Tonight I am feeling dark, I feel things with a liquid heat. I feel hurt and anguish but I am no victim. I do not accept these sensations lightly, and so tonight I write with a need to scourge all that is bad from me. I need to take that which seeks to destroy my soul, my being; I will face it and in doing so I will make it become mine. I take possession of my soul back.

Revenge, it was time for it. For too long I had put up with things. I had accepted his excuses, however flimsy- and in hind sight I now see with stupidity too. Simply I'd accepted his bad behavior with grace and dignity. Too scared to upset things and so afraid of looking into the mirror. Now I was no longer looking through closed eyes, life's reflection stared back at me in the harsh light of day.

To take responsibility I had to take the first step, and so began my metamorphosis. 

One day and night was all I was allowed. I faced my darkness and embraced it, what was life without control. And so I sat there and began my plan. By the end of the evening I had it all worked out. I would sleep now and tomorrow I would put my plan into action.

I slept the sleep of the gods, waking refreshed and excited. I knew now that I was too good for him, You've got to love those rose-tinted glasses, but love them even more after they have been trampled into dust. Today I would teach him a lesson. I would become in essence without conscience or feeling. This changing of my personality was good, I was growing into my new face.

The black widow. I have a fascination with spiders, especially the black widow. How wonderful, to meet, to entice and enthrall, to mate and then to dine! No time for them to deceive, or to bore her. Life moved on to the next one, The previous mate enjoyed, embraced and engorged, until it was time to order the next one. Perfect. Tonight I would wear black.

He was there, I knew he would be. He did love me in a fashion, especially when there was no one else around. To guarantee he would turn up, I had promised him a new, sexual surprise. He couldn't resist that and his eyes visibly widened when he saw me.

***

He didn't recognize her at first, she looked different, transformed. She had dyed her hair brunette and looked stunning in a black, skin-tight, velvet dress, with dangerously spiked, high heels. Carrying just a small clutch bag. Glam-Goth would have been the perfect description. What had happened to her!

She sat beside him, kissed his cheek almost primly, Then she looked deep into his eyes and kissed him full on the lips. Her perfume was seductive and powerful, he felt his erection grow. But he knew he had some making up to do, so didn't push it by suggesting they went straight back to his place. He was surprised when she did.

***

I knew he was allergic to bee stings, he always kept his adrenalin shot close. Back at his place I avoided him, cranked up the sexual tension to full. Impatient! was all I said. He was sweating, he couldn't read this new me. And so he went and got a bottle of wine. Usually I had white, and one glass lasted me the whole night, but tonight I drank red wine. I actually felt sexy and empowered, and the control was a powerful aphrodisiac. I was enjoying myself. Taking his hand I led him into the bedroom.

***

Damn it but she was sexy tonight. She was confident and self-assured. He liked this new woman. She left for a moment and appeared carrying the two wine glasses, these she placed on the bedside table. She stopped me drinking by kissing me deeply, then she slipped her dress from her body, it landed on the floor, a pool of black liquid. The light was turned low, it felt beautiful-though he did not know the sentiment. Wearing stockings and bra, she seduced him and he didn't even realise it. He was lost. She slid herself onto him, brought him to a rise and then let him fall, again and again, until he was begging her to finish him.

He felt his mind drifting, absent-mindedly he was wondering if he could manage again. She was amazing, and he didn't recognize her at all. Until she looked at him, the hair was dark, the makeup smudged and the afterglow of sex was still about her, but her eyes-they still held that love for him deep within her and he recognised it.

***

He was sated, so was I, and for a moment I almost resisted my plan. But already I could see the restless look stealing across his face. I handed him his drink and drank from mine. We didn't say much but I knew he would want me gone soon. For all the time I had known him, I had never stayed all night. I turned to place my glass back on the table and when I turned back he was lying on the bed, the empty glass held loosely in his hand.

