~Immortal Cupid~
Immortal Cupid
by Idda
Disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me(except the dead ones:) ; I don't know any
of the people mentioned here; this story is and pure and absolute fiction; and it's also my
very first one, so comments are *very much* welcome ;))
PROLOGUE
***
A ragged gasp echoed in the quiet night, stirring nothing in the vast square.
In his arms, the blonde prostitute tensed in shock as he sank his teeth into her tender white
neck, her hands grasping his shirt as the first waves of deadly pleasure hit her thin frame.
The thick blood tasted of alcohol and cigarettes, of a life spent in dirty smoky bars and cheap
mattresses.
To him, it was the most divine nectar.
In a sweet bout of ecstasy, he rocked back and forth with her body grasped tight in his arms,
drinking mindlessly. Her golden wavy hair smelled of citric fruits, contrasting with the musk
of her clothes, the sweat of a thousand different men who had touched those milky white arms
before him. She was like a marble statue of decadence he had picked carefully out of the so
many the Italian nights could offer, to give him this unique pleasure of feeding greedily as
he set free her battered soul.
And this one, this 30-something trashy whore, she was somewhat special; she had killed her
last 'client' at cold blood, just before he caught up with her in this damp alleyway near the
piazza. Her heartless attitude about the murder made him wonder if she had already done this
before, if she was merely a killer, just like him... well, there was only one way to find out.
Now here she was, swooning in his arms, and he was seeing the faces of a million abusive fathers,
a horde of different men that had played that painful game of violence, sex and money, over
and over, every single night if her life. Smiling, he stopped for a moment, and studied his
sinful angel, a victim that could have passed for his twin, so tall, so blond, so beautifully
blue-eyed. She had a serene expression on her face, like she was about to fall asleep, her
full rosy lips parted as she breathed slowly, with a little difficulty. Actually, looking better,
it almost seemed she was trying to whisper something...
He bent his head, listening carefully for the thread of sound she was struggling to say: ''Dar...''
''What, dear?'' he asked in Italian, gathering her even closer to him.
''Darren.......'' she whispered, the Venetian accent thick on the pronunciation of the double
'r'. Could that be the name of the man she murdered? Or was she calling out for a loved one
at the final minutes of her poor life? The girl's struggle to pass this message enticed his
curiosity.
And then, she was humming a sweet melody, very weakly at first, but stronger as she managed
to reproduced a full pattern of simple notes. She was tried to move along this lovely song,
but found herself already too weak to do it. Mercifully, he swayed her light body, humming
along the tune perfectly as he granted what seemed to be her last wish- dying to the sound
of this beautiful music.
''What is this, darling? An old lullaby you used to fall asleep to?'' he asked into her ear.
''And who is this Darren? Is he the man you just killed?''
But she had closed her eyes, and seemingly also her every other sense, relaxing into the song.
He knew she was already too far gone to answer any questions. All he could do now was try to
get to her memories as he plunged into the flowing river of her blood again, drinking her past
along with the rest of her life...
~ He saw the blue sky of a bright summer day, warm and beautiful; he felt the hot gust of
wind blowing on her hair and carrying away the cloud of cigarette smoke she puffed into the
air. She was tired, depressed, bitter. Around her the beautiful city was full of life and happiness,
and she was feeling out of place. Leaning over the balcony of the second store flat, she gazed
at the overcrowded square, watching the teenagers as they cheered and screamed, boys shirtless,
some girls too. It was a summer music festival, and all week it had been like that, heat and
pop songs, and the Italian youngsters passing out under the sun as they saw their idols on
the stage. She thought it was stupid. And now there was this band playing, and the girls were
shrieking madly, and it had finally dragged her out of her lover's bed to see what was all
the commotion about. She looked over to the stage, and smiled. The singer was grabbing at his
crotch. ~
Against him, he felt the girl's body going slack, and she was smiling.
~ She thought he was very beautiful. Dark hair cropped short, thin frame and toned arms naked
under a tight black t-shirt drenched in sweat. He had a mischievous little smile on his pale
round face, surveying the damage he'd done with that impish gesture, looking proud of it. The
long silent break between songs was quickly being filled with more cries from the audience;
and suddenly, they all roared as the band played the opening bars of their next song. Voice
going husky, the sexy front man announced it's title and launched into the romantic words of
the hit, silencing the crowd: ''I'll be your dream, I'll be your wish, I'll be your fantasy..........''
~
And he smiled too, slowing down to allow them both to savor that delicious memory.
~ She felt happy, she swayed along to the music, all problems and sufferings of her rough
life forgotten......~
Her heart was beating slower.
~ .......and then he was crooning to the end of the song, in a high-pitched voice that made
her smile in blissful delight; a handsome blond guitarist approached and for a minute they
looked at each other in the strangest, almost intimate way. But now the song was fading, and
all she could hear were the beautiful notes of the acoustic guitar...........~
He held her tight at this final moment; the vision was fading.
~.............and she was there, with that exquisite dark-haired singer; he had come for her
in the dead of the night, drunk and lost in the city streets, and she couldn't believe her
luck. They were back at his hotel, and he was eager, but so very sad afterwards...he was crying,
hands on his face, saying...........~
She tensed suddenly, her blue went eyes wide, as if a sudden burst of fire had brought her
back to life.
~.......crying, and saying, It's not you I........~
''Please Signore!'' she gasped, clinging to him desperately. ''Please tell him!!''
~............not you, that song, I love............~
She whispered something coarsely in his ear; a name, a confession from the bed of a celebrity
who shared it with his cheap one-night stand, in the frenzy of alcohol-indulged depression,
trusting her never to tell, or knowing he'd probably not remember enough of that night to
actually regret it.
~...............not you, that song belonged to h-...............~
She was dead.
He stared at her glassy eyes for a long moment, thinking on all he'd learned in those brief
minutes.
Then he spit on his hand and covered the marks on her neck with his saliva, watching pensively
as they miraculously faded away.
He let her body slide from his arms onto the ground.
And as he left the dark alleyway, his sensuous lips were curving in a wicked grin.
A famous band, a twist of fate, a nervous breakdown in a luxurious hotel; and a dark little
secret slipped trough a dead whore's lips into the ears of a particularly bored night being.
All of suddenly, he thought to himself as he considered the pieces of this interesting little
puzzle, I feel like playing cupid.
***
a mystery unfolds..