Exsanguinate

4.17 - Rescue Ranger

Kareem has never called me before, but I got a call that was just a warning to not fuck up, then an address and instructions to find him waiting outside. I looked the place up online and it’s massive. I don’t even know why he’d know someone that rich, unless he was stealing. Did he get caught stealing? Part of me doesn’t want to go, but I’m curious. I couldn’t help but order a Lyft to the address. The homes out here are probably worth a small fortune to someone like me, for someone like Kareem, for people like my parents.

Getting out the car, my heart sinks into my stomach. I have to imagine this is what animals feel like when they’re suddenly in danger. I want to walk up to the house but there’s people outside and I can feel as if they’re actually pushing me down with just their looks. Just making eye contact with them feels like my body is burning up, but it’s cold sweat that covers my face. I do a quick scan the area hoping to see Kareem. I spot his car running, but I can’t tell if he’s in there because of the tinted windows. Walking towards the car takes everything I have, each step feels like hands from beneath the ground are reaching up to pull me to the depths of hell. For a moment, I could swear I could see the pale white hands, wrinkled with long jagged fingernails, gripping at my feet and ankles pulling at me.

I knock on the window and there’s no answer. I place my face to the glass and can barely make out Kareem. Leaning to the side, shirtless and covered in blood. I pull the door handle and he almost falls out into the street. I catch him, while the blood covers my shirt. There’s so much of it. Is it all his? What happened. The pressure pushing me down from earlier vanishes as I shove him back into the car. He’s heavier than he looks, and the blood is somehow sticky and slippery but I manage to get him into the passenger seat. Reaching over to put his seatbelt on, I feel the heavy breath from his mouth over my face.

I don’t waste any time setting my GPS back to the house and taking off in the car. He needs help but I don’t know what kind of help he needs. I can bandage his wounds but I don’t understand why he’s coughing up blood. The car gives out a low fuel warning and I’m forced to stop at a gas station after midnight. That’s not something I’d usually do and the fact that I’m covered in the blood of a half naked man that’s passed out in the passenger seat doesn’t make this a great idea, but one I have to follow through with. I’ll just pay with my card and hope nobody spots us. I hate being shirtless in public. I’ve got a weird birthmark and not the greatest body. Still, I think it’s best I leave my bloody shirt in the car. As I pump the gas, I can’t help but how submissive and vulnerable he looks right now. The complete opposite of how I usually see him. He’s supposed to be this quiet guy who’s shadow is five times as large as he is and give off an aura of violent intensity. The thought vanishes as the pump finishes.

It seems like everyone in the neighborhood is asleep when I pull into the driveway and that’s for the best. I can’t imagine how this doesn’t look like a murder as I drag Kareem up the steps and into the house. Inside the house, I put him onto the couch and take a step back trying to figure out what happened through all of this blood. He looks a mess; the stab wounds I gave him look like they’ve been pried open by someone. Then there’s a bunch of new cuts and bruises I had nothing to do with those, I’m sure of it. I could just leave him here and hope for the best, but that wouldn’t be right.

Okay, what do I need to do. I need some clean water and towels to wash his wounds. I don’t have any gauze to wrap them up, but I’ve got wash cloths and duct tape. Probably not the best solution, but it’s all I’ve got right now.

“Don’t die, I’ll be right back,” I give an order to an unconscious body as I head off for supplies.

When I return, Kareem hasn’t moved or woken up at all. Slowly, I unbuckle his belt, and then unbutton his pants. It’s not creepy, you’re saving his life. Just don’t try to take a peek. Why do I have to coach myself to not be a creep? As I lift his legs to get his pants free, they snag on a piece of glass I hadn’t noticed before. Slowly, I remove the glass from his leg and flinch as a small squirt of blood follows it before turning into a light dribble.