***

He felt dizzy, sleepy but very much aware of what was happening. His limbs went slack, his body numbing as he lay there. She moved from the bed and left the room. He heard the sound, though it didn't register what it was at first. She held a jar before him. Shook it, the buzzing inside grew. He knew what it was. She unscrewed the lid, sliding a piece of card over the jar. She then tipped it upside down onto his chest, holding the jar onto him. Her eyes looked into his and with no hesitation she slid the lid from it. It didn't take long for the bee to sting him. She scraped it back into the jar, said 'it's a shame the bee must die, but sometimes a sacrifice is needed.'

***

I watched him with cold, fascination. He couldn't move, and I smiled as his mouth tried to beg. I sat in the chair and watched him die. Then calmly dressed myself, blew him a kiss and let myself out, taking the jar with the poor deceased bee, and his empty wineglass discarding them on my way home.

Tonight my venom wasn't from a spider, but the bee was a noble creature and it had served me well enough. Though I was now a black widow, and took strange comfort in the lack of emotions I felt. I knew tomorrow I would grieve at the loss of the man I had loved, and probably still did. But it was comforting to know that his last night on earth, I had given him the buzz, he had always seemed to be seeking...

I have been devouring books again. I absolutely couldn't put these down. Most biogs are about the great people themselves, but I always enjoy reading about the lives of those around them. In Josephine's case, I wonder would Napoleon really have become the man he did without her help. Did destiny place them together, in order that their fates could be fulfilled. Fascinating stuff.

It's told in a journal form, It is easy to read, in that you want to know what tomorrow brings. She was a blogger before blogging became huge. Though they called them diarists then. I admit I cried when I read the end of the last book, her life was far from easy. It's a love story wrapped in the torments of sacrifice and ambition. The author stays away from Napoleon as a character in his own right, but tends to portray him through the eyes of Josephine. I loved these and was so disappointed when I reached the end of the trilogy.

I found the info about the author (Sandra Gulland) and the pics of the books on her website. http://www.sandragulland.com/

The Josephine B. Trilogy :

Book 1: The Many Lives & Secret Sorrows of Josephine B.

"You will be Queen."
A novel about destiny; Josephine's life from 1777, when she turns 14, to 1796, when she marries Napoleon at the age of 32.

Book 2: Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe.

"I fear I've made a mistake."
A novel about betrayal; the first four years of Josephine's marriage to Napoleon from 1795 to 1799 when Napoleon, with Josephine's help, takes control of France.

Book 3: The Last Great Dance on Earth

"Did she know how much we loved her?"
A novel about an enduring love set against the opulence and treachery of the Empire years; Josephine's life from 1799 to her death in 1814 at the age of 50.

Sunday evening continued

Had I really believed he would accept things so easily. That he would find me, fall in love with me, have his heart broken and then just let me walk away! He lived his life selfishly, his actions performed without conscience. He didn't know, or had forgotten what it was like to lose. Each day brought him sleep of a kind, it enabled any weakness to strengthen or to be discarded. His mind to seek out those synapses in his brain that needed rejoining, or which needed new pathways. His mental capacities were astounding, but the more he used them, the longer they needed to repair. He was eternal but not infallible.

While he slept he planned things out, rationally with detachment, and without emotion. His brain worked differently to ours, his cells regenerated and he lived in death eternally. Each night was a kind of rebirth, a new outlook on his life, the first kill, his first meal- and he was ready to conquer anyone or anything. But the loneliness of these endless nights had been shown when she had found his soul, and then his heart. It had allowed a glimmer of humanity into him- he loved but then he also hated.

If I had known this then, I would have been less certain that he had given up on me. Maybe I would have entered my home with more trepidation, than the worry of an irate husband...

(The last part)The taxi driver didn't ask any questions but he kept staring at me through his mirror. His eyes taking in the bruises and saying nothing. I told him my address, and then ignored him. I was glad he wasn't the kind who wanted to talk. Soon he was dropping me off outside my home, it was in darkness. My trembling fingers unlocked the door, they didn't want to work- inside was silent. I switched the lights on as I walked through my house. Part of me hoped he was out, so I could compose myself enough to come up with a half-way decent lie. No one answered my call.

