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Sleeper

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The night is dark and silent. It's too early for those who like to party, and too late for those who don't. The restaurant is closed, the bar nonexistent. The hotel lies asleep, with exception of the night porter and me.

I am wide awake, as I always am. You don't have a need to sleep if you don't feel anything. I can't remember the last time I found sleep, or the last time I felt. It was too long ago, in a time long gone, but tonight I will turn the wheel of my destiny.

The stillness would have filled me with peace, I believe. The only sound I can hear is his slow breathing, the tiny movements in his sleep, the way he tosses and turns from time to time. I watch it all, knowing that this will be the moment I will remember for all eternity. The moment that sets me free.

As I stand there and listen I can feel something building up in my chest. I don't know what it is, and as it stings me my hand rushes to the spot where it hurts.

Has he noticed?

But then I slowly start to realize what this is. The prospect of redemption has dissolved the first layers of the blockade within me, and I am feeling. Is it excitement? Is it anxiety? Is it fear? It will take me some time to learn about this, but as the ice melts away I feel that I am eager to learn.

Above all, I feel. How long has it been since I last felt?

The pain in my chest rises to my throat, wants to bring forth a scream that is hard for me to suppress. The process of learning will be a hard one, I realize, for the intensity of my feelings will increase when I am free.

I cannot take it any longer. My body is shivering in anticipation as I move towards the bed where my redeemer is sleeping in sweet oblivion. It is a common misconception that vampires need no sleep.

As I take a seat at his bedside he moves slowly in his sleep, and he whispers my name. I shush him quietly as I look down on him.

Don't, I think. Don't wake now. Don't think. Don't ask.

The feeling that my heart bursts with is something else than excitement. Had I been human, I would have been met with this feeling whenever I cast my eyes upon him, and slowly I start seeing the advantages of my position, even if there are few.

There is no advantage of this, I realize in the same second. How can there be an advantage of such an... unfulfilled existence? Truth is, now that I have started to feel again it seems unbelievable that I have existed for such a long time without it.

I'm not afraid to die. I'm afraid to be alive without being aware of it.

I turn my attention to him now, the look I give him is almost loving. In his sleep, he is even more beautiful than in his wake. He is not like all the others, which might be the reason I am here tonight. The others were never like him.

They have looked down on me, I know it even though they might not. I'm too young. I'm too silent. I'm too shy. I'm not a rock star. And he was the only who truly never cared. Anyways, what could I do? It is hard to be passionate when you can't feel anything.

Without a sound, I move my body next to his. My face faces his. I hear his breathing and I start to feel alive again.

I am next to him now, only one thin layer of sheets separates us. His breathing goes faster, as if he would notice me at his side. But he just sleeps, peaceful as ever, allowing me to come so close to him.

I am on top of him now, still there are the sheets between us. I admire his face, his chaotic hair that spreads around his head on the pillow. He is only six years older than me, and although I know that his insides do not age I can't help but wish to age the way his body does. The only thing I know for sure is that he will be mine tonight.

The blood in my veins begins to warm up, I can feel it. How long until the warmth will reach him? How long until life will painfully shoot back into me? They have taught me it will be painful, but I have no concept of pain anymore.

My fingers brush over his shoulder, a patch of naked skin that is warm, so warm. I have felt the warmth of normal skin that appears so hot to me; I have felt the boiling, sweaty heat of his skin right after the stage, but this is the sweet middle ground that I feel so thoroughly.

I put my hand on his shoulder, it crawls beneath the covers, gentle, so that he doesn't notice. My thumbs start tracing circles on his skin and I can feel the blood rush through his veins. There is so much life in this presumably undead body.

While my hands experience the feeling of his skin I do not miss how my thoughts slip. They vanish for a second if I do not pay attention, I notice how I am losing control as my hand travels further and my body presses onto his.

I want this.

I can feel him gasping for breath as his eyes fly open, his fingernails dig into the soft skin of my back where his hands have travelled without my notice. The pain is sweeter than anything I remember experiencing.

"Jens," he gasps, breathlessly.

"Don't say a word," I whisper to him and feel how his grasp tightens as my breath brushes his ear.

"Don't ask."

"How could you..." He leaves the question unfinished, but I know how he intended for it to end.

How could you know I want this?

"I can feel it," I reply as I hold him down to the bed. My heart is beating faster, my breath accelerating. The bedsheets are gone, kicked next to us, as one of his legs wraps around mine to hold me close.

The fury within him is threatening to take over those darkly glowing eyes, but I know I am in control.

His lips reach for mine, melting us together in a kiss that devours the last bit of control I have left. My hands are on his bare hips and I feel his chest moving beneath me as he pulls me closer, almost greedily kissing me. I gasp for breath when he breaks it, knowing that this was the final decision.

Two minutes ago he could have stopped me. This chance is gone forever.

He clings onto me while his nails tear through the skin of my back. I smell the long forgotten, copper taste of blood and greedily suck in the air before I press my lips back onto his, entwining our tongues, biting his lips so gently that only small traces of blood come into my mouth.

I go on, leaving his mouth, kissing all of his body. If he smells the blood that drips from the little wounds infected with my venom he believes that the blood belongs to me. His eyes assume a feverish shine from which I can foresee the way he forces my head upwards and presses me back on top of him. His tongue is in my mouth again and I am in control.

He is wild and strong. Yet my strength excels his, paired with the calm manner that has built up over all those years. He whispers my name again, hoarsely, almost screams it the next time my teeth crash onto his soft lips.

I have never wanted anything else so badly.

Sweat is glistering on his chest as I lift my body to look into his eyes. We are both breathing heavily already, not bothering to conceal our lust. I crash my lips onto his, wanting to feel him again one last time.

I have never felt so alive before.

We will never feel so alive again.

As he breaks away, longing for breath, I lock my fingers with the ones of his left hand and slowly pull it between us. He stares at me with his feverish eyes, wild and passionate and beautiful beyond comparison, and I note to myself that this is the only way I want to remember him as I turn his hand whilst leading it towards my face.

His scream is agonized, yet passionate. My sharp teeth open his wrists, a perfect line that makes the blood shoot forth, right into my mouth. As I feel his blood run cold I feel mine boiling. The pain is greater than I could ever have imagined, but I know that this pain is life.

The life that was taken from me, with all its emotions, I am taking it back at last.

"You... you're a sleeper!" he moans, staring up into my eyes with unconcealed panic as blood drips from my mouth, runs from his wrist, soaks through everything around us. I run my bloody fingers through his bloody hair and give him a bloody smile.

"No," I whisper sadly.

"You are."

I know he wants to say something, I can feel it. But he never does. His eyes turn glassy and his body becomes weak; I can only notice the way his hand slips from mine as the fire, the fever that is life, consumes me. It burns so bright that I scream in pain after he is gone, before I collapse onto his lifeless body.

As my eyes recover from the blackness the first thing I realize is that I am feeling.

I am lying next to the body that is still bleeding, five litres of blood to soak the covers, and I am feeling.

There is a reason why I wished to keep him in my memory the way I saw him tonight.

I know he is going to wake up in this pool of blood. I know he is going to have no memory of this night. But most importantly I know that he is never going to feel again after he wakes up.

Not until he finds his own redeemer.