A few seconds later, I’m staring at Kareem, the apple of my eye, wearing nothing but blood stained boxer briefs, and socks. I’m supposed to be helping him, yet I can’t help but feel as if I’m being a creep right now. I don’t have any intentions of becoming one of the predators Republicans think all LGBTQ people are. I grab a clean wash cloth and dunk it in the bowl of hot water I brought. I start to slowly wipe away the blood covering Kareem the same way I’d wash myself. I start with his face, wiping away the dried blood he’s been coughing up, following with a dry towel. Keeping my composure, I start to wipe his chest with hot water. His skin turns bright red; I’ve been wiping too hard. Slower, I work the towel over his torso, making sure not to agitate the stab wounds. Gently I work it over his chest, slower around his nipples in case they’re sensitive. I turn him to his side, and pull another small piece of glass from his back before wiping it down as well. Next, I work the towel along his legs, he’s tall, but they’re still longer than I expected and his thighs are thicker than I expected too.

“God, stop giving me yoru toughest battles, I am not your strongest warrior,” I send up the prayer as water splashes on his underwear.

Fuck it, he’s clean enough. I focus my effort on bandaging his wounds with the washcloths and duct tape. It’s going to suck peeling that duct tape off but it’s all I got. I thought it was the water making him so hot, but even after his wounds are patched up, he’s burning up. A leather couch probably isn’t the best place for him right now, and I need to get some clothes for him.

Kareem’s door is locked; he probably realized that I went into his room before. I settle with some of my own clothes. A pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that are both going to be too big for him, but it’s fine. Getting him dressed is harder than getting his clothes on, but I manage. I move him to a blanket on the floor and step back to look at my work. But there’s something I’m forgetting. Right, a cold towel over his forehead should help a little.

I take a seat next to him on the floor. I still haven’t figured out what happened to him. Wounds reopened, coughing up blood, glass stuck in his body and left to die at some huge house. I doubt he’ll tell me when he wakes up, but I’m curious. In the time that I’ve known him he doesn’t seem to be the reckless type. The only time I’ve known him to get hurt was because of me.

I take Kareem’s hand in my own, it’s still hot. If he would wake up, I could give him some aspirin to help the fever, but it’s just a waiting game now. I hope he pulls through. I flip his hand over and place my palm to his. His fingers are long and slender, soft palms. The opposite of my thick fingers, but the softness surprises me. He moisturizes, if vampires do that.

I interlock our fingers and lean back against the couch. “You can be a real asshole, but you’re cute in a weird way. You also saved me when I really needed help. I stabbed you, and I’m sorry. I’m grateful you didn’t hold it over my head. But I kind of wish you made a bigger deal about it. You matter too. I’d like to be more than friends with you, if you’re open to it. But before that, I’d like to just be friends. We’re both kind of fucked up, and neither of us seems to have many friends. I don’t think I have any, I’ve been hiding myself so long that the people who consider me a friend, aren’t considered friends by me. I hope you pull through, and I hope we can be friends. I might fall asleep, but I’ll be here when you get up.”

I place a kiss on the back of his hand, “this much I’ve earned.”

Sustentation

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4.16 - Groupies

12:00 AM Darrell S.

I thought if I could just get some sleep, I’d be able to recover but it’s been almost a full day and I’m not feeling any better. I might be feeling worse. The wounds aren’t bleeding as much but there’s still blood leaking through the bandages and under that the wounds haven’t closed all the way yet. I’m starting to get chills and a case of the shakes from lack of blood. My already light skin is starting to look pale. I still can’t believe that psycho tried to stab me. Still can’t believe I didn’t just end him on the spot. I saw it coming, I could have moved, ripped his head clean off his neck, put a fist through his heart, sliced his throat or killed him fifty different ways. I must be getting soft. Come to think of it, I would have just killed that thrall at my father’s place a year or two ago. Maybe I’m just getting tired of violence and the stab wounds are a reminder that violence only brings more violence. No, that’s a terrible idea. Some first-year film student would write that.