I walked into the bedroom, the light from the hall shone into the room. I was surprised that my husband was still was in bed. Taking a deep breath I walked in, calling his name softly. No answer. He lay under the covers, his dark hair on the pillow, an unruly mess of black/grey curls. He needed a haircut I thought as I stood beside the bed, the room was so silent. He didn't move, his usual snoring, snuffling sounds were absent. My hand hovered above the cover, I called him again. And again he didn't answer or move. Pulling the cover from him, I knew what I would find. He looked as though he was sleeping, his rumpled hair, untidy, he needed a shave too I thought as I touched his cold, cold skin. He was a ghastly white, grey, I knew then.

I didn't need to see the twin puncture holes in his neck, to know.

My knees gave away then and I crumpled to the floor, pulling the cover with me. Then my heart broke, I felt it snap, it tore  with a sharp tearing pain. I howled with the anguish of it all, like an animal trapped with the knowledge that I was caught in this trap and with no end to it. My tears fell, my wounds nothing to the pain that I now felt. I couldn't stay there knowing my dead husband lay so close to me. I left him there all alone.

It was then that I heard the words in my head. "A heart for a heart, seems fair to me."

I crawled from the room, lay huddled against the wall outside it. The smell was terrible, why hadn't I noticed that before. I banged my head, again and again, against the wall- trying to drive Alex from it. I didn't want to live, I couldn't not with the guilt. The bathroom, sleeping pills, anything that would kill quickly, I took them all. Soon I hoped! though I wasn't brave enough to go and lie with my dead husband. Soon! I prayed as I lay down and let the tablets take me, falling into a deep sleep.

I really believed I would not wake up. He knew I would though, Alex watched and waited.

And now I find I am back in the present, back to Monday and my frantic scribbling. I hadn't died, nor did cutting my wrists work. The wounds healed, slowly but they still healed, the blood clotting as it flowed. I am writing it down, so I don't forget it. I will remember who I was!

The loss of blood and this gnawing hunger, tears at my insides. I cut my wrists, again and again, re-opening the wounds as they closed, hoping I would reach a point when they wouldn't close again. That was when I heard his terrible anger. Heard his rage in my head and passed out with the pain. It was then I realised there was no escaping him. He was coming, I knew he was very near now. I had to finish writing this down, in case he wiped the memories from my mind.

Finished now, I got the disc and the book of my notes, put them in my bag. He was was here, I turned to him and said "I am ready, I won't fight you anymore" the spirit within me dissipated as he once again sunk his teeth into me. Drained me unto the very edge of death, then opened his own vein and held it to my mouth. I couldn't resist, the hunger was too deep, too savage- I drank, draining him as he had drained me. In the space between life and death, I felt my soul tear free, pulled from me. I felt his flutter as it embraced mine.

Sunday Morning

It was quiet, I listened but couldn't hear him. I'd been away all night, but at this moment I had more to fear than my husband's accusations. I had no idea where Alexander was, probably in his coffin I thought. Hm that graveyard humour again.

Quickly I found my phone, it was smashed, so I put the pieces into my handbag. Why? I don't know I wasn't exactly feeling rational. I hurt all over and was feeling very sorry for myself, but glad to be alive. The sun streaming in didn't mark my skin, nor did it turn me into dust- for now I was still human. Time to leave.

If only it was that easy. The door was locked, and the windows wouldn't open. I hadn't realised how high up they were until now. I looked for a phone, couldn't find one. I would not panic! keep calm I told myself, though my heart was racing and I had never been so terrified in my life. I began banging on the walls but no one answered, because no one could hear me- I was trapped. I told myself again not to panic. But I was beginning to. The apartment was silent, I couldn't hear anything, no sounds penetrated these walls.

