Elemental: Chapter One, Part 1

Life with Expectations

A wise woman once told me, “Everything is a beginning, a start to the next step.” While it may be more exciting to start in the middle of things, it isn't likely to make much sense. In part, because I'd have to decide from which middle to begin and there are several. I suppose it would be best to start with the dream. 

Dream wasn’t the right word to describe it—I realize that now—but to consider it as anything else meant a stranger was finding his way into my room to end my endless contemplations and help me sleep. I had no idea who he was at the time—which is essentially the definition of a stranger—and that was the only reason I entertained the idea as a dream. A pleasantly and scarily realistic dream.

He wasn’t a creep from what I could tell, and his tender, baritone voice convinced me he was a man; he was gentle, too, only lying beside me and whispering into my ear I should sleep. I don't remember if he ever touched me, despite sometimes wishing he would hold me until he left. If his voice was so comforting it could make me sleep when I couldn’t make myself, I could only imagine what his arms were like.

It sounds weird and disturbing, I admit, but I felt safe with him, and trusted him despite never having met him.

The only thing to suggest he was real, and not just a figment of my imagination, was the faint scent of flowers. It had to be from him since I wasn’t one to use flowery perfumes, let alone in large quantities. That was also the sole thing I knew about him: he spent a lot of time around flowers. How else would the scent be ingrained in his skin? People aren’t born smelling like a bouquet, though some would like to think they are. This might have also been the reason I wasn't unnerved or frightened by his presence—the scent of blossoms isn’t a horrifying one. Every time I smelled it, it brought to mind a vibrant garden with a variety of flowers in just the right proportions to be luscious and nearly addicting.

Unfortunately, the scent lingered only briefly each morning, as if disappearing with him to return again the next night.

After this had been happening for about a month, I woke up to the same scent, except it was stronger and mingled with another I couldn’t identify. When I went to wash my face, I noticed two swollen bumps just above the base of my neck. I dismissed them as infected hairs or possibly a slight outbreak of acne. Still, it was odd they were so near each other.

When my mother looked at them, she said there was a slight indentation, but it wasn’t acne. She suggested maybe I had been bitten by some bug.

Since the weather was turning frigid anyway, I wore my boots and scarf to school. I didn't want to advertise a physical flaw, especially around my friends. Friends like mine would turn on you for having a bad hair day due to humidity—I had seen this happen. Why advertise “hate me” on my forehead? Or, in this case, my neck?

Various people complimented my attire, saying I looked chic and warm. I already knew that, though; I must say, I did have a decent sense of fashion—a result of modeling and makeover shows which were practically a necessity to maintain my social status at school. Also, I had the funds and the social pressure—not just from my friends—to always be in the best and latest.

That night when he came, he apologized. I puzzled over this until he eased me into a deep slumber. Then I puzzled it in the morning, not quite understanding what he could be apologizing for.

As I worked it through, I unconsciously rubbed the bite marks. The inflammation had faded and now they were twin ditches in my skin, hardly noticeable. When I realized this, a thought occurred to me: was he apologizing for biting me?

My heart raced as my mind wheeled, trying to make sense of it. I tried to seem calm on the surface as the thought took hold, registering what this meant about my mystery visitor. If he had caused the bite marks, that meant he was…

I couldn’t bring myself to label him. After all the fantasies about what he would look like and be like, I couldn’t do it. Not with that one anyway. It felt wrong and I'd feel guilty about it later when he disproved me—whenever we finally met face to face and not just under the cover of darkness. He couldn’t be...besides, it was a ludicrous notion to begin with. Vampires didn’t exist.