I’ve never had anyone take care of my injuries before besides my mom. 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 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.
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 stitch me up after busting me open. 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 frabric 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 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 retrieves 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. 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 the cum 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.”
“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’s 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 it. Actually, they’re more like cultists than an actual religion, that’s what I’ve come to think after studying and living life on my own. Well, they put 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 I would hide it. 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 the 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 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?
“My mother was a vampire hunter,” he ignores me, “stop throwing yourself a pity party and listen.”
“What,” he shouts at me.
“I’m trying to tell you a story.”
“About another movie,” he asks like I’m making a joke.
“No, about me.”
“Let’s hear how you had it so much worse,” he waits.
“I didn’t say worse. I’m just saying you’re not the only who is fucked up. Now are you going to listen,” I catch myself raising my voice agian.
“Fine, I’ll listen.”
“My mother, was a vampire hunter. One night, this vampire beats her with the help of his thralls,” I can see he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. For once, I get to do the explaining. “Thralls are like little sidekicks for a vampire. They get a boost in strength and speed, length of life and so on. But the vampire can completely control the thralls will he they choose to do so.”
“That’s slavery.”
“Can be, but most thralls choose that life for themselves. It’s a way to gain power and some people will do anything for power. Even if it means selling their souls to the devil?”
“Indentured servitude then.”
“Whatever that means, sure. He raped my mother that night, his thralls took a turn. They slit her open like a fish. She burned it closed with flares. Somehow it held until she could get care. Didn’t know she was pregnant. Found out, too late for an abortion. Then I pop out. Half vampire, sharp teeth a reminder of what happened. Didn’t even know I was half vampire at first because what are the odds the one vampire there gets her pregnant?”
She was a good mom. For the first thirteen years of my life, she was a great mom. Got me anything I wanted, helped when I struggled with school work. Always showed me good movies. Held me when I had nightmares. She was a great mom.
“I fail to see how this relates to my story,” Wesley interrupts.
“You don’t have any patience and you should learn to listen to people.”
“You were in fantasy land and not speaking.”
“Well, one day I was so hungry, I ate everything in the house, but I couldn’t sleep. My stomach kept demanding food but nothing helped.”
“You wanted blood,” Wesley interjects again.
“Yes, I wanted blood. Do you want to tell the story?”
“No, I’m listening.”
“You sure?”
“I’m good,” he puts his hands in the air surrendering.
“Well, I lured a stray cat into the house. Just bit into it’s neck and drank. Just drained the poor cat. Passed out right there on the kitchen floor with the dead cat in my arms. Mom found me. I think she knew what I was then but didn’t say. Slowly she started to hate me. I reminded her of my father now. I remember the first time she hit me, it shocked me so much I cried for three days. Then Micro died.”
“Who was Micro?”
“My puppy. She hung him off the balcony by a leash. He was already dead when I got there. I didn’t get the chance to mourn him. She beat me, chained me up in the basement. I was stuck somewhere between her child and another monster to be killed. I stayed chained up in the basement until I was twenty years old. A chain too strong for me to break. Probably some kind of magic enchantment. Long enough for me to go to the bathroom, and sleep in a bed, but too short for me to reach the stairway. When I wasn’t being beaten, I’d just watch movies. A near endless supply of movies. I guess that was the part of her that still wanted to be my mom. I was there until I was twenty years old. Seven years, but it seemed like forever to me,” he doesn’t interrupt me when I pause this time. “My mom had a friend, who would bring me blood, to keep me alive. Before she gave me the blood, I had to have sex with her. It was the only way I could get what I needed.”
“You mean she raped you,” Wesley interjects. “A lot of men don’t realize they were raped or molested at a young age until they’re much older and have access to therapy or other mental health tools,” Wesley interrupts.
“I know I was raped and molested. I just didn’t want to say it.”
“When you don’t tell what happened, you give her power.”
“Well she’s dead now.”
“What happened.”
“One day she was forcing me to eat her out. I just bit through her thigh and drank my fill. I don’t really have any control when I drink. Never had the chance to learn. People tend to die.”
“How did you get free?”
“Not long after that, Dusty found me. He’s a vampire, maybe a friend of my father. He’s not a servant or anything. He doesn’t say much about his past, but I think he was a king somewhere in Africa a long time ago. My father met him in Iraq. THey speak like equals and he’s the only vampire I never saw be afraid of my father. Well, he found out my father had a kid and came to get me. I stayed in my father’s mansion until twenty-four. Then I ran away because I couldn’t stand being there anymore.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s life. I still went to him and asked for money to pay the rent. He didn’t give it to me this time, so I broke a thrall’s nose, maybe fractured his skull. Then I broke a window on a Bentley. I hate my father, and I still went to him for money. So put your big boy pants on, and go ask your parents for money for your medicine.” I wince from the pain of my wounds and start to walk out of the room as slowly as possible, “clean this shit up too.”
“Where are you going?”
“Sleep.”
