Take My Pulse

‘Take my pulse’ he says, the amusement in his tone picked out by the sparkle in his eyes.
I arch a brow at him, suspecting a cheap stunt.
‘It’ll answer your question, once and for all.’
‘Which question is that?’ I ask.
‘Am I for real…’

It’s easier than you might think to talk to a vampire, or at least someone who says that’s what they are. I have sat down in many a dark bar, cemetery or disused building with someone who turned out to have been playing a part. Today I am in a coffee shop, and perhaps it’s the mundanity of the setting that has me wondering for the first time if I have found what I’m looking for.
‘If you are real,’ I begin ‘then why are you here? All I’ve read suggests that you need to keep your real identity secret.’
‘Clearly we’re fabulous at that, darling!’ he camps it up with ease; he seems to switch personae as easily as he changes the subject ‘there’s barely a hint of our existence in literature or the mainstream media! We are just whispers of a legend!’
He sheds the sarcasm as he leans across the table towards me and says, in a hushed tone ‘I will tell you one piece of vampire lore, though.’
I arch a brow again; feigned disinterest seems to work well with him but the truth is that I’m battling adrenalin, trying to stay calm and cautious.
‘We don’t sparkle,’ he deadpans, then breaks into a smile that belies the words. He may not sparkle but he does shine.
It’s not just that he’s a good looking man, or that he has charisma; these things are undeniable about him. It’s that he is so utterly perfect. It’s a look that you don’t see in reality, only in images after hours of careful air brushing. He has confidence; I can’t call it arrogance because that implies that it’s unworthy. He’s like a cat; he has a surety that he is better than those around him. It isn’t a need to put on airs and graces, to try and impress, it’s just an artefact of his reality.
I pick up my cup and cradle it in my hands, watching him over the brim as I take a sip of the bitter green tea and ask again ‘Why are you here?’
He sits back in his chair and smiles, appraising me, before suddenly letting the mask slip. There is an endless agony of loneliness in his eyes, and I gasp as I feel just the merest taste of it.
‘I’m looking for a special someone,’ he says, once he has blinked the honesty away and resumed the charade, ‘I tried all the usual dating sites but to no avail. I’m looking for a lasting relationship; I’m in it for the long haul.’
It’s a flippant reply, but that moment of seeing behind the veil makes the truth in it resonate.
‘How will you know when you’ve found that someone?’ I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders, lazily, ‘I won’t know, for sure, only time will tell.’
‘It’s a big life change for the lucky girl,’ I say.
‘Well, that’s a big assumption!’ he is camping it up again, ‘maybe I bat for the other team?’
I can’t help but smile.
‘I’d imagine the boredom of eternal life would make you give most things a try,’ I say.
He inclines his head towards me, reinforcing his approval with the point of a finger.
‘Now that tells me that you have actually given it some thought,’ he says ‘boredom, loneliness, grief…these are the big challenges.’
Silence settles, and I let it. I’ve found that people allow their insecurities to slip out and fill up silences.
‘Why do you want this life?’ he asks.
I clear my throat, ‘I don’t have much longer in this one,’ I explain, ‘Brain tumour. I don’t think I’m done yet.’
‘With?’
‘Living.’
He sits back, narrowing his eyes, then glances very deliberately left and right before he leans towards me again. His words are spoken in a lightly conversational tone; there is nothing in it to suggest that secrets are being uttered, nothing to draw attention, and he keeps his body language and facial expressions clear of such things too.
‘The trouble is, my dear, that it isn’t you who goes on living. All those stories of the demon taking over? Quite true. Eternal life as a sociopath doesn’t seem quite so appealing, surely?’
I sip my tea and think before I answer. I realise everything he says and does is to test me, to see if I am worthy of his further consideration.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ I agree, ‘I wouldn’t want to hurt anyone.’
‘Then this isn’t the life for you,’ he says with simple finality, ‘because if you live it, sooner or later you will hurt someone, even if it is just yourself.’
I chew my lip, looking across the table at his luminous blue eyes. His presence is such that in spite of his dire warnings, I am battling an urge to do the thing that will please him.
‘Do you want me to?’ the words are wrung out of me.
He holds my eye, and I suddenly realise the truth of the expression ‘drowning in his gaze’, I could lose myself to this man. If he is a man.
‘You are the first person to genuinely interest me in more than a decade,’ he says ‘and I am selfish enough to wish that you would come with me, because I am bored and you will divert me from the endlessness for a time. I am honest enough to know that the moment you change, you die. The demon inside kills off all that is wonderful in you and leaves just…vacancy. Do I want to spend decades coming to love you, only to watch you slip away? No,’ he shakes his head, ‘if you wish it, I will change you, but do I want you to? No.’
I drop my eyes to the green tea. I am suddenly furious with myself for my choice in beverage; what on earth is the use of detoxing now? My days are numbered.
‘Thank you,’ I murmur, ‘I think I should go.’
His voice is intense as he leans towards me again, and I look up to catch the tail end of a rapid play of emotions across his face.
‘Take my pulse.’
A tear runs slowly down my cheek and I shake my head.
‘It’ll answer your question, once and for all.’
I shake my head again, I can’t play my part in this replay of our conversation. He goes on without me.
‘Am I for real…’
I feel the weight of his gaze on me but I can’t meet it. I don’t have the strength to refuse him, if he asks.
‘Don’t you want to know what you’re giving up?’ he asks.
I maintain my silence, letting the tears roll down my cheek as I being the long process of mourning what might have been and accepting what is.
‘Good,’ he whispers.
The air moves, and he is gone. I look up to see people going about their business, chatting over coffee, enjoying the muffins. Outside the Cafe it is raining, people scuttle about under umbrellas and try to hail taxis. Life goes on, regardless, and so do I.