Sweet-Nothings

Lie to get what I came for
Lie to get what I need now
Lie to get what I'm craving
Lie to smile and get what's mine
-A Perfect Circle

. x .

She glazed over the pages of the book she recently purchased, not minding the many potential distractions she had around her. She was intent on starting the novel and perhaps finish it later that day. A smile edged on the corners of her mouth and morphed into a grin. She must have looked silly, not that she cared, she didn't really--well, she knew no one would be watching her. People were too busy with their own lives to pay any attention to what she could be possibly smiling at.

When she was done with admiring the novel, she glanced over at the coffee cup to her right. It was placed at a strategic point--not too far that she would have to waste muscle movement, but not too close as to accidentally knock it over. She turned the cup so the label faced her. She frowned at the crooked printing. Mistake. She shook her head and rotated the cup. It would bother her less if it wasn't in her range of sight.

It was then she noticed him. He was staring at her. There was no mistake about it. He couldn't be staring at anyone else behind her…unless he was fond of the brick wall. She gawked, quite alarmed at the sudden attention. He smiled or rather to her, it was more of a grin as if to say: "You finally noticed."

She cast her eyes downward. What a creep, she thought.

She picked up the book and opened the cover, making an effort to disregard the strange man from across the café. He was probably bored, so bored that he must inconvenient her out of everyone else in the room. She never thought of herself as particularly striking. Her nose flared, at least she had her book.

The moment she started reading those first few pages of the book, she had a glaze over her eyes as the words flowed in her consciousness, conjuring the scenery presented. She would grin ever so often and even giggle on occasion. The coffee cup remained at a strategic point. It was of the utmost importance that it was at that point as to not meddle with the glorious moment she was in.

The end of a chapter. She sighed, dejected at the turning point of the novel; it wasn't because it was unexpected, but because her predictions were absolutely accurate. She took another sip out of the carton cup, the coffee now dangerously low. It was an indication for her to buy another cup. She glanced at the menu: Coffee of The Day: Regular and DecafTall, Grande, Venti. She reached down into her pocket, taking out her perfectly new and perfectly folded dollar bills and a few spare changes. She separated a dollar and seventy cents from the bills--exactly what a venti cost. She felt daring.

She stretched her limbs for a moment before pushing her seat back, the chair making a slight shriek as it rubbed against the wooden flooring. A slight frown crossed her lips. It was rather an improvement to her last chair, the one that had a shorter leg.

She froze when she surveyed the room. He was still there. She would have to pass him to get to the counter. She took a quick glance at the possible alternative route she could take. They were more of a hassle than of convenience. One route, she would have to pass a stroller, and a few large shopping bags. The second route, she would have to maneuver her way pass a small table with too many chairs and the teenagers occupying them.

Suddenly, that cup of coffee didn't seem worth all the trouble.

She took a brave look at him. He wasn't looking at her this time. He had his head down, short raven locks sleek back. His elbow was on the table, using it to support his weight, his other limb, his fingers, thumbed through the pages of a newspaper.

He slightly turned his head, revealing a better angle of his face. Even from a distance, she could tell, he had a striking countenance. Sharp features, like fine-grained, jagged pieces of slate.

Bravery was never her forte.

She strode over to the counter, focusing her eyes ahead of her and not anywhere near his person. She held her breath when she passed him. It was over. He didn't even notice her.

Upon getting her venti, she took confident steps back to her seat. She felt more assured of herself this time, now that the particular dilemma had passed. Maybe, she had imagined it all. Maybe, he really wasn't looking at her before. Whatever it was, she was glad it was over.

She let her gaze wander to where he sat, no hesitation in her movements. Her lips curved downwards--an aging man sat in his place with those thick and rounded spectacles that magnified his eyes.

Well, that was a disappointment, She thought.

Her chest heaved at the intake of a long breath. He left. She felt relieved and yet almost saddened that she had missed the chance of getting a much better glimpse.

