An Education in Malice

by S.T. Gibson

“We were happy, for a time. But love rots and spoils, it disintegrates with time like a rose in a vase, and soon there was nothing between us but animosity and arguments and the resentfulness of having to rely on each other. I awoke one night to find her side of the bed empty, all her dresses gone from the closet, her silk slippers and her ruby earrings disappeared from the chest. I have not received a single letter or telegram from her since, not one call, not after all these years.”

“Queen of the night,” she said wistfully, reaching out to stroke one of the petals. “She only blooms once a year, and always at night.

She leaned forward to smell the flower, then gestured for me to do the same. My nostrils were filled with a strong, sweet scent very much like jasmine.

“You must be so proud that you got it to flower,”

In one fluid motion, De Lafontaine picked up a silver sickle from the ground and severed the flower’s stalk. I let out a little cry.

“It will die either way,” De Lafontaine said, her voice a soothing lull. She tucked the flower into my hair, securing it behind my ear. “I’d rather it be enjoyed by you for the rest of its short life than for it to sit unappreciated in my greenhouse.”

Sometimes, it was easy to convince myself that De Lafontaine was entirely self-interested, that she only kept me around to feed her ego or keep her in a steady supply of blood. But then, other times, she was so tender to me, so generous and kind, that proof of her love seemed undeniable. It was almost worse that way.

“Keep moving,” she said, shooing me away with her cigarette. “This is my gazebo.” “I think, strictly speaking, it belongs to the university,”

“Did you do the reading?” “Of course I did the reading,” I shot back. “Did you write your poem for the week?” “Of course I did,”

What else could I have done? I tore off my shoes and ran after her.

“Laura.” De Lafontaine’s voice was toneless. “Carmilla. Have a seat, please.”

After class, Carmilla waited with her arms crossed for every other student to leave. De Lafontaine continued to act as if we weren’t in the room, simply gathering her notes and flipping through papers. I sat awkwardly with my knees pressed together, wondering if I was supposed to stay after for a talking-to or get out of that classroom as soon as I could.

“If you’re going to act like a child I’m going to treat you like a child.” “Funny how you’ve never seemed to consider me a child before,” Carmilla shot back. Now De Lafontaine looked at her, pinning her in place with that merciless gaze. “Watch your mouth, Carmilla.”

“Not so fast,” Ms. D said, her voice stopping me in my tracks. I turned to face her, swallowing hard. The disappointment in her eyes gutted me like a fish. “Antics from Carmilla I’ve come to expect,” De Lafontaine said. “But you, Miss Sheridan? I thought you were the mature one.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” De Lafontaine replied, her voice as smooth and even as ever. “You know I hate it when you work yourself into hysterics.” “I am not being hysterical. Hysteria is a made-up patriarchal tool of oppression, you know that?”

“You’re exceptionally bright, Carmilla, no one is disputing that. But you squander your potential on distractions. Like the Sheridan girl.” “I am not distracted.” “Aren’t you? You’re always staring at her during class, and she derails you during our Friday-night meetings. I thought having someone keeping pace with you might push you to be better, but you’re losing yourself in a fleeting connection that won’t last the semester.”

“Laura and I aren’t connected; we’re classmates, that’s all. Any interest I feel towards her is purely academic.”

Then, my professor parted her lips and lowered her mouth, lipsticked and undoubtedly hot, to Carmilla’s neck. The kiss turned violent in an instant, De Lafontaine bending Carmilla backwards and digging her teeth – suddenly so sharp – into her throat. Carmilla let out a little cry, clutching De Lafontaine close, and De Lafontaine’s throat bobbed.

There was no way I had seen what I thought I had seen, was there?

I turned to go, but it was at that very moment that the door to the lecture hall swung open, and De Lafontaine stood glowering in the doorway. Carmilla peeked over her shoulder, looking shaken. “My office,” De Lafontaine ordered. “Both of you. Now.”

The gaze of a serpent transfixing its prey. The gaze of a predator. “I don’t appreciate being kept in the dark,” she said. “And I suggest you take this opportunity to come clean. Would anyone like to go first?”

De Lafontaine threw her head back and barked out a laugh, actually laughed at me.

“De Lafontaine is a vampire,”

“I beg your pardon,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest as though I could still my overworked heart. “A vampire?”

“Carmilla,” I begged. “Come on, say this is a joke.” “It’s no joke, Laura,” Carmilla said, looking, to her credit, almost apologetic.

“So, you lied to me,” I said flatly to Carmilla, still feeling wounded about the whole thing. “About you and her. You just pretended like she was your professor and nothing more.”

“It wasn’t personal,” Carmilla said. “I lie to everyone.”

This was my last chance, my final opportunity to go back to my mundane little routine and forget everything I had seen and heard. A sensible girl would leave. A good girl most certainly would.

“Yes, Professor.” “You are both dismissed.”

I tried to silence my mother’s voice in my head, the one that told me I was trying too hard, and I was destined to make a fool of myself.

I looked fine, I assured myself. I looked better than fine.

“You didn’t lose your lunch in there, did you?” I asked. “I won’t babysit a messy drunk.” “I’m fine,” Laura said, adjusting her halo. “I’m just not the biggest fan of crowds.”

I had forgotten what it felt like, to be wholly desired without qualm. I all but melted in his grasp.

He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me into a deep, exploratory kiss. My lips parted for him instinctively, and I could taste the burn of liquor and another woman’s lipstick on his mouth. Something about the thought of sharing him with an anonymous third party stoked the fires of my lust even brighter, and I tangled my fingers in his hair.

“It seems someone’s feeling a little left out,” he said with an unkind laugh. I turned to see Laura staring at us from the sidelines, her glass clutched so tightly in her fingers that her knuckles went white. “Laura,” I said, taking a step towards her.

“Laura,” I said long-sufferingly, pushing open the door. “This is ridiculous. Come back inside.”

“If you ask him to kiss you, I’d bet he’d do it. We’ve got a name for boys like that in German, but it isn’t polite to say out loud.”

“Do I need to spell it out for you?” she said. “Put it in a poem, why don’t you? Maybe you’ll feel better.”

Moving with astonishing swiftness, Laura slammed her hands on either side of me against the brick of the building. She was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her body and smell the scent of skin beneath her perfume.

Part of me wanted to fight back and writhe away from her, but another, quieter part of me wanted to capitulate to whatever she had in store.

“You lay a single finger on me and I’ll bash your pretty face in,” I snarled, my heart beating like a war drum in my chest.

If anything, Laura just drew closer to me, until our bodies were almost flush together.

In a heady flash, I wondered if they would scrape and chafe my delicate skin through my dress, what they might feel like against bare skin if someone hiked up my skirts. “Go inside, then,” she challenged, voice only a little shaky. “Go inside and pretend like this never happened.”

“I’ll bet you’ve never even had another girl. I’ll bet you’ve just read about it in books is all.” “You’d be surprised what you can learn from reading books,” she said, and slid her knee between my legs.

She kissed me with a martyr’s agonized desperation, like I was the only sword she ever wanted to fall on. I kissed her right back like the cutting edge of a blade, trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

I wanted her to want me so badly it hurt.

“I still hate you,” I said, nipping at her plush lower lip. I canted my hips against her knee, chasing the friction. “And I find you intolerable,”

“Am I interrupting something?” a cool voice asked from behind us.

De Lafontaine stood under the glow of the lamplight, just outside of the anonymous shadows Laura and I had retreated into.

“Ms. D,” I said stupidly. “What are you doing here?” “Chaperoning,”