Wanted: Undead or Alive

Love Hurts

I sat in my apartment alone, belly full of pain killers and beer in hand, unsure what day or time it was. I stared at the bowl of fruit on the counter. When I lifted the beer bottle to my lips, nothing came out. I set it with the other two empties, went to the bathroom to get rid of the liquid, got another beer from the fridge, and sat down at the table again.

The pomegranate hadn't moved. It didn't look magical, but it was a pretty fruit. Sensual. The color was the crimson of painted lips, the shape reminiscent of a plump breast. Not my breast. Mine wasn't particularly plump. Mine were plums. Maybe peaches. Definitely not pomegranates.

I sipped my beer.

The world was getting a little soft and fuzzy around the edges. Mission accomplished.

My favorite musician watched me from a poster on the wall. His dark eyes had a curious slant to them.

"I've never been in love before. Not really."

The poster didn't comment.

"I love people. I love Jaja and Busia. I love Chantelle and Frank and the kid. I love Mandrake. That's different though, right?"

Presumably, he understood what I was getting at. He'd sung a lot of songs about love. Wanting it, finding it, losing it.

I took a drink of my beer. Hard to say if the alcohol was making the pain more manageable or if it was just making me care less, but either way it was an improvement.

"Of course, there's an element of lust. That's his superpower. It's been there since the first time we made eye contact. But I think I fell in love the night he got attacked by salamanders. At least, that's when the seed was planted." I made a wide gesture with my beer bottle, and nearly fell out of my chair. "I saved his ass that night. He might be a god, but I saved him. He needed me."

The poster was just a poster. It didn't offer any response. Of course it didn't. I hadn't expected it to. I'm not crazy. At least, not in that way.

Still, I maintained eye contact. "He needed me." The frightened little animal in my chest buried its metaphorical face under its imaginary paws. "He's really freaking scary," I whispered. "He's too intense. Too strong. Too beautiful."

My beer was empty. I set the bottle aside, stood, wobbled, steadied myself, and took three steps to the counter where the fruit bowl sat. When I picked up the pomegranate, it felt warm and heavy in my hand. I carried it to the place beside the sink where I kept a cutting board and set it on the wooden surface. A sharp knife was within easy reach. Cutting the fruit open wasn't exactly a commitment to eat it.

The blade sliced through the flesh and crimson juice pooled on the cutting board.

My muscles remembered the feeling of driving the knife into the soul eater's spinal cord, the hot splash of blood.

I dragged a finger through the thin, sugary juice and drew a little heart.

"I don't need him. If I didn't have him in my life, I'd be sad, but I'd carry on." I smeared the heart out of existence. "Eventually, I'd marry someone else. Maybe even Drake. Maybe we'd have a baby. A tiny little demigod."

It was easy to pluck a single bright red seed from the bunch. When I held it up to the light, it glowed like a ruby. "Maybe I'll find a human guy. One who doesn't even believe in vampires and demons. A scientist with a 401k."

The seed slipped from my fingers and rolled under the counter and out of sight.

I picked up the fruit, tore it open so that the bunches of tiny berries lay fully exposed, and bit into it. Nothing had ever been so sweet or refreshing. It was as if the flavor of sunshine had been captured within that thick red and white rind. I gnoshed on it. Juice ran down my chin and rolled down my arms in streams that dripped from my elbows and stained the cheap linoleum tiles. I ate every seed. When I was done, I searched for the seed I'd dropped, rinsed it clean, and ate that one, too. I slurped the juice from the cutting board and licked my hands clean.