A curious feeling crept down her spine, the hair on the back of her neck stood. Her hand clasped the coffee cup, its warmth seeping through her finger tips. It calmed the shiver.

It was unfamiliar to her--the feeling. It was the kind that was unexpected considering her setting and the blithe atmosphere of the café. It was the kind that made her stomach tight, her hands clammy and unsteady.

She became aware at the sudden change of the setting. Something wasn't where it was supposed to be. On impulse, her eyes darted to her sides and she caught her breath.

She wanted to scream at upon grasping who was sitting adjacent from her. He sat at the table by her, seemingly oblivious, and that made her want to fling her dollar and seventy cents venti coffee right at him, but more so at herself for not noticing him. She could have sworn on something sacred that he wasn't there before.

He looked up as if to greet her. She couldn't look away, not when he had his strange looking eyes on her.

"Am I bothering you?"

She heard him speak, but she couldn't think of anything witty to say to him.

She could have told him: "No, of course not" and if she were braver and perhaps a bit of a floozy, she would have said, "You can bother me anytime" but of course she didn't have the gall to do so.

"Err…" She could have choked on her own saliva then.

He chuckled. She blushed at her own inadequacy.

There was something about the way he sat so still that she found unnerving. He pivoted his body just so he was facing her, his movements seemed slow and almost sluggish but at the same time they had an edge to them.

"Laurence." He extended his hand to her, beaming at her, his white teeth flashing. His features softened, the sharpness she had observed before receded and his countenance suddenly had a smoothness, a softness to them.

She stared at him, at his hand--She didn't know where that has been, but proper manners reigned.

"Violet." She shook his hand, his skin seemed paler than her own.

"Vi-o-let" Her name sounded foreign in his tongue, almost magical, "I like it."

She wasn't aware her hand still lingered in his own till he let go. He murmured an apology, smiling at her.

Violet let her eyes wander about his frame, he wore a short sleeved, caramel and gold plaid button downs. The first three buttons were unlatched and a black undershirt peaked out. The button downs were slightly wrinkled near the edges, and so were his jeans. She raised a brow at his dirty-worn-to-death unknown name-brand sneakers.

"You shouldn't frown so much." Laurence cut in, "You'll age much quicker."

Violet leaned away from him, turning her head to the side. Flustered as she was and embarrassed, he simply smiled. It was as if Laurence thought it to be endearing.

"Do you come here often?"

"Not really." Violet replied, turning back to her book and the coffee she had ordered. She placed the carton cup to the perfect spot, turning the label to face her. She smiled.

The air grew thick, heavy and almost suffocating. Violet jumped when she found Laurence just a fraction too close to her. He hovered beside her, his eyes focused on the coffee cup then to her. His strange eyes unnerved her yet again; they were violet.

The genuine amusement in his voice surprised her, "Peculiar habit."

Her lips trembled, "I-I guess." She inched away from him.

Laurence made a quick motion for the chair opposite of her, "Do you mind?"

Violet shook her head, "Would you care if I do?"

The laugh that erupted from him told her all she needed to know. "No. I suppose I wouldn't." Laurence placed his elbows on the table, folded his hands together and used it to balance his chin.

"So..."

"So," Laurence countered, still regarding her with an overly friendly demeanor, "Tell me why you always go here."

"I don't." She snapped, "I mean I told you before, I don't really go here that often."

He raised a brow, a slight grin crossing his lips, "What would you say if I told you: I know you're lying."

"I'd say you don't know what you're talking about."

Laurence challenged her gaze, "I don't?"

"You don't." Violet pressed on. And you sound like a stalker, She thought.

The corners of his mouth lifted, revealing a fraction of his white teeth, "I must apologize," He tilted his head to side, "For I must sound like a stalker to you."

Violet reached for her coffee cup, taking a reluctant sip–she flinched as it burnt the edges of her tongue–her jaw tightened as he pretended other wise.

"But you really caught my fancy."

