{February 13, 2015}   But I Did

it’s not a compromise

when the script is written by you alone,

no deviation allowed,

except i never got my copy and i don’t know my lines,

it’s clear this amateur production should be known by heart

but the scent in the air brings the monster to mind

and i know the monster grows by the hour


the glassful, not halfway, but over the top

dripping down like these stupid tears that don’t belong here,

or is it me?

i am woman, watch me do what i’m told, or not,

it’s a mind-meld-unknown and i




because alcohol fumes weigh the scale uneven

and no amount of Air Supply songs can restore balance

i am a disappointment through the bottled view,

perfection through clarity,

but nothing is clear anymore

and sappy love songs don’t hit that spot after awhile,

they ferment, become sour and nothing looks the same,

i wonder sometimes,

what would have happened

if i didn’t cross that bridge,

but i did

biting cherry
I was tossing back a shot of Captain Morgan when James walked in.
A shiver raced through my body and I attributed it to the spicy rum sliding down my throat.
I’m sure it had nothing to do with his scent, which was presently tickling my nose.
I sneezed.
“Bless you.”
James slid the empty bar-stool beside me closer to the bar and leaned over, grabbing a bottle of beer as if he owned the place.
Oh yeah, that’s right, he did.
The club was empty right now, it was after hours and everything was shut down for the night.
It was just the two of us, a rarity these days and something my girl-parts were dying to take advantage of. Most of those vampire myths I’d heard before I became one were, for a large part, myths and nothing more, but my enhanced senses were going crazy at the nearness of James. He made me squirmy.
I turned toward him raising an eyebrow in his direction.
“What?” James brought the bottle to his mouth.
My eyes fixed on his throat as he swallowed his beer.
“Is it wrong that I want to sink my teeth deep into your neck?” I asked with feigned innocence.
He sputtered for half a second then recovered, sending me a dirty look in return.
I was still annoyed with him and his all-too-frequent disappearing acts. He’d turned my life upside down and this damn steady diet of blood was really making me cranky.
I missed food. Sure I could eat anything I wanted but nothing quelled my hunger except blood. Particularly if said blood belonged to James.
Food wasn’t the only thing I missed but James had recently issued a strict hands-off policy until I got this whole vampire-thing down.
And that was a huge bone of contention between us.
The only bone between us, I might add, and it was driving me insane. I don’t know what pissed me off more, the fact that he thought abstinence was gonna somehow make me a ‘better’ vampire or the fact that it didn’t appear to be bothering him at all.
Because it was bothering me a real fucking lot.
Damn, his scent was driving me crazy!
“You’re unfair and a tease,” I muttered knowing full well he’d hear me. “Pussy.”
James slammed the now-empty beer bottle on the bar and grabbed my barstool spinning me so fast I practically flew into his lap.
His hands grabbed my arms to steady me but his strong legs held me as captive as the stare he gave me.
“What is your problem Lizzie?” He spit the words out one by one, the fire in his eyes belying his tone of voice. “You know it has to be this way for now. It has to be. For now.”
We had been nit-picking each other to death lately, and we both knew it was his stupid no-sex rule driving us nuts.
He had this new stupid idea that sex would somehow get in the way of his self-appointed mentoring. Which makes absolutely zero sense to me and to make it even worse he refuses to tell me the whys.
All he tells me is, since he is my mentor, we have to try and keep our attraction on ice until I mastered Vampire 101. Some kind of malarkey about Rules and Blood Lines and some bullshit about how fucking each others brains out could possibly jeopardize some ancient power struggle family thing, none of which sank in because I wasn’t paying attention, I couldn’t take my eyes off of his fleshy bottom lip and the way his mouth moved when he said certain words.
“Lizzie? Are you even listening to me?”
His voice was a mix of exasperation, affection, and that ever-present husky growl.
In other words, he sounded like pure sex.
I let out a loud sigh. This sucked. I can’t see this hands-off policy lasting too long but apparently I had no choice.
Time to put on my big girl panties if I ever wanted James to rip them off again. Time to suck it up. Knock off the sulk and whine. Learn that poem and get this how-to stuff out of the way so we could get back to the fun bits again.
Later, when I looked back at this moment, I could only blame myself for everything that followed. If only I’d listened to that uneasy voice whispering in my ear that something was off, we could have avoided a lot of trouble.
Instead I resolved to get with the schooling so we could move on to the extracurricular activities.
Despite my best intentions, I still had a hard time tearing my eyes away from his mouth.


