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.”