I text Rita who gives me information on a party that some vampires are throwing. There’s a guy who wants the party exterminated but nobody will take the job. It’s basically suicide to run into a party full of vampires and thralls looking for a fight. I’m sure there’s guys who could take on a handful of vampires, but not a mansion full. That means it’s going to be a good place for me to get a drink. These parties are filled with vampires that want to flex their muscle or wealth, groupies who want to sleep with a vampire, idiots wanting to be thralls. Oh, and actual thralls, to clean up all the various bodily fluids.

I take a moment to decide if a red shirt or black shirt will hide any bleeding. I settle on black, just to complete the all black attire. I can’t hear Wesley as I’m leaving. Only his heartbeat, still elevated. He’s afraid. He’s been trying to be as quiet as possible. Afraid I’m going to take revenge when he least expects it. I could, but the urge just isn’t there for some reason.

Getting in my car sends a sharp pain up my side and I’m reminded of the stab wound again, as if I could forget it. I lift my shirt, just to make sure I haven’t already bled through the bandage. I spot a few drops of dried blood on the floor mats. It’s not mine, one of my victims. I’ve been careless. It’s too old for peroxide to clean up. I’ll need to get new mats, again. As I drive, I can’t help but wonder how many people I’ve killed. I used to remember the faces of all of them, now only a few pop into my head. Just the recent victims. I don’t even know how many I’ve killed in this car. I used to feel bad about killing, because I know I don’t have to. If I someone had been around to teach me how to drink the right way, nobody would have to die. There are other vampires who just kill because they can, but most don’t kill. I even heard about a vampire house in St. Louis that uses synthetic blood. Wait, why do I care? I’ve never cared about it before; the life I live is just fine. Not great, but fine. Is this because I didn’t kill Wesley, Wes or whoever is in my house? Just need to get my mind right.

The house is a baby mansion. Nothing like my father’s. You can still see the neighbor's home, but you probably can’t hear them. They might call a cleaning company, but they don’t have servants. Either some middle rank vampire or the home of a thrall. A few people hang out in the front as I make my way toward the home. The muffled music is terrible, some electronic nonsense. Vampire cliches. Just because you’re a vampire doesn’t mean you need to act like every vampire movie trope ever. I bet these losers still sleep inside of coffins. Just sleep in a bed like a normal person loser.

I give a nod to a group of vampires on the stairs; they don’t nod back. I’m sure they can tell I’m only half vampire. I used to think it was because of my skin not being white, but it’s because I have brown left in my iris, not my skin. Outside of Adze, all vampires I’ve met have black eyes, unless they’re half-blood mutts like me. They’d rather not know me. The fact that I exist kills the magic around the idea of vampires. Vampires aren’t the sexy and charming monsters above humans anymore when I show up. Just strong horny people who drink blood. The fact that half vampires exist is just proof vampires are just as horny, greedy, evil and everything else the humans they look down on are. I’m not sure which half of me I hate more; maybe they just hate each other.

The music is low in volume, but heavy on the bass. The humans here would probably like the volume turned up, but this is what works for vampires. These events are always interesting, people brought together just because we drink blood. Some are sitting around pretending they can’t eat food, watching humans gorge themselves. Those who really can't eat food have a different look on their faces, envy. A trait that many vampire circles would say is beneath us. Others are partaking in a human snack of their own. Some are thralls, some are just vampire groupies hoping to kiss enough ass that they get turned. It happens, but more often than not the vampire gets tired of them long before they're ready to be turned. People born half vampires like me, Adze and those who become vampires through rituals are the only people who can have changes in weight, acne, and even grow hair. For everyone else, they're stuck how they're turned. It's the reason many people grow their hair long before turning because if they turn while it's short, it'll never grow. But if they cut it after turning, it'll always grow back to the same length. It's one of the reasons that so many vampires look alike. Those in power have a certain look they like to maintain. Mostly well-manicured and neat white people. My skin is light, but dark enough for them to know I'm not one of them. A few sneak in from time to time. It’s not a white’s only club, but it’s the dress code gives off, no darkies allowed.

