He approaches slowly, steadily, not walking – but floating softly a few inches above the ground. The cold and mutinying air that surrounds him announces his coming.
He is tall, and dark and oh! is he handsome! I would almost describe him as ‘hot’ but I know better. His dark, almost black, marble-shaped eyes suck me in – if I let them. His opaque, refreshingly cold skin is as soft as satin sheets. The dark moustache makes him look like a melange of the Count of Montechristo and a Romanian prince. And his smell! This tobacco-y, musky scent - excites all my senses…and tames me.
He is strong! And when he puts those muscular arms around me I feel protected by his cold masculinity. And trapped – like a bird in a cage.
He goes by the name of Draculon and he is the loneliness I loathe so much and desperately crave.
I love him madly. When he is with me we merge into one when he cradles me under his big, heavy and majestic cape. He sweeps me off my feet and we go to far-off places only he can take me to. I melt under his cold touch – when he gently caresses my face, my neck, my shoulders…every minute with him is cherished like a precious gift.
I tell him to leave when I feel stronger, when my head is occupied by presumably meaningful stuff swirling and twirling about, keeping me busy trying to sort things out; when there are people I can try to please and appease. But that’s when he’s desperately trying stay because he gets jealous. He can’t bear to share me with others. But I won’t let him; it gets too much. I ignore him and that’s what kills him.
He is there for me though, when I am weak. I don’t even have to invite him; Draculon just appears unannounced to comfort and love me and hold me. Just like that. He knows. He knows how to seduce me. I get lost in his velvety eyes and plunge deep and deeper into is endless soul. And then he starts caressing my neck and his soft lips carefully nibble on my skin. His breath remains cold and steady but I can tell that he gets really excited. He knows he’s got me. Within a split second he snaps out his razor-sharp fangs and hacks them into my skin and starts drinking – wildly at first – thereon slowly sucking the life out of me. I see little stars before my eyes, and the adrenalin rush provides the kick. The kick that doesn’t last very long because slowly, slowly I start losing my senses and sink deeper into his bleak soul.
How I ever manage to escape from his tight grip, this life-draining fear is a mystery to me. Maybe there is an early warning system within me that prevents him from consuming me completely. Perhaps a phone call, text message or e-mail from a friend – a sign that someone cares – that is what brings me back. And then, as if turned on by a switch, I warm up again. From my core, out to my legs, my arms, my neck and face - life is quickly rushing back into every cell in my body.
Once Draculon, is gone – I barely remember what it was like to be with him; lying next to him, feeling his strong arms entrapping me, sucking my spirit into his black and bottomless soul.
But I remember the thrill, the thrill of coming back into existence, the warmth threading and sewing me together again. A tiny rebirth. A kick I can’t live without.
Chilling...and haunting.
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