4.14 - Life's On The Line
I didn’t get the money, I broke some guy’s face and let Dusty down. That little excursion didn’t go as planned at all. I’ll just need to find another way to get the money. I’ve robbed drug dealers before. It’s not like they can report it to anyone who will care. I’m not big on robbing stores, but if I could probably get more money by breaking open a safe.
I can smell cooking oil outside the front door. I guess Wesley decided to get up and do something besides talk to himself, throw fits and pass out. A few steps into the house and my balance is instantly gone. I slam my head on the back of the door and struggle to get up. I thought he was cooking and he’s just pouring oil on the floor. He’s really lost his mind. All this vampire strength and speed but I can’t seem to get traction on the floor.
“Wesley,” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Get out here right now.”
“For Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the spirit,” Wesley answers.
“Not this shit again. I’m not in the mood.”
“Submit yourself therefore to God! Resist the devil and he will flee from you!”
“The power of Christ compels me; I get it you freak!”
I don’t know how he’s walking in this crap but he moves to the kitchen as I try to steady myself. He returns, sliding, crashing into me. I lose my balance again but he stays standing like he’s the real demon here. I know it’s bleach he’s got in his hands before he pours it on me. For a second I give up on trying to stand, focusing more on trying to keep the bleach away from my eyes. He just keeps shouting the whole time.
“I cast out spirits by the finger of God!”
I’ve had enough of this. I keep my eyes closed as he pours bleach over my head, leaning forward to remove my shoes and socks. Standing is easy when you can just grip the floor with your toes. He doesn’t look afraid when I start to approach him. He switches from bleach to holy water as if it that’ll work better.
“I don’t know what got into you, but I’m going to kill it,” I’m ready to kill him at this point.
“In Jesus name cast out your demons!”
I get close enough to grip his shoulders and look into his eyes, “I’ve told you. I’m not a demon. Garlic, holy water, none of that shit will kill me. I don’t know what’s wrong with you but stop. Stop. Just stop.”
“I’m sorry,” Wesley drops the bottle of holy water to the ground.
“We have to get you some help.”
“I’m sorry, this is the only way to save you.”
Wesley slides to his knees, seemingly apologetic. I don’t even know where to take a crazy person to get help. As far as I know we don’t have an Arkham Assylum nearby to just drop him off at. I feel like I’m being punched in the chest, then it hits me. My body is in shock, and the wound is burning, for a moment I’m frozen as the burning, dragging across my chest towards my heart. I know this all too well. I’m now aware of every single piece of flesh the knife severs as he rips it free and positions himself for another stab.
I’ve been stabbed before, it always hurts, always burns. This hurts more than the others. I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve it this time. I didn’t rob him or hurt him, but he still stabbed me. Why? Does he really think I’m a monster? I know I drink blood and kill people, but I’m not a bad person. I have to survive. I saved his life, and he stabs me? I’m not bad. I don’t deserve this. I try to be good. I wouldn’t drink blood if I didn’t need to. I tried to stop but I couldn’t. I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone else to either. I’m not bad. I’m not bad. Why are you treating me like this mom? I didn’t choose to be like this.
I come back to real world as he pulls the knife free. I manage to move so his second stab hits my ribs, keeping it from going as deep. I push Wesley’s chest with enough force to send him crashing into a wall. He slides down the wall, a small streak from where his head hit. I take a few more steps then drop on the couch.
The knife is on the floor next to him but missing the point. Damn, that means it’s in me somewhere. My shirt sticks to the gooey parts of my body as I remove it. Slowly I dig two of my fingers into my side wound first, stretching the warm and wet cavity. It’s a jagged cut and I get a view of my chipped rib. That must be where the knife broke. There’s nothing that won’t heal in there, but there’s not a knife either. I take a deep breath and put two fingers into the chest wound. I pull it back to get a clear view. I’m drawn to the sight of my own heart beating in the corner, a sure sign that I'm alive. The tip of the knife is stuck in the bone that sits in center of my chest. I guess it isn’t bone, I don’t care. I pull the knife piece out and toss it on the floor.
It’ll heal but I need to get some blood or it’ll heal slowly and leave a scar. I’ll have to cut myself open and try to heal again if it does leaves a scar. I need to bandage it for now. Really, I just need a quick nap. Wesley groans and coughs. He won’t heal as fast, but I was hoping he was dead. I’ll add him to my list of things to do. Bandages, pay the rent, get blood and kill Wesley.
Wesley grunts as he leans against the wall, forcing himself to his feet. Alright, I sit up. Guess I’m going to kill him now. Shouldn’t be much of a problem. He’s weak, can’t fight and I’m still a vamp.
“Did I do all this,” Wesley seems in pain as he speaks.
“Yeah, don’t you remember setting a trap so you could try to kill me?”
“No. It was probably Wes.”
“Who the fuck is Wes,” I inch closer. “There’s nobody here but you and me.” I’m angry, but don’t have it in me to yell right now.
“Me, but not me.”
“You got a Fight Club thing going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“A Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing?”
“Something like that.”
“Well damn, maybe I’m not going to kill you tonight,” it makes me a little happy to know he doesn’t hate me. He's just sick. He’s Wesley’s complete lack of control.
“You were going to kill me,” he sounds panicked.
“You set a booby trap like Kevin from Home Alone, poured bleach on me and stabbed me twice while shouting about God. If I killed you it would be self defense.”
“Sh-shit,” he stumbles over the word. “I’ll get you fixed up,” he limps off as fast as he can, avoiding the oil on the floor. “I’ll clean this up too.”
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