Dorian's Destiny: Altered (15 page)

Ignoring his suggestion, she continued her
attempt by digging deeper. “Have you killed anyone?”

“No,” He reluctantly answered, knowing his
answer only fueled her argument.

“Have you ever wanted to?” she asked,
holding back a triumphant smile.

“No,” He answered truthfully again. “It's
difficult to resist though.” He added, hoping to translate the
seriousness of his condition.

“There are plenty of humans who can't say
that,” she chimed.

“Maybe I'm not a murderer, not yet anyway,”
He relented before bowing his head. “But I am still a monster. I've
seen things; allowed things to happen in my presence; grotesque
heinous acts of violence and torture and I did nothing. I've
enjoyed the spoils of so many deaths.” Shaking his head, he held
back his tears, not wanting to display his weakness in front of
her.

“Dorian, you're right, what you allowed to
happen is horrible, but realizing that and feeling remorse means
you are not a lost cause.” She caressed the golden cross hanging
around her neck, sensing God's handiwork in her conviction. “I've
been placed in your path because of that. Somehow...I'm meant to
save you.”

“I cannot be saved. Trust me.” He thought
back to begging his Heavenly Father in the forest to save him after
he tasted his first blood. If He wouldn't save him then, how could
she do it now? “Besides, you barely know anything about me and what
you do know should have you calling the authorities, not trying to
preach my worthiness for redemption.”

“Faith,” she insisted.

“What?” He croaked.

“Faith,” she repeated wholeheartedly. “It's
why I can barely know you but also know I'm meant to save you.”

“I have no faith. It's completely useless,”
he whispered.

“That's fine. I have enough faith for both
of us,” she assured, her voice full of her conviction.

His head pounded. Her
reaction to his confession had spiraled in the wrong direction.
Every attempt to scare her had failed. The only option he had left
was to be cruel
.
Raising his head, he looked into her sincere green eyes.
“Let's back up just a moment so that I can make sure I'm
understanding this whole situation correctly. I tell you I'm a
vampire and instead of being scared, you somehow feel like you can
fix me because of faith. Wait, I know. You're a nurse, that must be
it. You've been placed in my path because all along, all I needed
was a nurse,” he snapped, his voice laced with enough venom and
conceit to revel her conviction.

She choked back tears
threatening to break free due to his mocking tone, but she wasn't
going to let his words or lack of faith keep her from doing what
she felt deep down to her core. “Maybe that's exactly what you need
– a good nurse. No, scratch that, a great nurse. I have saved
dozens of lives in my hospital. I've even been able to bring a few
back from death. Surely I can handle your infection or whatever you
call it.”

Seeing her choke back tears softened his
demeanor. He was clueless about how she had so much power over him.
“I have no doubt you are remarkably good at what you do, but there
is no bringing me back from death. There's no cure for me. You
can't vaccinate against what I am. It's not a wound you can
bandage.”

“Maybe there is, maybe I'm your cure,” she
replied barely above a whisper. “However I can see that we have
come to a stalemate. You keep trying to convince me you're an
incurable abomination and I keep trying to convince you that you're
not.” Reaching under her red mane, she unfastened the gold chain
from around her neck. “You need this more than I do at the moment.”
The gold cross glinted in the lamp light as she held it up for its
new owner.

He accepted the necklace without hesitation,
having admired it from the moment she began caressing it, longing
for the comfort, the cross, and what it stood for provided.

“I realize, once you walk out that door, I
may never see you again. However, I hope that's not the case.
You're not a monster. I hope you can find some peace and find the
truth in my words,” she pleaded with a weak smile as she rose from
the couch. Turning toward her living room window she added, “The
rain has stopped.”

With those words, she walked into her
bedroom, leaving him to show himself out. Exhausted from the work
of pleading with a near stranger that he wasn't the monster he
thought he was, or at least he didn't have to be, she collapsed
still dressed in scrubs, across her bed. Scooping up Blaze, she
prayed for Dorian before her eyes shut. “Heavenly Father, please
allow Dorian to find the truth of my words. He seems so lost. I
know You have placed me on his path to save him. Please guide me,
Father. Amen.”

