Krystal's Lost entries
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Sunday, March 19, 2006Hospitalized/Diarysecond part of 13 Friday. The artificial lights were so bright it hurt the eyes! Man! I found myself extremely critical of the hospital’s facilities, not friendly to night creatures. Too many noises, understaffed. A pregnant goat had to stand. Her husband, a donkey, was threatening to sue them. Babies in their mothers’arms. Yelling, shouting. I went to the long queue of the admin desk. A peacock clerk used green tipped fingernails to tap on the keyboard. She was chewing gum and looked sleepy. I tapped my fingers impatiently. “Lestat please. I’m his girlfriend.”I had to wait some more while she keyed in my personal info. She said he was in a darker sector upstairs with the isolated cases. Thankfully I could go visit him now! The attendants going up went with me, showed me to Floor 49. Room 983. Before that, the floors were polished by wax, the walls a painted serene blue. I was getting anxious, maybe I should go back now. I hated this darkness. Ok, girl. Be brave! Lestat wants to see me, I promised. He will be hurt if I turn back. Each room was an individual bed by itself. The door to Lestat’s ward was half open. I couldn’t see anything, even with my special sight. Good good, Lestat? Are you awake? No one on the bed. Um, did I have the wrong room? A torch was suddenly switched on. Green blue eyes, white face. Happy fangs. “Hey little Bianca! Welcome.” He wheeled himself on the wheeled chair. I gasped. A long white tube to his left hand connected to an IV stand. “Why are you not lying down?” “Awww, don’t be like the doctors. I feel great. It’s so nice and dark. I love it. But I want sounds. It’s so quiet here. Boring. Actually I don’t mind reading, but I can’t. They won’t let me turn on the lights.” So thin, he was thinner in pajamas. He got up and came to the bed. “The pillows are hard. I cannot sleep. In the day they kept running tests. They gave me injections to make me stay awake and I had to walk to and fro barefooted. I slept only an hour. I’m so weak right now.” Lestat talking in excess. I recognized this as his anxiety symptom, when he desperately wanted to impress. “It is ok. Did you feed?” I did not come too close. Nope not yet. “Know what? Sedated animals! I was so frustrated. I have to take human blood to heal. Animal blood is slower.” I smiled. His usual bouncy self. “Bianca, did you like the huge lights? It was blinding. Come and sit here. At my feet, then you’ll be safe.” The chair moved by itself and shifted me. Lestat pulled up his knees. “Birds like bright lights?” I frowned, “No way. I assure you. I hated it, then the extreme darkness! It’s crazy. The noise was like a fish market. I was like, this isn’t good for a vampire----- thanks to your influence. Louis instructed me to read you some poetry.” He moaned. Only the orange bedside lamp was on. Covering his face “WB Yeats? I’ll die very soon. He Cannot calm me this way! Anyway it is too dark. What time is it?” “Two o’clock.” I added that I had slept enough through the afternoon as I get off early on Fridays. Next day was Sat so it’s cool. Lestat nodded. “It is nice, cooling dark here. You’re sure you’re not tired. Sleep here. I won’t hurt you, I promise,” he said gently like a baby doggie. I’m the cat while he is the dog. “What other tests did they conduct? Did they poke you with needles? Your neck is wounded.” I felt worried and stood up. He shook his head. “Yes. But no needles. I refused to stay still for that. Just that when they had to do blood tests, my arm’s too hard. So my neck is soft and they cut there. It’s healing now. Don’t worry. Louis. Tell him I’m no longer suffering pain. He should relax now.” I took note of it mentally. The vampire sat up again and kicked off the blankets. He complained that how can it be an A class ward when there was no television or functioning air conditioning. “I’m so Bored! How can they expect me to lie still and do nothing? You tell me. Me an active and sociable person reduced to this derelict state!” “C’mon sensei, maybe if you sleep, shuteye a while they will bring back the tv set? I’m sure the staff are doing so right now.” Lestat lay down again, using his hand to fan himself. Aristocratic behaviour. I did not know what else to say. We sat in silence for some time. The clock’s tick was loud, the iv dripping sound, my own heart plopping steadily. I took the crumpled blankets and started folding them neatly. “Bianca, don’t come too close. I’m really starving.” He projected an image of a skinny tiger salivating. “I won’t.” I was thinking I ought to leave, but he shook his head, whining for me not to leave him alone. Visiting hours were not over for him. Still 3 more hours till dawn, not a guarantee he would be left alone to rest anyway. “Would it be ok if you brought my music box for me? Next time you come? I misplaced it. I think it’s somewhere in my bedroom. If I hear something, I can sleep,” his hoarse voice. I didn’t notice the difference just now. Was it because they had cut his throat? “Come, say something, any thing. Distract me, from this shithole..” I chuckled. So cute. He replied, “I think it’s the way I speak. Suppressing my normal volume. As preternaturals, we’re quite vocal. Now I must preserve the peace. Are there any people near me?” “No. I did not see anyone. Oh yea I can lend you my CD player.” I opened my sling bag and rummaged. The batteries were somewhere too. Yes! I showed Lestat how to slot in the batteries the right way, positive and negative. Insert the compact disc. I left a couple of my own pop music, soothing ones. And one Mozart that he lent me to listen to