Bridges

I came out of it leaning across a rail on the suspension bridge
across the Clyde, vomiting my evening's drinking into the black moonlit
water. I watched it as it fell, tumbling liquidly through the fifty
feet or so before hitting the water below, 'Just like a large seagull
shit' I thought to myself just before another liquid cough forced me to
concentrate.

I couldn't remember anything of the last few hours. Looking at my watch
I noticed that it was after one o'clock in the morning, so that meant
that I'd had a four hour blackout. The last thing I could remember was
buying a round of drinks and telling my life story to a perfect
stranger; a small man with a Charlie Chaplin moustache.

The vomiting stopped, but before I moved on I stood there for another
ten minutes, my tears twinkling down into the darkness.

At some point I became aware that I was being watched. You know the
feeling - the tingling at the back of your neck. I tensed my muscles
and stood straight, looking around me as I made my way off the bridge.
I knew well enough how dangerous it was to be a helpless drunk on his
own in Glasgow in the early hours of the morning.

And then I saw her.

She moved like a cat, sleek and smooth, silent and dangerous. If I
hadn't been so drunk I might have ran, but I was transfixed by those
eyes. When she spoke it was like a smooth blues sax player.

"You have been drinking, no?"

Her accent was there, distant and noticeably Spanish. Her eyes flashed
in the reflected streetlight as I replied.

"I have been drinking, yes. Oh yes. I had a little drink, then
I?"

She interrupted my garrulous chatter. Sexy woman always make me nervous
and my twitch count rose as she stroked a cold hand across my
cheek.

"I like men who drink," she said, giggling. "You might say I have a
taste for them."

Her eyes changed. I had been sure that they were black, dark anyway.
But now they were gold. Gold and yellow and deep. I feel into her arms
where I was held, strong and steady.

"Cheers" she said as she opened her mouth and the incisors grew and she
fixed herself on my neck. I felt the hit immediately. You know when you
sip a smooth malt and it warms you all the way through your stomach? It
was like that. I couldn't get enough of it.

Some time passed. I was past caring by that point, transfixed and
pinned by the feral intensity of those eyes. I believe I would have
stayed there forever, but the noise of a passing car caused her to look
away and the spell was broken.

She got me to my feet, both of us unsteady, and supported me as we
weaved off down the quiet empty streets. We stopped in an empty doorway
where she drained me a little more, the feel of her teeth bringing a
hot rush of sexual excitement as I pressed against her there in the
dark.

She giggled again, a girlish laughter that span in my head as she
pulled herself away.

I was giddy with delight, almost weightless as we danced and cavorted
our way through the city, past the office blocks ad the pubs, the
motorway and the slums, now all dark and lightless, waiting for the
night to pass and the day to come so that life could begin again.

She led me into the park underneath the imposing gothic frontage of the
University and there on the damp grass we joined, mingling our juices
and singing our joy to the stars.
I have a vague memory of her offering me her neck and I can see the
pictures in my mind's eye as I nibbled, first softly, then with more
fervour as her light, cold body slid over mime and I lost myself in the
red hot rush of my passion.

The eastern sky was brightening when we finally lay, spent. She looked
upwards, seeing the first red rays hitting the top of the University
tower, then looked down at me with sadness in her eyes.

I couldn't read the emotion there - some pity, some fear, but she
stroked my cheek once, a leathery rasp, before she moved out of my
sight. There was a rustle and a flapping as a great bird taking to the
air, and she was gone.
I crawled under a nearby bush, dragging my clothing with me, and slept
the sleep of the dead.

I woke to the thudding of a major headache. Bright sunshine found its
way through the branches overhead and lanced its way into my eyeballs,
searing and blistering as it threatened to boil my brain.

Something in my stomach twisted and I retched, once, and felt the pain
hit in my abdomen as the stringy fluid flowed out of me, bloody and
slimy and hot. I barely had enough energy to drag myself further into
the foliage before sleep took me down once more, down into dreams where
the bodies writhed and the teeth bit and I sang along with the hot
gushing glory.

When I finally woke and dragged myself naked from the bush, darkness
had fallen. I felt light and airy as I dressed, welcoming the cold
dampness of my clothes as they soothed the heat inside. Stars twinkled
overhead and a full moon lit my way out of the park.

I believe I sang again, happy nonsense songs about the night and the
stars and I have a vague memory of sitting in a fountain with the body
of a young girl in my lap, but when day came I was sleeping soundly in
a box in an archway under the railway line.

At night I drink. As I said, it has always been a problem for me.