His fancy? She snorted in response but quickly apologized.

"And," Violet held her gaze steady, "what did I do that caught your fancy ?" The word sounded so...old-fashioned.

His violet eyes glinted, "You come here ever so often and with the array of sitting choices in this café, you always choose this particular spot. Usually you would order your regular sized coffee and when you feel bolder you pick the other two alternatives. With your favored drink in hand, you place it at such a point that so it wouldn't meddle with your readings. It made me wonder at first why someone like yourself, someone so young would deliberately lavish in something so mundane and quite frivolous at your age especially when so many of your peers are out and about. But then, I realized you regard these past times of yours above all else. You weren't feeling the least bit abandoned! It amazed me. You sit in this far corner to isolate yourself and yet you place yourself in this crowded and popular café. It made me think: There must be something here that keeps you coming back. I'm at a loss to what that is. There's nothing here that I could see... Wait, wait! Please, I apologize."

She stood before him, shock evident in her eyes. "W-Who...what..."

"I'm sorry if I startled you. I didn't mean to sound so forward." He started to rise.

"Forward!?" Violet scoffed, "If that's all you think you sound then maybe–you should just–just..."

His jaw tightened, "Please, Violet. I want to explain myself."

Laurence had gripped her arm before she could even realize. It startled her. Violet drew back her arm, glaring at him, but she found her anger receding the moment they locked eyes. There was just something about them that alleviated her. She was angry at him and yet she wasn't.

Violet dropped into her seat, keeping her gaze on him–her green eyes must have looked dull compared to his.

He ran a hand through his black hair, "I'm terrible at this." He said to her, "Let me start from the beginning." Laurence glanced at Violet, waiting for her approval. She didn't protest. "I would come to the café around the late afternoons and I would always find you sitting on this same spot, always reading, always ordering the same regular sized coffee and the usual muffin on occasions. Frankly, I thought you were quite interesting."

"Interesting?" Violet let out a nervous laugh.

"Yes, don't you think so?" Laurence inquired, "I was right in assuming you never saw yourself as anything but normal. I suppose that is common, but you should see yourself–sitting here and so immersed in your novels–the way you would twirl the ends of your red hair, the way your green eyes would glaze over."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Violet cut in.

"You really don't notice?"

"Notice what?"

Laurence let out an endearing laugh, "The looks!"

Violet, still baffled, leaned back and shook her head, "I still don't follow."

"You really are quite delightful to look at, you know. Very pleasing to the eye, if I may add."

"Uh. . .Thank you?"

He chuckled. Laurence shifted his chair to the side, "Look at that guy behind the counter." He casually nodded his head off to the front counter, "He's probably about your age, am I correct? Nineteen? Perhaps a bit older, but you could attest to that he is always the one taking your orders."

Violet nodded, following his gaze on the young man that had given her the venti earlier. He wasn't particularly striking to her. He had large brown eyes that overpowered his small face, his tousled hair grew down his chin.

"Have you noticed how he looks at you whenever you would come to order? He would smile, would greet you with a kind softness. . ."

"He always does that!"

Laurence shook his head, "Maybe you're just oblivious. The boy is in love with you."

Violet burst, "Liar!"

He raised his hand in his defense, "Nay!"

". . .seriously?"

"Seriously."

Violet gawked at the boy behind the counter. She didn't even know his name! "That's just stupid." She said, giving Laurence an incredulous look. "And how would you know this?"

"He told me."

"What!"

Laurence waved his hand at the boy when he looked his way, he simply diverted his gaze.

"He's a nice boy." Laurence said, amusement laced in his voice, "He asked me to do him a favor. To speak to you as his envoy of sorts."

"What century are you living in?"

Laurence blinked then laughed. "I see why he would take a liking to you."

Violet knitted her eyebrows together, still feeling ridiculous and embarrassed for the boy for going through such trouble. "This is just unbelievable."

"What is there not to believe?"

"He doesn't even know me."

"He thinks he does."