and forgot to return. He smiled. Usually I use stereo. But what about you? Don’t you want to listen too? It is all right. Take it back. I pressed it back on his bed------------ it is alright. I trust you man. It will help you to sleep right? Is there a phone here? Yep. Do you know the line number? In case you want us to bring something else, call. I’ll write down my mobile number. He had brought his black address book, so I scribbled it down and Lestat slowly figured out the number as he wrote on mine. “I hope it is correct. Merci, my student. Hey, what did you tell the nurse?” “I’m your girlfriend.” Lestat slapped his knee, laughing out loud. He had already lain down, in a calmer state when I prepared to go, humming to the pop music. I listened, Ayumi’s song Moments. He’s a pro at this vocal chord stuff. When he comes back, he should perform for me, after all he yearns for an audience. All the tones, not too high, just normal. It is such a pity but he is silent when I ask why he won’t go on the showroad. At least he was better now. Those people better get the set in or he will blow his top. Heheheh. Lestat did not refrain from splurging on expensive gifts for us. He absolutely insists on paying for every meal. David reported that he does that too for all his other friends. What a spendthrift! He would be warded for a month….. his money? Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of investments to back me up. Are you on the way back? You shocked me. Lestat, can you sleep now? Yep. A gush of musical fountain. Why? On Sunday last, they jumped excitedly at the prospect of watching the fountain at the Square. I nodded and replied with image of pigeons flying into the air. We went out for an Asian meal on the west side. Not been there before, originally we would continue sightseeing there but Lestat felt sick. The both of them kept breaking chopsticks like wrestlers eating their first bowl of noodles. ‘Sorry, I won’t do it again,’ was the blond French’s reply. He was genuinely sorry but four times? The manager settled for him using the metal grip in between for the chopsticks. He’s jealous Louis could do it normally without breaking the next set of chopsticls. The introvert just gave him an appeasing look. Lestat sulked for a bit. I heard his personal miffness of: I can too do it! No fair. It was fun, they didn’t know it’s ok to slurp it loud to show it’s delicious. Of course Louis refused this impoliteness. 6pm next day. Louis was cutting flowers. “Hi!” He visibly jumped when I yelled. Smile of shyness. He’s still like that around me after two years? Hmm… “For brat prince, lover boy?” “Yes. It will cheer him up. Is he cranky? He was so naughty the people complained. I apologized to everyone.” We tied up a few stalks with plastic and ribbons. “Not bad for a new guy at arranging. Um, no, Lestat’s just angry they won’t let him sleep and the tv is not there. Can I go up to his room?” “Why?” I told him I needed to look for the music box. Visiting time starts at eight. “Oh. That one? I think he broke it already, in a fit of anger. How absent he is! Scatterbrain….. I’ll buy a new one. Don’t bother to.” “Well,” I disagreed, “I wanna look for it. We can show it to him, coz if you get a new one, he might not like it. Better check.” The raven locked guy unlocked the door. The big screen was off carpet slightly unflipped, exposed the dust. A layer of dust coated the coffin. I opened his cupboard. A row of impeccable Victorian suits. I smiled when I came across a blue Polo shirt. I had chosen this, he had hung a card that said: must wear to next outing. Very messy guy. Except for the clothes which have to be worn and hence contributory to the Lioncourt image outside, everything is disorganized! I cleared up his cast off clothes, socks ( smelly), dozens of shoes flung randomly, a comb forgotten in a corner under the shelf. Good point no, 2: his books are neat, not dog eared. He treasures them, in Quinn’s bio, it mentioned how much he confided that books are his life. Seeing a person’s room tells his character. Seriously, I had no idea his room was so untidy. He must have done some straightening before I came over. On his mahogany desk were plenty of post it notes. What to do this day and that. When a gust of wind came in, it scattered his documents all over the floor. I accidentally hit the diary too. I picked them up. Research on classical music, where to buy the textbooks for me. I felt touched. Lestat making so much effort on my behalf. I ought to try harder to improve. Surely he must have a file somewhere for his papers. Searched inside the chest of drawers. Several half used pocket files. Oh Lestat I am sorry. I just have to organize your stuff! It’s the neaty in me. I was shocked when Louis stood in the doorway. “Any luck?” “No.” Wait! I spotted a brown box on the bed, under the covers. “Yes! Bingo! It is spoilt. Then you’ll buy a new one. Anyway I already lent him my player. He was cool with it. No WB Yeats. Said he would die.” “Yeats is the best poet,” the other replied indignantly. You both are poor lit. people. Bwahahah, I hate poetry. Louis wore his sequined shirt of the olden days, archaic to the extreme. He won’t convert to modern wear, the stubborn streak. Anything but the clothes. Louis is rigid. “I’m all right, Krys. It’s childish of him, don’t you think? Throwing tantrums at will? As if people will all bow down and acknowledge his presence.” “I’ve never heard you rail about him, Louis.” He grinned. “He’s funnier himself. In the hospital, he seemed so small, subdued. I prefer the hyper Lestat anytime. You go first. On second thoughts, I’m not. I need to clear up the place.” Louis smelled lovely. “When