I found myself in the kitchen, rifling through the drawers and cupboards searching for a weapon. Damn it where did he keep his knives? Stupid me! I thought as I saw them sitting innocently in their block on the counter. Not like my home, where everything was mixed in one drawer and not a blade on any of them. I grabbed the biggest & sharpest looking one. It looked deadly, and then thought wasn't there a statistic that most people trying to defend themselves with a knife, ended up murdered with their own knife. I pushed it back into the block and pulled out a small one, with a short blade. Then changed my mind and pulled the huge one back out of its block. I slid it under the sofa and put the small one down the side of the sofa's cushion. Then I sat down to wait.

Sunday Evening

Daylight passed into evening, my stomach grumbled but I doubt I could have eaten anything. I saw another bottle of wine and so poured myself a glass and then another. It came to me with a flash of drunken, inspiration. Pull the table to the window and break the glass. I dragged the coffee table across, still not high enough and so I piled books on it. Precariously I climbed onto the top, and could just reach the window-damn it what was I going to break it with?

So back down, another swig of wine. By now I could have conquered anyone. I picked up an arty ornament, climbed up and swung it at the glass. The rebound shook me, but the glass held. So holding onto the wall, I tried again-not even a scratch. Just as I was about to try another crack against the window, the books toppled and I landed on the floor. The ornament narrowly missing my own head as it fell beside me. I started to cry eventually falling asleep in a crumpled heap on the sofa.

I was still asleep when he returned. But something of him stirred within my mind. He took both knives and put them back where they belonged. I felt his hand tenderly, stroking my hair, my face. I heard him say" why is it that you can make me so angry. You make me lose myself in ways that I haven't done in centuries." His touch woke me completely. He seemed to drain the fear from me as his fingers touched me. Then he said "I know you are awake."

My head hurt, but the pain wasn't as bad, his touch when he was in this mood was magic. Too much wine, too little food and too many hurts. "Can I go home now?" my voice a mere whisper.

I felt his sigh, his regret that we still hadn't talked or connected as he wanted. But then I was beginning to see him, I could read him now. And I knew I was in no danger, he had fed so as not to feed again on me. I had pushed him too far before, unpredictable his moods, I didn't want to set him off again. I just wanted home.

He read my thoughts, he was inside me in the most intimate way possible. He saw the love I still felt for my husband, I lay there with him but he knew my mind was elsewhere. The cost of taking his blood was that I could also see deep into his thoughts too. His love for me rendered him human, yet my love for another enabled me to disconnect him from my mind. He was confused, I saw it clearly. His guard was down, I felt his heart break, it robbed him of his strength and made the creature that he was vulnerable. 

I left him then, his was a world that I didn't want after all.

His thoughts were tortured, I knew he saw a part of me that reminded him of the light. Of daylight and sunshine and goodness, and perhaps purity too.

He didn't see the side that I kept hidden from him, the part that enabled me to walk away and leave him. My fear of a deep, eternal love was greater than any fear he could have created. But in the end it had been my strongest weapon. I only hoped I wasn't going home to an empty home, love for a single lifetime wasn't half as strong as love for eternity.

There I was determined to write about blood, thirsty vampires. Yes I have the next bit ready to be pulled from my mind. But I made the mistake of putting my media player on and damn if I didn't go and get pulled into my soppiest love songs.

If I write the next bit of my story, I will have her saving his soul. Making him human again (poor thing) and they will fall head-long into the throes of the deepest, slushiest love that I can imagine. Yeuk, can't have that! Much too difficult to write about requited love.

But I am at the moment feeling that feeling, love and a million violins playing the beats of our twin hearts. Melting into arms that have to embrace each other, touch that has to be felt. The completion of a love held at arms length, something that has grown slowly into something all consuming. Acting on the feelings, when the compulsion cannot be held back any more. More than mere sex, more than making love, it is love...