Dorian stood in Megan's living room,
clutching her necklace tightly, his head spinning. He couldn't
comprehend how wrong his confession had turned out. His intent had
been mostly selfish. He needed to ease his conscious for the trauma
he caused her with his ill decision to get close. That was supposed
to be the end of their relationship. Now he stood motionless in her
home, unable to make his feet work. His mind raced with her words,
while she prayed softly for him in her bedroom. Forcing his
thoughts to settle enough for him to gain control of his feet, he
exited her apartment.

He wandered around in a trance, unable to
calm himself. Even the cool crisp air of early dawn swirling about
him couldn't alleviate his overheating mind. Passing the park of
their first meeting, in a brief moment of clarity, he decided to
sit on their bench in an attempt to collect his thoughts.

Before he could stop
himself, he fell down onto his knees – a position he had long since
abandoned. Staring up at the still black sky full of twinkling
stars, he spoke the name he swore to never speak to again. “God.”
The name barely more than a croak, forced from a throat dry from
thirst. Swallowing hard, he spoke once more, “Father. I know it's
been a while since I requested an audience with You. I was angry. I
still am. I'm just not sure who this rage should be directed at
anymore. I want to believe that Megan was placed in my path to save
me and that You had Your Hand in it. I have my doubts. Now, when I
have become content with the life You allowed, I am tempted with
the possibility of salvation. Is she a trick? A carrot dangling in
front of me that I have no hope of reaching?” He paused in his
speech, searching the sky for any sign His Father was listening.
“Answer me! Why do You continue to keep Your Back to me? Speak to
me. Show me a sign. Anything. Please.”

God’s Hand hovered just
inches from His Child, containing the potential to ease his
suffering. Just one touch and Dorian would understand all that had
occurred since that tragic night in his church. Although Dorian's
suffering saddened God immensely, it was an unfortunate side
effect
,
a growing
pain for him to explore one of God's greatest Blessing, free will.
A sign or word from Him at this critical point in his journey would
render that ideal pointless. So God remained silent, withdrawing
back into the Heavens to once again observe from a
distance.

Tears streamed down Dorian's cheek after
receiving neither a word nor a sign from above. “Fine,” he
retorted, wiping away his tears. “I have managed to exist without
You since the forest and I can continue to do so. Just don't be
disappointed when my existence isn't pleasing to You, since You
have refused to guide me along this fucked up path You're allowing
me to stumble. AMEN!”

Standing up angrily, he
brushed the leaves from his jeans, evidence of his brief return to
faith. Still clutching Megan's necklace in his hand, he shoved it
in his pocket, hiding the symbol of faith rather than tossing it
across the park as he had wanted.

It's not her fault God has forsaken me.

He left the park then and returned to
Thomas, weakening the seed of hope Megan had planted inside
him.

The slamming of a door
saved Dorian from the arduous task of rereading the same sentence
for the third time. Reading “The Portrait of Dorian Gray”
especially, proved to be an unsuccessful way of occupying his time.
Thus far, he had been unable to become invested in the characters
portrayed in this gift from Thomas; a gift meant to signify his
rebirth as a new being with a new identity. One supposedly
resembling the title character and his namesake, Dorian
Gray.

Will I ever become what Thomas wants? Can I
shed myself of all humanity and morality? Can I be molded by
Thomas' vile influence? Or...

A crash in the hallway pulled him away from
his thoughts and out of the study to investigate. He found Thomas
sprawled out on the floor amongst shattered pieces of porcelain,
nearly in tears.

“Fuck! That was my mom's antique vase from
the Ming Dynasty,” Thomas cried, attempting to make a few random
pieces fit together. “Thank goodness she's dead.” He laughed,
smiling up at his dumbstruck friend.

“What happened?” Dorian asked, taking in
both the destruction and his mood swings.

“Well, what the fuck does it look like?
Geez. I stumbled and knocked over an irreplaceable, priceless
vase!” Thomas screamed while trying to stand, but lacking the
ability to place his feet solidly underneath himself. “Would you
stop eyeballing me and give me a fucking hand? My legs don't seem
to be working properly,” he admitted, peering solemnly up at
Dorian.

Dorian witnessed one final, failed attempt
to stand before assisting him, enjoying Thomas' lack of
coordination immensely.

“Enjoy the show?” Thomas sneered as he
accepted his outstretched hand.