did you start using cologne?” “You advised me to, it hides my mustiness. Goodbye cherie.” He left instructions not to go out. Lestat had taken care of invasion, placed a protective barrier around the compound. If I stayed indoors should be ok. An entire mansion to myself! Lonely feel though….. Back inside, I inspected the coffin. Bed check, blankets check. Clothes, eugh, sweaty, and forgotten from the laundry. I hung a few of them up, in the kitchen. The maids would come back and do them in the daytime right? At times I would meet them when I came out in the afternoons. To them I am their niece. I sorted the sweaty tunics into a basket. A photo we had taken together outside Châteaux Theatre, a preserved monument. I pushed it inner so that it wouldn’t topple and shatter. The diary was last. We had bought it for his birthday and he honored my wish that he write something inside. Such a personal thing, I wanted to close it but was enthralled by Lestat de Lioncourt’s artistic calligraphy. June 18th, 2003 Today I went out with Bianca and Louis to the theatre. It was a beautiful place. I was breathtaken by the wonderful structure. It’s the quaint era buildings which I adore. Ah no words to truly express it! We saw a play about a gay’s life. He had a happy ending. I was content. He loved the blond man. So much like Louis and I. Occasionally the touching parts made me want to cry. I’ve come to accept that my life here is much better than I expected! The nightlife, the unique number of races unlike in my homeland, foods. a nice mix of cultures, scenic views. I was hurt badly during the poisoning. Bianca saved me, possibly my life! I like to think of her as mon angel, the antithesis of Claudia. She’s so wonderful. I feel thankful for her. Sometimes, Bianca is so mature, she lends me stability. I feel safe though I’m the older one. In a sense I see a parallel to myself, dark to light. I’m writing this after throwing up. Bedridden. Blood everywhere. Have to force myself to get up and clean later. Like a murder scene. Writing supposed to sort out my feelings. I’m glad I feel too feeble to take anyone’s life today. June 23, 2003 I’m sick again. My stomach hurts so much, I feel like I’m all torn apart inside. I am puzzled why my friends did not come in today. I miss my cherie. Is it selfish of me to hope she will accompany me in my agonies? My anti bad feelings. I wanna tell her. Will she fear me if I do? I dare not. I managed to climb to the phone. Got back. No answer. The family is out. June 24, 2003 Heard Bianca talking to Louis downstairs. I eagerly Sent her a greeting. I waited, but no response. Why is she avoiding me? I am so hurt. The pictures arrived today. I hung them up where I can see them. June 25th, 2003 It’s not working. What is not working? My feelings of despair and anger at this pain is not going away! It sucks. Louie was mad at me, why? I was just asking him nicely: please let us go out for dinner. I felt all right. I want to join in his fun too. He won’t let me. All right, but don’t go on and on. And he goes out! With God knows who. I didn’t even criticize him back. I hate him! I hate him, hate him. I have no more mood. I don’t think keeping a book of my emotions will help. After all, who’s going to read this but me? A gap of a week. Lestat did write some more! He didn’t give up then. I felt gladdened. Emotional turmoil takes time to be expelled. No wonder Lestat thought we hated him! July 2, 2003 I read about the star signs and patterns. I can identify my own sign now. I used to make plenty of mistakes. So disappointing to my friends! Very intriguing. I shall write more today. Two nights ago, when my stupid philosopher went out, I sneaked out and we had a long talk. Why did I make him? I asked Bianca why she hates me. I didn’t want it to come out so fast and crude, but I’m a very very impatient person. She didn’t argue with me. I was trying not to sound brattish, hey I think I performed well too! She gave me a calm look and asked me to wake up, offered reasonable explanation . I did not feel angry, unlike my quarrels with vampires. Positively magic. It seems that Louis and her did not mean to leave me out of things. I jumped to conclusions again! How silly of me. I felt ashamed of myself. Bianca listens intently, her entire body language is always tuned to how I feel. That’s what I admire and hope to emulate. She was thinking, why do I act so childishly? Haha, definitely a mischevious attention seeker. Hawks, birds of prey, are intelligent. Shapers are of an even higher eloquence. I laughed, blushing hotly! Lestat has such a high opinion of me. I should stop now before Louis comes back. It’s not right to read in. Yet it seems like he’s addressing me. Went on: I talked to her of many other things. It feels so warm inside. I don’t have to pretend I’m strong like in front of Marius, Quinn Blackwood or others of my race. She has this special Tree in the park. I was so honored to sign my name! They would hide there when they were kids and their parents fought. As I have promised it is a secret. Imagine if someone sees Lestat on the bark. I’ll be famous again. My limelight has dimmed somewhat. This stupid illness------- how can I meet fans in this condition? Better not visit me. Unfortunately, Bianca wants to have kids. I want to fulfil Mrs Bratford’s expectations of me, but I cannot. I’m a made blood drinker. I love her. The child has asked me often to define love, whether I love her or not. I cannot explain it. Parents’love, siblings love, sworn friends’love. I, Lestat, lonely, damned, have suffered under this concept. I don’t want to bring Bianca into this destructiveness. She has to remain pure. |