WHITE HELIOTROPE
The feverish room and that white bed,
The tumbled skirts upon a chair,
The novel flung half-open where
Hat, hairpins, puffs and paints, are spread;

The mirror that has sucked your face
Into its secret deep of deeps,
And there mysteriously keeps
Forgotten memories of grace;

And you, half dressed and half awake,
Your slant eyes strangely watching  me,
And I, who watch you drowsily,
With eyes that, having slept not, ache;

This (need one dread? nay, dare one hope?)
Will rise, a ghost of memory, if
Ever again my handkerchief
Is scented with White Helioptope.

Arthur Symnons (1865-1945)

How long I remained passed out on the floor I had no idea, I  think it had been only for a brief moment. But my head pounded with a throbbing pain. I knew it was Alexander, knew his anger had reached me. He roared with a pain I hadn't thought possible in him. But I could tell he was like a wounded animal and as such was even more dangerous. The electricity was still out, but I had to get the rest of Saturday night down, before it was too late. I sensed he was coming to me. And so I did it the old fashioned way, with pen and paper.

So there I was buoyed up with confidence and alcohol. I stood there taunting him, "Well, vampire come on, bite me get it over with, so we can break this obsession. Or let's just have sex and part ways, end it on a good note instead of this dark posing of yours" I was on a roll, he just stood there, maybe seeing me for the first time. Then I started laughing, walking to the bottle I poured another glass. Said "here drink some and loosen up" He looked at me impotently. That was it, I had found his weakness, his manhood. I laughed again, finding it suddenly hilarious. "So that's it, you can't get it up-can you!"

I think I had gone too far. I was drunk now, but still picked the bottle and was pouring it into the glass. I was muttering something, when he grabbed my arm. He tore the glass from my hand and smashed it against the wall. Red wine dripped, like an abstract, painting in blood down the wall. I felt that screeching sound in my head, it rose filling my temples, my whole head with agonizing pain and blood oozed from my nose. I fell backwards as he threw me against the wall, my hand falling on the broken glass. Blood poured from the wound on my hand and my nose. I raised a hand to try and stop it, so it was blood he wanted I thought. I raised my hand towards him, "here take it, isn't this what you want" he looked at me, looked at the redness of me and the sight and scent of it altered him completely.  His eyes riveted on the blood, cold animalistic, the pupils taking completely over the iris. His skin paled and I felt his hunger in my head too. He was beside me, before I could blink. His hands grabbing me, his teeth biting into my hand, my blood being pulled with a force into his mouth. I grew paler and was at the edge of darkness, when his mind linked with mine. I realised it was more than just blood he took, he was taking my soul and my essence. Then he just stopped. Pulled away from me, he was terrifying but yet so beautiful. The blood from me, warming his soul. Bathing his skin with a golden glow. I think I saw ecstasy, but I was fading now. Sleep was taking me.

He took my head and gently kissed me, his teeth opening the cut on my lip deeper. He bit down on his and kissed me deep again, his blood dripping into my still mouth. I couldn't breathe, had no need to but as I drank of his blood I felt the first stirrings of his hunger. Began to feel its animal selfish need and with a great gasp I breathed him in deeply. My mouth now pulling at his, alien thoughts transferred into my mind from his. And for a moment I touched his soul, trapped somewhere, tortured but it was there. He pulled away, but I wanted more of him. It was an awakening I had never felt before. More than my mere mind and body.

My soul touched his, and he looked at me. It was simple, it was a look of pain on his face. He dropped me, I lay fallen in the broken glass and in my own blood.  He was gone.

I found my way into his bathroom, the blood still stained my face and I did feel ill. That surprised me, wasn't becoming a vampire supposed to make you all new. I washed the blood, dabbed at the cuts with a towel. They were still there. I hurt, my body ached but my mind was alive. If I thought hard enough, I could follow him, feel his thoughts. I was still afraid though. And so I with trepidation I came  out of the bathroom.The flat was still empty, I seemed to be having time lapses. It was now Sunday, and I had been gone all night.