From: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Sent: Sunday, August 26, 2001 9:48 PM
To: [EMAIL PROTECTED]
Subject: Forevers Not Enough by Javieress
Yeah right, like she really believed Vachon was evil, and like that was
really the reason they could never be together. She didn't think he was
evil. Okay so he occasionally fed on humans: Tracy, don't even think about
that part, the part that is the vampire.
She wasn't scared of the vampire in him, in fact that was probably one
reason she was so attracted to him; what she was scared of were the feelings
he stirred inside of her.
Tracy's whole life had been about perfection and order, about doing
things the right way, and then he came along and turned everything she knew
upside down.
She watched him walk away from her car, and as he waved with an utterly
confused look on his face, all the time they had spent together flashed
before her, the first time she ever saw him, and she fainted; what a perfect
beginning to what had become the strangest relationship she had ever had.
She saw the way he casually played with her hair sometimes while talking to
her; the way he would never let her get the last word in, when she was so
used to it being the other way around. She saw the way how looked at her
with those incredible eyes that made her lose all train of thought and
rationality.
Tracy turned on the radio, thinking that the noise would drown out the
memories of him making her laugh, making her mad, making her love him beyond
all comprehension, but the song that came on only made matters worse.
Just before our love got lost you said,
"I am as constant as the Northern Star."
And I said, "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at
If you want me I'll be in the bar."
On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you are in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
And I would still be on my feet
Oh I would still be on my feet
Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones who ain't afraid
I remember that time you told, me you said
" Love is touching souls."
Surely you've touched mine
‘Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh your in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter ans so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed."
Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet
Oh I could drink a case of you, darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet
Damn that Joni Mitchell.
Seeing no end to her emotional torment just sitting in her car in the
freezing cold, Tracy started her car and headed home.
She walked into her pitch black apartment, thinking that it would be
nice
to have vampire senses such as seeing in the dark. She almost tripped over
her very strategically placed and completely uncluttered coffee table,
"Arghhh." She made her way to the light switch, then headed for the
answering machine, which was blinking with insistence.
"Tracy, it's Nick, you seemed a little out of it tonight, just checking
to see if you are all right. Later."
So, no message from HIM. She had asked him to call her when he got
home,
but what did she expect after calling him evil, to be showered with messages
of love?
Oh well, she thought, take a shower and concentrate on other things,
maybe she could do a little early spring cleaning.
She stepped out of the shower, her skin crimson from spending too much
time under the hot water, trying to wash her thoughts of him away.
"Tracy Vetter, you are absolutely hopeless," she said to her reflection
in the fog-covered mirror. The least she could do is go to the church and
apologize.
The minute she entered the church, she knew something was wrong. She
may
not have vampire senses, but she did have detective senses. As she reached
the top of the stairs, Vachon grabbed her and flung her against the wall.
"Trace, please help me!"
She looked at Vachon, and for the first time since she'd met him, she
saw
fear in his eyes.
"Vachon, what happened?" She starred at the slashes on his face and
neck, which looked deep and painful.
"It was her, that child, she's evil, the things she put in my mind,
they're horrible, the screaming, . . . the blood."
Tracy reached out to touch his face, "Vachon, you'll heal, you always
heal."
"Not this time Trace, I'm dying."
Dying, she thought, he can't die, that's part of the deal, . . . isn't
it?
Vachon clasped her hands, "Please Tracy, you have to end it, you have to
kill me."
"Vachon, I can't, I won't."
He stumbled over to a crate and got a wooden stake, and handed it to
her.
A shiver went through her as she starred at it with repulsion.
"Please Trace."
"No, Vachon, I won't," but as she said the words he flew at her. She
raised the stake as a defensive reaction, and felt as it penetrated his cold
skin.
"Vachon, NO!" As she held him in her arms, they slid to the floor, and
he looked up at her with seemingly empty and sad eyes.
One last smile, "Trace, wish me luck." Just as she felt the breath
leave
his body, her own began to shake uncontrollably with heart wrenching sobs.
"Vachon, please, don't leave me, there's so much I need to say, please,
.
. . I love you." As the words whispered passed her lips she decided that it
would not end this
way.
"Okay, you've defeated countless armies, survived death once, and you're
going to let a little thing like a stake through your chest end you. I
don't
think so."
With all her strength, she pulled at the stake, wincing at the sucking
sound it made coming out of his chest. She had forgotten her
"what-to-do-in-case-a-vampire-dies" handbook at home, but she remembered
Vachon offering his wrist to Screed when he was sick, and since there was no
one here but her, she looked around, finding a piece of glass from a picture
that had shattered when Vachon threw her against the wall, and sliced open
her wrist.
She prayed silently for what seemed like an eternity, finally pulling
her
wrist away from Vachon, feeling queasy from blood loss. She looked down at
Vachon's still, cold, lifeless body, and conceded defeat. She wept again,
this time with every bit of love and loss that filled her soul.