I choose to take up space near the pool where I can watch the water tinted red by the lights. I've been without fresh blood for too long; at a certain point the blood I buy hurts more than it does good. It reminds me of my childhood. At a certain point, I just needed fresh warm blood. I think that's the reason I can't control my drinking now. The first time I had blood from a living body, I went overboard. Now that's all I know. I'm weak, but I know at these events all I have to do is wait and some random human will approach me. From there, we'll go somewhere private and I'll eat. I'm not the first vampire to drain a human dry so I don't even need to worry about the cleanup. It gets taken care of.

"You look bored," it doesn't take long before a woman approaches me. Black hair, bronze colored skin, back lipstick with a red outline. It’s not what vampires have their thralls wear; it’s what goth kids wear. She's new to this. She'll be easy. She came here just looking for a vampire, and she’s good looking. If not me, someone else will take the bait. Hopefully she survives the night with a vampire she dreamed of.

"Wow, how did you know," I ask sarcastically

"You had this look on your face that said you wanted to jump in the pool and hold your breath until you drowned."

"Wouldn't be so bad, would it?”

"Well, if you want to get wet, I've got other ideas," she smiles coyly

"Why don't you tell me, or show me."

Sex makes the world go round. I don't really care for sex, it's just an easy motivator to get what I want. It's always been that way. Sex in exchange for what I need. I'm no different than any of the prostitutes I've killed. It's just a means to an end. She keeps talking as she leads me by my hand through the house and up the stairs. She just talks on and on about how she's so excited to be at her first vampire party. When we find a bedroom, I follow her in and close the door behind us.

When I turn around, she's already seated on the edge of the bed, and has already removed her shirt. I know how this goes from here. I make my way to the bed. Kissing someone you don't plan to be with forever on the lips always felt strange to me but nobody has ever complained about a kiss on the neck.

"Bite me," the words barely audible through a gentle moan. "Harder," she whispers when I scrape my fangs across her neck.

I pull back for a moment so she can toss her bra to the side, she reaches beneath my shirt and makes an odd face. She looks pleased when I remove my shirt revealing the messy bandaging of my wounds. It's enough to send her into overdrive. I continue to kiss her neck while fondling her breast, gently rolling her nipple between my index finger and thumb as she works to remove my pants. I tense up briefly as she shoves her hand into my boxers with no tact. But I'm not a child anymore, and this is nothing new. We reposition ourselves, me leaning back on the bed as she kisses gently between my thighs, teasing, working her way ever closer until the first kiss lands at the tip. I slide further back on the bed pulling her with me. She's well practiced in moving her tongue to make sure no part goes unloved. For her effort I reach down beneath her skirt and put my hands to work. I squeeze her inner thigh tight enough that her face gives a brief moment of pain before I let go. Gently I rub circles, disrupting her mouth occasionally she lets out another moan or gasps for breath. She's having fun, but I'm getting eager. I work a finger into the soft wetness, back and forth slowly until I add another finger.

She stops and moves my hand before climbing atop me. With a firm grip she guides me into that same soft wetness my fingers were feeling just a moment ago. Small motions, up and down at first, her breast bouncing gently, then harder as she picks up speed. My hands rub her lower back and hips until she bends down placing her neck at my lips.

"Bite me," she whispers again.

This time I let my fangs pierce her skin, not deep enough that I can drink, but deep enough that she feels it. That moment provides her with more excitement than anything else we've done tonight.

"Harder," she asks, deeper my fangs go. "Harder," she demands, while slowing her ride. "I said harder," as she pokes a finger into a stab wound where a bandage had fallen off.

"What the fuck," I ask as she drives her finger deeper.

"Fucking bite me," she shouts as she comes to a stop.

"Get off me," I pull her finger from my wound.

"I said bite me," she slaps me across the face.

I shove her off me and to one side of the bed as I roll off the edge on the other. The wound doesn't hurt as bad as when I first got stabbed, but it hurts and there's fresh blood. She keeps slapping at me and shouting as I get dressed. Some people like pain with sex, not me. But she enjoys the pain too much. It's easy to hold her back, she's not strong. As I buckle my belt it seems like she's given up and gone to sit on the bed. Before I can exit the room a glass vase shatter across the back of my head.