AUTHORS NOTE~ You know the deal, little snippets escaped from my super secret underground bunker (because they’re getting cranky that I haven’t told them how it ends yet so they’re sneaking out on their own) where we join our heroine Catt and her Muse, as Catt deals with an unreliable muse and the approaching end of the world.

I need a drink.
Like a really big huge man-drink, not one of those frou-frou girly-drinks with fruit and umbrellas.
Something strong and chock-full of alcohol.
“Cat got your tongue chica?”
I roll my eyes at her and continue searching for a bottle of oblivion.
I swear I have a bottle of Glenlivit hidden away for a special occasion. I’m thinking an apocalypse could be considered a special occasion.
My muse watches me rifling through my house with no success and shakes her head like a disappointed parent.
“Must you always do things the hard way Catt?”
A tall bottle of scotch appears on the island in my kitchen alongside two shot-glasses.
“Care to join me,” I ask as I open the bottle and begin to pour.
Her hand comes up in that universal hell-no wave.
“Not at all,”she chirps,”I’m good.”
I hate when she’s chirpy. Badness usually follows.
Stopping mid-pour I decide to take a short-cut and wrap my mouth around that bottle like a starved infant nursing off it’s mother.
I take a good long swallow savoring the burn as it slides down my throat into my empty belly.
“Bleeccchh!” I shudder at the taste but it’s effect is instant.
I pace circles around the island, my hand clutched tight around a bottle of false courage as if it’s the last one left on the face of the planet.
All that does is make me dizzy so I stop, chug, and hop up on the island next to her, nearly slipping off as my ass lands a little closer to the edge than intended.
Taking another swig, I notice my ceiling fan needs a good dusting before the cobwebs I spot start turning into a goddamn neighborhood.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask my suspiciously quiet muse.
A few very long seconds pass before I hear what sounds like a low growl.
She looks at me like I’ve grown another head.
“Chica, this is all you.”
“Huh? Whaddaya mean all me?”
I’m getting whooshy from the half-bottle of scotch I downed.
“You’re supposed to help me.”
Even I cringe at the whine in my voice.
“I’m not ‘supposed’ to do anything missy.”
She’s getting that tone in her voice and I’m getting double-vision.
“But….time….remember? Aren’t you gonna do that time-folding thing so we can save the world or some shit like that?”
My speech is getting slurry and I can barely keep my eyes open.
“You’ve got bigger problems than just saving the world you know. You’ve managed to piss-off some mighty powerful Djinn little girly.”
“Fuck.” I mumble right as everything goes black.

{May 25, 2013}   Dinner For One

Took me a minute to realize the loud rumbling sound I heard was my empty belly.

I was getting hungry and it was looking like I was on my own for dinner tonight.
Which was fine with me.
I actually preferred eating alone.
Less pomp-and-circumstance and more yummy for my tummy is the way I think of it.

Usually a group of us would gather together on Friday nights.
Whoever was around and without plans would come over to my place. We’d sit around for awhile arguing over where we’d go for our late-night-dinner. After much debate and disagreement we usually wound up going to the same place anyway. They’d wander in on their own timeline and whoever wasn’t there by 10pm was on their own.

I gave them an extra half hour before I left, fucking inconsiderate bunch if you ask me.
First I was pissed that nobody bothered to let me know they weren’t showing up. Then, ever true to my nature, I worried about them for half a second or so.
Don’t know why I bothered, they were all old enough to know how to stay out of trouble.
Actually there was not a one of them in the bunch who’d bother to worry about me. Each one of them had been selfish assholes all their lives, why would now be any different?

I grabbed my keys and cellphone slipping them in the front pocket of my favorite pair of black skinny jeans. No need for a wallet, I shoved a few bucks in my back pocket then grabbed one of my must-haves, a tube of Chanel Red lipstick then slipped on my Ray Bans.
Yep, I do indeed wear my sunglasses at night, got a problem with that?

It was a refreshing change, going out on my own to feed.
One of those perfect nights that only seem to exist in movies, low-hanging full moon, a slight chill in the air just enough to justify my leather jacket.
I could get used to this whole loner thing.

I cut through Sacred Heart Cemetery and made my way down to this little out-of-the-way place over on Market Street.
It was a new club that had opened up just a few months ago. They’d already built up a decent crowd base. For some unknown reason this town was dripping with talent. They had some really good bands playing every Friday and Saturday night, most of them local, all of them good.

It was kinda funny seeing the New York City crowd coming through the tunnels to see bands in New Jersey, it’d always been the other way around but it worked for me.
More strangers meant less attention.

Me and mine didn’t need any attention in our direction when we were out and about.

I spied a group of obvious out-of-towners make their way inside the club and the wind picked up their scent wafting directly over to me.
My nostrils flared at the sweet smell of human blood.

