines, and Rue’s stomach hurt. It was just as bright and warm as before, but she could hear no play or teenage banter from the streets. Now, instead of cold, people hid from a monster.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Even from under her duvet, the knocking reached her ears. Laying hidden, her back to the window, she kept herself anchored with the memory of each time she pretended not to see foreign blood marking the light dress nor the ache of broken promises and ever-abused trust. Her limbs hurt with Jules’ presence so close yet so out of reach, soundless sobs pained her in a way the fangs had never done.
It’ll be good for me, she repeated. I’m finally standing up for myself.
But when the tapping finally stopped, it took only one fearful, isolation-stricken moment for Rue to leap back out of bed, and, with a beating heart, stand in front of the window. There, a few feet away, was Jules. Her eyes remorseless, her smile saying: I knew you’d come.
“Where were you yesterday?” Rue’s voice was no more than a whisper.
“With you,” said Jules. “I was with you the whole night. Can I come in?”
It was Rue’s secret, the sobriety. No one knew she was there, watching her body destroy, break, murder, devour. For them, she was just a beast, with no humanness within, and she did not deny it. It was easier this way.
So when Jules lied, and her soft smile arose blissfulness as it did hatred, the only thing Rue was capable of uttering was simple: “Yes.”