4.15 - Trauma Care
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.”
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