"He thinks wrong." She paused, "Wait, that doesn't sound right...He thinks...wrong? Forget it. Forget it." Violet raised her hands, exasperated and frankly becoming frustrated.

Laurence reached out for hand, "Calm yourself."

"I am calm." She swatted his hand away. Violet blushed at how childish she had seem. "Just tell him. . .I'm flattered, but. . .not interested."

"Sure I'll tell him," His eyes darted to the side, "If he really was in love with you."

She was at a loss to what to do. Her brain told her to reach over and smack him upside the head, but her limbs refused to obey. Violet caught herself with her mouth slightly parted.

"Y-You. . .Just said he was. . .What is your problem!?"

"I was just testing you," His casual tone had an edge to them, "to see if you trusted me."

"I don't-"

"You trusted me enough to believe me."

Violet balled her fist from underneath the table, "Just what are you trying to get at?"

His countenance became very still, the smile on his lips faded, "Do you believe in monsters, Violet?"

She locked gazes with him, perturbed at such a question. Laurence reached out for the newspaper he had left on the table beside them. He folded the newspaper in half and slid it across the table. Violet followed his gaze to where his finger was.

A Fifth Victim to the Recent Killings Found Underneath Bridge Pass.

Violet paused, stared at Laurence who nodded at her to read on.

The body of Annie Paxton was found early this morning by a jogger. Witness recall seeing her body against the support beam of the bridge as if she were crouched down, hugging her knees. . .When Forensics examined the body she displayed similarities to the previous four victims. . .The cause of death is blood loss through lacerations in the throat area. . .One investigator says that the victim did not die because of the lacerations, but the victim might have been already killed before the cuts were made. Experts are baffled as to how the victims would have loss such massive amounts of blood without any signs of a struggle. . .

"Why are you showing me this?"

Laurence sighed, "Keep reading."

She scanned the article, her heart pounding, deafening her ears.

The victim, twenty-five year old, Annie Paxton, a single mother of a six-month old baby boy was last seen leaving her second job at the local pub at about three in the morning after closing hours. Witnesses recall her conversing with a young male in his twenty's whom she left the club with. The young male was described as being about average height, medium built and black hair, and dark eyes. Finding further details concerning the potential suspect is proving to be an arduous task for investigators; It seems none of the witnesses can either give an accurate description of the young man or even convey to the investigators if he is a frequent costumer of the pub.

Violet paused, her eyes widening. She slowly raised her gaze to meet Laurence's unusual colored opals. The kindness she had seen earlier in his eyes, the warmth, the endearing look was veiled with something more malevolent, something more feral–they were the eyes of a predator.

His eyes terrified her, but it didn't match his countenance. His face was as disarming as it had been the first time she noticed him. It was easy to overlook the menace behind his violet eyes when he had the face of something. . .otherworldly.

"W-What are you?" She stammered, breathless.

He didn't seem human when he smiled–those white teeth looked incredibly sharp.

"You're a bright girl, Violet." Laurence declared, "I'm sure you could figure it out, if I'm not wrong about you."

Dumbfounded, she drew back her gaze and fixed it on her coffee cup–it was cold now.

Monsters. Blood.

Her eyes wandered to the book she was reading. Her chest tightened as her heart pounded dangerously as if to burst out of her chest, her lungs froze in place–she couldn't breathe.

She wanted to run out and scream, scream till her lungs exploded. It was too ridiculous. Something like that couldn't exist. Monsters of lore stayed in nightmares, under children's beds, inside children's closets. They lived in the dark forests, waiting patiently for wayward travelers, they didn't mingle in the light. . . But this monster had always been a fascination to her kind, inspired novels, movies, their existence romanticized–This monster lived under the light of the moon, born of darkness.

Vampire.

He–Laurence–a son of Hades.

"Good girl." He congratulated, beaming at her. "I never lost faith in you. I must say I am impressed."

"You. . .could. . ."