Dorian smiled in response
before yanking him from the floor. The maneuver sent both vampires
staggering back into the wall. Using it for support, he managed to
grasp him firmly under the arms before Thomas' legs gave way
again.

Grateful for the assistance, Thomas lovingly
patted Dorian on the cheek. “Thanks, Dorian...my Dorian,” he
breathed softly into his face.

The smell of strong alcohol lacing Thomas'
breath assaulted Dorian's nostrils. “Thomas, are you drunk?” He
asked in awe, believing it couldn't be possible.

“Why yes...yes I am,” Thomas announced,
gazing longingly up at Dorian as if they were lovers. “Isn't it
glorious?!” He shouted as he tried to outstretch his arms in what
looked like the beginnings of a celebratory twirl.

“Hhhow?” Dorian stammered, struggling to
hold the wet noodle that was Thomas.

“Oh, now that's a story,” Thomas beamed
before abruptly switching gears again. “Dear Dorian, I would love
to lie down. Would you be so kind as to take me to my room? And
hurry please, this wonderful intoxication won't last long and I
wish to enjoy the last of its lingering effects in comfort.”

“Sure,” Dorian huffed. Apparently pressed
for time, staggering up the stairs with him wasn't the best
solution, so instead, he grabbed Thomas beneath his shoulders and
knees and carried him like a new bride.

“How romantic.” Thomas joshed, draping his
arm around Dorian's shoulder as he cradled him. “Don't forget,
you're not my type.” Bringing his mouth to his ear, he whispered
seductively. “But I'm drunk, at least for a few more minutes. Who
knows what might happen in my boudoir. If you're quick enough, you
could get lucky.

“Ow!” Thomas' backside hit his bed before he
was able to add a proper nibble to his teasing. “No love for you,
mister,” he insisted, rubbing his ass. “Unless...you're wanting to
be rough, which I would totally be into,” Thomas added, his
eyebrows raised.

“What the hell?!” Dorian yelled, ignoring
Thomas' comments as he reached up to wipe the blood from his ear.
“Did you just try to bite me?”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Geez, Dorian, calm
down. It was just a love bite. Besides, not so long ago, you
desired my mouth,” he reminisced, seductively tracing the outline
of his lips.

“Fuck you!” Dorian seethed.

“Yes! That's what I've been alluding to, not
so subtly, for the past five minutes. Now, get that uptight ass of
yours over here, so I can steal your virginity.” Thomas smiled
invitingly, lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. He enjoyed
watching Dorian backpedal away from the bed, undoubtedly fearful of
losing his virtue. “Yes! A good fuck is exactly what your ass
needs.”

“You know that's never going to happen,”
Dorian assured both himself and Thomas. “And you promised to forget
that night,” he sighed, backing toward the door.

“Dorian!” He exhaled as he flopped onto his
back. “Why must you always be so serious? I'm just having a little
fun while I'm still slightly drunk. In fact, you should be cutting
me some slack. I have no control over what I'm even saying or doing
at the moment.” Back up on his elbow, he winked at him, and then
added pleadingly, “Would it be so terrible to play along and let me
have my fun?”

“Yes, besides I didn't think I was your
type,” Dorian retorted with a slight smile.

“True, but I'm impaired. At the moment, it
doesn't matter that you don't possess my preferred genitalia,”
Thomas smirked, his eyes wandering to Dorian's package.

“Bye, Thomas,” Dorian blurted, one foot out
the door, anxious to be away from those groping eyes.

“Wait, don't leave. Aren't you curious as to
how I got in my current predicament?”

“Not really,” Dorian grumbled.

“You sure? It's quite an entertaining story.
I embarrass myself,” Thomas added, hoping to entice Dorian's
continued audience.

“Fine,” Dorian relented, “but only if you
cease the flirting.”

Waving his hand in
agreement, Thomas wasted no time diving into his story. “Well, I
happened upon a dive of a bar searching for a complementary chaser
to my rather delicious meal. Ah, what a lovely young thing –
another story for another time, perhaps. I was just about to order
my old standby, when I heard some rowdy college kids cackling about
how stout their drinks where. And if college students know
anything, it's alcohol. So I order the entire stock. The bartender
just stared at me until I started handing out one hundred dollar
bills. Oh, how his eyes lit up with greed. He probably would have
tasted scrumptious.” He stared longingly up at the
ceiling.