"What the fuck is your issue," I scare myself without realizing I had already moved to grab her by the neck. She's not afraid of me, and she's not fighting to get away.

"You bitch," are the last words I hear before she spits in my face.

I throw her against the wall hard enough that the drywall cracks, then I shove my fangs deep into her neck as if I'm trying to bite through it. Big gulps, I'm not even worried about her dying. The look of peace on her face brings me back. I pull away from her and she slides to the floor. I spit a mouth full of blood on the carpet. Something's wrong with her.

"What is it," I ask as I start to feel dizzy. "I said what is it," I shout again

"AIDS," she whispers as she starts to stand.

"Bitch, you gave me AIDs," I struggle to keep standing. Who knew AIDs would hurt vampires so much? "I should kill you," I try to shout as she moves toward the window. My head is spinning, and my senses are all going crazy. Bad blood on a body that runs on blood. Instant food poisoning, I get it. I grab her neck and start to squeeze. I heard the glass shatter but don’t remember shoving her. I hit the ground hard and glance over at her barely moving body.

Covered in my own blood, both new and old I try to stand, but my legs give out. I can only crawl towards my car. Shards of glass cut deeper into me as I drag my body across the lawn. I spot a few vampires staring at me, but they look away when I make eye contact. I can hear a few of them laugh. I look pathetic right now and they’d rather not even know me. It’s so damn cold. Blood stains the side of my car as I struggle to get the door open. My legs seem to not work at all as I pull myself into the car. The car starts and my fingers slip across the console as I try to turn on the heat to stay warm. My arms are giving out now. I need a moment to recover, and some help.

My blood covered fingers slip across my phone screen. I pick Dusty’s number and the phone just rings until I get his voice mail, “leave a message stating your reason if you expect me to return your call,” Dusty’s voice comes through. When I don’t record a message, the phone hangs up.

I start trying to find anyone else, but I don’t have any friends that can help me. I don’t have any friends. I pick a number at random, and hope someone picks up. “Hello,” the voice answers.

“Don’t fuck this up,” I force out the words before coughing up blood that burns my throat and even the skin on my lips.

Sustentation

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Light Seekers

8:10 PM Darrell S.

Najor has seen more than most boys his age should, but he's never felt the warmth of the sun on his flesh. His town has been blessed with the gift of sunlight for three years now. The elders believe that this will continue as they are in God's favor. Najor is smart enough to listen to the migrants who travel along with the beam of light which illuminates the sky. They know the light is to vanish soon, and with it will go any normality in his life. He faced with the choice of spending his life following the beam of light, or attempting to bring the sun back.

The magic he wields is weak, and he can't use it for long without becoming sick. He's never left his town and only heard legends about the beasts that roam the wastelands and the sorcerers who reside high in the Phaethon Mountains. Still, he chooses to throw it all away and chase after a dream knowing he'll mostly likely die out in the darkness.

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4.15 - Trauma Care

12:00 AM Darrell S.

I’ve never had anyone take care of my injuries before besides my mom and that was very long time ago. I usually just tie some rags around them and let the blood do its thing. I don’t know if Wesley had the first aid kit or if I had one somewhere around the house. A handful of pain killers won’t last long on me, but it’s enough to let me sit up straight while he stiches the holes he put in me. For someone who had a breakdown over a dead body he doesn’t seem to be concerned by the blood now.

Where did he even learn to do stitches. I don’t know why I let him stitch me up, I don’t trust him and if he moves wrong, I’ll kill him right now and be done with it. It reminds me of when my mom used to take care of me after I would scrape my knee or fall out of a tree. I can hear Wesley’s heart beat faster as he rubs some sort of gel on my chest, he won’t make eye contact and he’s shaking a little. He’s afraid, and he should be.

“I’ve been stabbed before. At least this time I know I didn’t deserve it,” I try to make a joke.