"Read your thoughts?" Laurence shot her another one of his smiles, "Most certainly." Violet gripped the ends of the table, wanting to bolt out of the café. Maybe she could out run him, maybe she could scream, maybe she could do something about him. He narrowed his eyes, "I wouldn't try anything like that if I were you, my lovely Violet."

His voice crept into her skin, making her shiver and involuntary gasp.

"Violet." He called to her. She cemented her gaze on the table. "Violet, a flower believed to protect the bearer from evil spirits." Laurence leaned into the table, extending his arm, his hand catching her chin. He tilted her head upward, so she was forced to look into his eyes. "Violets have such an alluring fragrance as well–so much so they were used to decorate homes, women wore them in their hair, on their dresses to attract the opposite sex. They say it could drive a man mad. . ."

He was so close to her now, she could feel his cool breath fanning her face.

Laurence brushed his thumb over her lower lip ever so slightly. Violet sat motionless in her seat, the blood draining from her face. She felt herself trembling, some words struggling to escape her throat. She couldn't speak.

Why me?

"Because," Laurence buried his other hand into her rust-colored hair, stroking the strands and finally resting it on the back of her neck. "You're what I've been looking for. You're like the flower that bears your name. I can do you no harm, you see." He caressed the side of her cheek, "Not that I would ever harm you, but you are so tempting. The thought of how sweet your blood would be makes me a weak man, Violet. If I were more of a beast, I wouldn't care for these other rats scuttling around us."

Her eyes watered.

"Don't lament." He drew her face closer to his. Laurence held her so their foreheads touched, "I told you, didn't I? Despite what I am, I cannot harm you and I couldn't even if I wanted to. I think I've grown too fond of you already. I was quite surprised to find you here and so much like my former self, and as if it wasn't enough that you had a delicious fragrance about you–not the best I've come across to, but enough to make me so thirsty just being so near you."

Violet closed her eyes, her breathing shallow.

"But I assure you Violet, I will not harm you." Laurence sincerely repeated, "But anyone who will, I'll rip their throats. You are mine now."

She was startled at his declaration.

Laurence held her for a moment longer before he withdrew from her. She sat there with tears brimming on the edges of her eyes, her frame cold and she couldn't help herself from shivering. Violet clasped her hand over her mouth. She made a gagging noise before burying her face in her arms on the table. She let out a muffled scream.

Violet trembled at the weight above her. Laurence was next to her, holding her shoulders, stroking her hair and whispering into her ear. She could feel the stress dissipating off of her, her muscles relaxing at the sound of his voice. It had to be his doing.

She didn't know how long she stayed that way, but by the end of it she was exhausted.

"C-Can I please go home?" She wasn't sure if he had heard her.

"Of course."

Violet snapped her attention to him. She was rendered speechless again. Her eyes searched his marble-like face for some traces of deception.

A whisper escaped her throat, "A-Are you r-really letting m-me go?"

Laurence gave her an incredulous look, somewhat offended. His beautiful face contorting with an expression of disappointment, "I wont stop you."

She nodded her head and gathered her things, becoming hasty in her attempt to race out of the café. Violet gave him a wary look as she strode pass him. He was true to his word. He didn't stop her.

"Violet." She froze. She was just about out the door when she felt a weight pressing against her back. Her hand gripped the door's handle bars, her knuckles turning white. Laurence leaned in, murmuring into her hair, "Be safe."

He removed her fingers from the handle bars with a surprising tenderness as he opened the door for her.

Her limbs acted on their own and before she was aware of it, she had been running–the wind sweeping her hair and drying the tears from her eyes. She wanted to get away, somewhere far away from him, but in the back of her mind, she knew he would find her; It frightened her to think that she might not be able to resist him.

. x . I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've really come to like Laurence and Violet so look for a sequel soon. Perhaps, I'll just make this a series of one-shots concerning the two characters. hehe

UPDATE: 6/17/08: The Sequel "Memento Vivere" is now up!