Read Online Lust for Life by Jeri Smith-Ready - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeri Smith-Ready
Ads: Link
bottles and plastic shopping
bags.
I head to the microwave and start heating one of the servings of blood we brought
from the station. I refrigerate the other four servings in their brown paper shopping
bag.
“Here they are.” Deirdre finds what she’s looking for: a pack of cigarettes and a
lighter. “So—hey!”
She protests as Shane’s hand zips out, faster than a snake, tearing the lighter away
from her.
“You’re too young to use fire,” he says.
“Jim used to let me light my own.” When Shane holds out his hand, she reluctantly
gives him the cigarette. He lights it for her and hands it back, grimacing at the
taste.
Smoking itself isn’t dangerous for vampires of any age: we can’t get cancer or other
diseases. But the act of lighting up, combined with carelessness or a stray breeze,
can instantly turn us youngsters into a pile of nothing. We should all wear T-shirts
that say WARNING: FLAMMABLE .
“When did Jim turn you?” Shane asks.
She blows out the smoke and rubs her nose. “Last December. Just in time for Christmas,
the prick.”
I try to point out the bright side. “At least it was a dark time of year. Not much
daylight in—”
“I lost my kid!” Deirdre flails her hand at the stairs behind her. “I had to give
him to my ex-husband. That asshole has full custody now, and my poor baby thinks I
don’t . . . that I don’t love him.” She starts to cry. “WhenI do see my son, I can barely hug him for two seconds, and then I have to push him
away so I don’t bite. He smells so good,” she finishes in a whisper.
Shane lowers his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”
“No, you can’t.” She gulps a couple of breaths to stop crying. “What good is living
forever when you lose everything worth living for?”
The microwave beeps. Quietly I fetch the last clean wineglass and pour Deirdre a drink
of blood. My foot brushes a stuffed blue dog her kid must have left behind.
“Come on.” He puts a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder. “Let’s sit and talk.”
Deirdre leans into him as we walk downstairs into the living room. A large window
looms over us. No way would its torn shade block all the sunlight.
“That’s where I sleep.” She points her cigarette at the storage room under the stairs.
“Only safe place in the house.”
I peek inside. Despite the utility-type remnants, like a toolbox and vinyl shelves,
it looks like a decent fallout shelter bedroom. A thick towel hangs over the knob—probably
to stuff into the crack beneath the door to block every photon of sunlight.
“It was an accident.” Deirdre sinks onto the couch and taps her cigarette into the
ashtray. “I don’t know if that makes it worse or better.”
“Jim drank you too deep?” Shane sits beside her, but not close enough to touch.
“Jim always drank me too deep. He wasn’t careful like you.” She shrugs. “At first
I loved that about him.I always had a thing for bad boys. Like my ex.” Deirdre gives Shane a look of longing.
“You were the exception to my rule. My one white knight.”
I clear my throat. “Did Jim take care of you after he made you a vampire?”
“For a few weeks he was great, then he got bored, I guess. I almost starved to death
a couple times.”
The longest I’ve been without blood was twelve hours, and it was hell. The physical
symptoms—thirst, weakness, bone-creaking chills—aren’t even the worst. It’s the way
our minds change. Suddenly it seems okay to kill.
And all that soul-shriveling misery can be swept away with one slurp of a blood-filled
sippy cup.
“I’m so sorry,” Shane tells Deirdre again. “If I hadn’t—” He cuts himself off before
he can say what we’re all thinking: if he hadn’t traded Deirdre to Jim, she’d still
be alive.
It was her choice to stay with Jim, of course. But vampires are as addictive as any
drug, and no one as abusive as Jim
bags.
I head to the microwave and start heating one of the servings of blood we brought
from the station. I refrigerate the other four servings in their brown paper shopping
bag.
“Here they are.” Deirdre finds what she’s looking for: a pack of cigarettes and a
lighter. “So—hey!”
She protests as Shane’s hand zips out, faster than a snake, tearing the lighter away
from her.
“You’re too young to use fire,” he says.
“Jim used to let me light my own.” When Shane holds out his hand, she reluctantly
gives him the cigarette. He lights it for her and hands it back, grimacing at the
taste.
Smoking itself isn’t dangerous for vampires of any age: we can’t get cancer or other
diseases. But the act of lighting up, combined with carelessness or a stray breeze,
can instantly turn us youngsters into a pile of nothing. We should all wear T-shirts
that say WARNING: FLAMMABLE .
“When did Jim turn you?” Shane asks.
She blows out the smoke and rubs her nose. “Last December. Just in time for Christmas,
the prick.”
I try to point out the bright side. “At least it was a dark time of year. Not much
daylight in—”
“I lost my kid!” Deirdre flails her hand at the stairs behind her. “I had to give
him to my ex-husband. That asshole has full custody now, and my poor baby thinks I
don’t . . . that I don’t love him.” She starts to cry. “WhenI do see my son, I can barely hug him for two seconds, and then I have to push him
away so I don’t bite. He smells so good,” she finishes in a whisper.
Shane lowers his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”
“No, you can’t.” She gulps a couple of breaths to stop crying. “What good is living
forever when you lose everything worth living for?”
The microwave beeps. Quietly I fetch the last clean wineglass and pour Deirdre a drink
of blood. My foot brushes a stuffed blue dog her kid must have left behind.
“Come on.” He puts a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder. “Let’s sit and talk.”
Deirdre leans into him as we walk downstairs into the living room. A large window
looms over us. No way would its torn shade block all the sunlight.
“That’s where I sleep.” She points her cigarette at the storage room under the stairs.
“Only safe place in the house.”
I peek inside. Despite the utility-type remnants, like a toolbox and vinyl shelves,
it looks like a decent fallout shelter bedroom. A thick towel hangs over the knob—probably
to stuff into the crack beneath the door to block every photon of sunlight.
“It was an accident.” Deirdre sinks onto the couch and taps her cigarette into the
ashtray. “I don’t know if that makes it worse or better.”
“Jim drank you too deep?” Shane sits beside her, but not close enough to touch.
“Jim always drank me too deep. He wasn’t careful like you.” She shrugs. “At first
I loved that about him.I always had a thing for bad boys. Like my ex.” Deirdre gives Shane a look of longing.
“You were the exception to my rule. My one white knight.”
I clear my throat. “Did Jim take care of you after he made you a vampire?”
“For a few weeks he was great, then he got bored, I guess. I almost starved to death
a couple times.”
The longest I’ve been without blood was twelve hours, and it was hell. The physical
symptoms—thirst, weakness, bone-creaking chills—aren’t even the worst. It’s the way
our minds change. Suddenly it seems okay to kill.
And all that soul-shriveling misery can be swept away with one slurp of a blood-filled
sippy cup.
“I’m so sorry,” Shane tells Deirdre again. “If I hadn’t—” He cuts himself off before
he can say what we’re all thinking: if he hadn’t traded Deirdre to Jim, she’d still
be alive.
It was her choice to stay with Jim, of course. But vampires are as addictive as any
drug, and no one as abusive as Jim
Similar Books