I was dressed to kill and I followed them inside making eye-contact with a gorgeous couple on a hunt of a different kind.

Going hunting alone had all kinds of perks.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: About three hundred eleventy thousand two hundred and seven clicks ago I went on a graphics hunt…when I realized it was taking me longer to find exactly what I wanted than it did to write these words, coupled with the fact that the winds they are a’blowing aka my fucking internet keeps going out (sorry, some things call for strong language, like when the fucking internet keeps going out), I figured I better settle and click ‘publish’ before my, uh, fucking internet goes out again. eta, nevermind, I like what I settled for

{May 18, 2013}   Concentrate

It was nearly impossible.
It was hard enough trying to come up with a perfect phrase or a snarky comment on a good day.
Just some words strung together in the right order perhaps, but a baby’s breath whisper of her soul went into every word she wrote him.
It flowed out of her with or without her permission and she’d end up naked and exposed on a piece of paper or the soon-to-be-not-blank screen of her laptop.
He was her sanity in a world gone mad.
Her few precious minutes alone, when she could put herself onto the page and be taken away.
That was the glue that held her together.
So that she could be the glue that held everyone else’s lives together.
It was easy when she had silence and calm and her cat Drusilla curled at her feet.
That’s when her thoughts came fast and furious. Sometimes it seemed as if her fingers could barely keep up with her mind.
She turned into a wordsmith and was happy and alive and smiling.
And she sat down to write.
Tonight, it was impossible.
She was good at tuning noise out but when she heard the footsteps on the stairs and saw her husband lurching toward the bed, the unmistakable stench of rum surrounding him as he tried to walk straight, she knew what was in store for her.
She also knew concentrating on which words to use while trying to evade the groping sloppy-drunk man, once the boy she married many years ago, was impossible.
She sighed and closed her laptop which led to a fight which he forgot about 10 minutes later when he began again to grope her and prod her.
She gave in. And hated herself a little bit more for it.

He fell asleep. Snoring loudly of course..
She went back to answering her last note from someone else’s husband.

{May 5, 2013}   Anywhere But Here

1334853166299Some nights are harder than others but she knows the sooner she goes through the motions the sooner it would end. So she does. She tells herself she’s done worse things than this before but can’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of guilt when he touches her. She can usually hide the shiver but sometimes she slips. That’s when she has to go overboard hoping to penetrate his drunken fog so he doesn’t lose his temper and wake the house. She closes her eyes and tries to call on some of those acting classes back in high school and wishes she paid more attention to that whole method acting thing. She tries a mental round of Anywhere But Here but for some reason all she can think of is that old ‘close your eyes and think of England’ school of thought. Which makes her wonder what Queen Elizabeth thought of while Phillip was pawing at her and she’d rather be anywhere but there. If she allowed her thoughts to remain inane she could sometimes remain removed from what she subjected herself to in order to survive. She lost her pride a long time ago. All pride did was make things harder. She gave up on being rescued. There were no saviors out there for her, no amount of wishful thinking was ever gonna change that. She’d resigned herself to the fact that wishful thinking only leads to more disappointment anyway but it sneaks in and tickles her from time to time. Sometimes she wishes she never woke up from her Sleeping Beauty existence.

{May 1, 2013}   Simple Truths

“You don’t even know me.”

The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them.

She really didn’t mean to say them outloud and braced herself for the fallout
but he never even heard her.

Sitting at the kitchen table one minute, the next he was rattling
a glass full of ice cubes and dark rum.

The half-splash of Coca-Cola was just an unspoken concession, an insincere
attempt at pacifying her even though she seldom said a word anymore about his

At least not to him.

They weren’t the same people they used to be.

In all actuality he was still the same, but her?

After well more than twenty years together she had developed a hard shell
around herself for protection against the hurtful words that fell out of his
mouth when he had too much to drink.

And he always had too much to drink.

Sex and drugs and rock and roll were one thing when you’re only in your
twenties but when you begin that climb where fifty is closer than forty it
starts to get old.

Sure, he worked hard, his drinking didn’t interfere with his ability to bring
home a paycheck but somehow, as the years flew by and she shrugged off her
wildcat days he remained the same, running in place.

Their circular arguments always ended up in the same place leaving her
wondering why she even bothered. So she stopped arguing and he kept drinking,
telling her she was a prude frigid bitch incapable of fun.

He stumbled back into the kitchen for a refill, the lopsided grin she’d once
found charming now annoyed her more than anything so she kept her head down and
just kept sketching.

“What did you say?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she replied,”just talking to myself.”

et cetera