“Really sorry about that,” Wesley bites his lip. “I don’t have any guaze.”

“What?”

“Gauze, medical bandages that cover a wound.”

I rip a portion of fabric from his shirt and tear it in half. Payback for the shirt he ruined with bleach. I take half and tape part to my chest, the other to my side. That’s a part of first aid I can do by myself. Wesley looks confused, his body temperature is rising again. If his skin was lighter or white, I’m sure he’d be turning red right now.

“Are you okay,” I ask him as his heartbeat slows.

“You, you, ripped my shirt off,” he stutters through the sentence.

“I would have used mine but it was soaked in vegetable oil, bleach and blood.”

“My shirt.”

“I mean you covered me in bleach and stabbed me but it’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

Wesley puts everything back into the little plastic box before taking a seat on the other end of the couch. He doesn’t say anything, but his heart stops beating as fast and I think he calmed down a little.

“I guess we have a lot to talk about now,” He doesn’t look away from the floor.

“No shit, I thought we were just going to pray and sleep it off.”

“Please, don’t ridicule me or my faith. I know I seem crazy but I’m not. Well, I am, but I’m not.”

“You’re making even less sense than you usually do.”

“Can I just start from the beginning? Are you okay with that?”

“Sure, it’s not like I’m going to bleed out.”

“I’m sorry, alright.”

“Wow, that magically healed me. I feel so much better now. How about you go get me some blood from the fridge, so I can sit through this bullshit story.”

He’s mad now, not as mad as I am but mad enough that he gets that I don’t take being stabbed lightly. Still, he gets the blood like I told him to. It won’t do much to heal me; I’ll need fresh blood for that. I could keep picking on him but I want to know what his deal his. I want to know who Wes is or if it really is him. Is he possessed by a demon? I’ve heard that can happen. Do I need to just kill this guy and be done with it all? If I didn’t love a good story, he’d already be dead.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I’m bisexual,” he winces as if I’m going to hit him.

“Was that supposed to surprise me?”

“Yes, I don’t reveal that part of me to most people. They tend to be shocked, confused, appalled or upset when I reveal it. I’ve spent years trying to hide it. Only dating women, trying to never give in to my desire for men.”

I sigh, “well, you think you hide it well. But, I’m a vampire. I can smell when you beat it, and you it beat it a lot. I can hear the porn. I know I don’t go upstairs, but once again, I’m a vampire. Those are some masculine moans I hear from time to time.”

“Sorry,” he’s embarrassed.

“I don’t really care, just saying you can’t hide it from a vampire. You can’t hide it anyway. Sooner or later the mask is going to slip or you realize you can’t hide it anymore. There are probably regular people who picked up on it as well. If you keep trying to hide yourself, then it’s revealed you don’t have many options. You don’t have any choice but to kill yourself or learn to live with who you are. Have you seen Moonlight?”

“I’m a bisexual Black man, of course I’ve seen it.”

“Well, Kevin liked Chiron, but he hid it. Then he went and had a baby, went to jail and had all that time to think and called Chiron when he got out. Same thing, right?”

“I guess. Do you compare everything to movies?”

“Sometimes movies are the only things that make sense. Even when the movie doesn’t make sense, sometimes it still finds a way to work.”

“Okay,” Wesley says it as if I’m the crazy person. “Well, I’m bisexual,” he says it with more confidence this time. “My family doesn’t like that. They’re what you would call Christian fundamentalists,” he can see I’m confused. “They’re by the book on everything. Even if The Bible doesn’t really say anything about the topic in it. Actually, they’re more like cultists than an actual religion, that’s what I’ve come to believe after studying and living life on my own. Well, they put me in conversion therapy a few times.”

“What’s that?”