Vachon felt something warm slide down his throat, something sweet, and
familiar. He swallowed the intoxicating nectar, and as he slowly opened his
eyes, he felt and tasted a salty wetness on his face.
"Vachon, I'm so sorry I never told you, I was just so scared."
"Scared of what?" Tracy looked down at the man that had just died in
her
arms-he did just die, didn't he, she thought to herself, still not believing
her eyes.
"Vachon, . . . you're, . . . you're, . . . "
"Not dead, no, well no more than before anyway, although I feel like the
entire Incan army waged war on my body."
Still in shock Tracy laid his body on the floor, and went in search of
his bottled stock. Her hands shaking, she handed the bottle to him, "Here,
drink."
After Vachon had downed five bottles, and Tracy had recovered from
shock,
they looked at each other, not knowing what to say, after all this was a
first situation for both of them. All of a sudden Tracy punched Vachon in
the arm as hard as she could. "Don't ever do that to me again, or I'll . .
.
," the words caught in her throat.
A familiar smile crossed Vachon's face, "You'll kill me?" "Please
don't,
even a 490-year-old vampire has his limits."
Tracy was about to punch him again, when she thought of all the things
she had said when she thought he was dying, had he heard her? She began to
blush, and looked away from him, avoiding making eye contact. Of course it
didn't work, another thing Vachon was good at was reading her.
She began to get up off the floor, when she felt Vachon grab her wrist;
she winced at the pain it caused. It was still extremely tender. He
starred
at her with those let-me-melt-you eyes, "Does it hurt?"
Tracy lied, "A little, nothing that won't heal."
Vachon loosened his grip, and she got up and began to pace the room like
a caged animal, not sure what to say, or do.
"Tracy, I did hear you, I know that's what you're thinking about, and
besides how you feel is in your blood."
"Shit, she thought, I forgot about that
"everything-you-are-is-in-your-blood" thing.
Vachon had gotten off of the floor, and was now seated on the sofa in
that "I'm-so-sexy" way he had, but there was a tenderness in his eyes; she
had seen it before when he looked at her, but only briefly, he was so
careful
not to show too much emotion, as if nothing got to him. "Come here."
Tracy walked over, and sat on the sofa beside him, hesitant to get too
close, in case this was the
"I'm-glad-you-saved-my-life-but-can-we-just-be-friends" talk.
"I love you, Tracy Vetter."
Tracy's heart stopped in disbelief; she almost felt like checking her
pulse to see if she were still alive, but the pain in her wrist told her she
was very much so.
"Did you hear me, Trace?"
The words barely came out when she opened her mouth, "Vachon, you don't
have to say that, not to spare my feelings, I'm just so glad you're all
right."
Vachon's eyebrows went up, and a smirk crossed his face, "WHAT!. Spare
your feelings. I just defy death, again, and tell you something I haven't
told a woman since buffalo outnumbered people, and you think I said it to
spare your feelings?" A laugh escaped him, "Trace, . . . mi queirda."
"God, there's that smile again," she thought, and just as she was about
to defend herself, she felt his lips on hers, searing them with a kiss that
could only be described as indescribable.
She melted into him with a passion she didn't know she possessed, as she
felt his hands move across her face and land in her hair. God, she loved
his
touch.
As their lips pulled apart, Tracy starred into the eyes that had
captured
her soul. "I love you Javier, I have loved you since the moment I saw you,
and, . . ."
Just then he pressed his finger to her lips, and began trailing kisses
down her neck, as his hands explored her body, the way she had yearned for
them to every moment since they met. Tracy was suddenly aware of a low
rumbling coming from Vachon, and when he looked up at her, it was with eyes
of gold, not brown.
"Trace, I want you so bad, . . . I need you, but, . . . "
She put her finger to his lips, in a gesture that mimicked his own, "I
trust you, please, Javier, . . . make love to me."
As Vachon looked at his golden girl, the only woman who had ever shook
him to his soul, yes, he had loved before, but never with such passion, such
aching, he knew he couldn't deny her anything.
Tracy's body shuddered with a fierceness she didn't recognize, as she
felt Vachon plunge his fangs into her neck. An eternity seemed to pass, and
she felt him pull away and kiss the tiny wounds, and in a breath he
whispered
against her neck, "I love you, mi amante."
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Tracy lay on Vachon's chest steeped in a splendor she had never known
existed, and knew that never seeing the sun again was a small price to pay
to
be with the man that owned her heart and soul. She would tell him about her
decision to come across tomorrow, after all, they had forever. Right now
she
wanted to enjoy the way his arms held her as if she were the most cherished
possession in the world.
Vachon lay listening to the rhythmic sound of Tracy's heartbeat against
his chest, and wondered if one day she would join him forever. But as the
silence of the night crept in and he listened to her breathing, knowing that
this is where he had belonged all his life, with her, in her, he realized
that forever with Tracy would never be enough.
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