“Conversion therapy is when they try to get the gay out of you. Might beat it out, might pray it out, scare it out. It doesn’t work and half the time it’s run by closeted people who promise you can be just like them. The first time, they gave us Ipecac, this drug that makes you vomit. Then had us watch gay porn while they shamed us for liking men. The second time, they just tried to beat us until we weren’t gay. I actually had sex for the first time at that camp so it didn’t work at all,” he pauses and stares up at the ceiling. I can tell he’s trying to keep tears from falling. “It’s not like I chose this or I’m some kind of greedy monster. I want to have a family and kids too. I’m just okay if that family is with a woman or another dude. It’s not a crime to crave being loved no matter how hard they try to make it one.”

I let him have his moment to get himself together. I can’t relate to what he’s saying. I don’t have a secret urge to suck dick on the weekends. I don’t think I’ve ever been attracted to anyone and if I was, I can’t say if I would hide it or even know how. Sex is something he needs, for me, it’s a tool. I can’t even comfort him because I don’t know how to do that.

When I think he’s had enough time I ask, “Who is Wes?”

“I’m Wes. I’m Wesley, Wes is another personality. Maybe not another personality but he’s like another person that tells me to do stuff.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“My family, my doctor. My therapist said I probably created Wes as a way to retaliate against those who hurt me because I was feeling powerless.”

“I didn’t hurt you.”

“But you could have. You can. You’re a vampire who kills people. I could be a victim. Wes probably thinks it’ll be a good idea to eliminate you now rather than dealing with the consequences of letting you live. Damn the repercussions of killing you.”

“Is that why you had all those empty pill bottles?”

“Yeah, I’m out of meds.”

“You’re fucked up.”

“A serial killer is judging me right now?”

“I’m not a serial killer,” I calm down when I hear myself getting louder. “I’m not any different than a tiger eating to live.”

“Yeah, okay, tell that to all the dead people,” Wesley stares at me like Atticus Finch making a closing argument in To Kill a Mockingbird.

“I don’t talk to people who aren’t there. You’re the one that’s twisted in the head. Instead of arguing with me, you should be trying to go get some more meds.”

“I don’t have the money,” he shouts. “I used all my money to move here and get away from my family.”

“Then ask them for money.”

“If you had been through anything like what I have, you wouldn’t be telling me to ask them for money.”

I can’t help but to laugh at him as he throws his tantrum. He just gets madder and it only makes me laugh harder. Does he really think he’s the only person with a bad life? He thinks he’s the only one who survived some terrible shit? The only one with a fucked up family?

“Memories can suck,” I nod to myself. “Any little thing and you start remembering all the bad stuff. But memories are how we make choices. You had shitty parents, and they tried to fix you. You remember that. So you moved all the way out here, trying to be better. But you wouldn’t have made that choice if you hadn’t gone are that shit. So why are you trying to pretend none of it happened?

“What are you talking about,” Wesley seems annoyed.

“Aren’t we tied to our memories? The good, the bad, the stuff we don’t want to remember? You think making some other personality is going to make a difference? You’re just going to run around stabbing people and saying it was your other half? You don’t get to just go crazy because you don’t want to handle the past. You think I don’t have a fucked up family? How many vampires do you think are running around here without some connection to a family? I’m a half vampire, and you never see me with vampires or humans. I’ve been left behind by both sides. You don’t see me running around stabbing people.”

“You’re a damn serial killer” Wesley shouts at me.

“Maybe, but I know who I am. I’m not trying to fight my memories, or run away from them. Maybe that’s why I watch movies all the time. Maybe it’s why you’re a nut job.”

“Just get to the point.”

“Maybe I don’t have a point,” I try to readjust myself on the couch. “You thought moving here would let you just step outside and close the door on the bad things that happened, but clearly it didn’t work.”

“And how has life worked out for you,” he asks me. “You aren’t trying to close the door on your past. You went and borrowed money from your parents, right? That’s where you went. I can piece that together. So no, it’s not exactly the same for us.”

I push myself up from the couch and look at Wesley. He’s terrified, and he should be. I just don’t feel like arguing with him right now. He’s never going to see it my way, and that’s his problem. But the next time he stabs, I’m going to kill him.

“Where are you going,” he asks.

“Sleep.”

Sustentation

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