The Story of the Vampire, L (Completed | Featured )

2. [Marcello, "Mallo"] 2000 - We Were in Love

"Come back through my office," Dasius told me, walking briskly by the den.

"What's going on?" I asked. I turned off the television, instantly darkening the room. It had not been long since I had been back home in Boston, and he had barely spoken to me.

"Depeche-toi," hurry up.

I turned the TV off and hustled around the corner and through his office, hands in the pockets of my jeans. 

"Don't do that, don't bring him in here," I heard Laurent say, and as I came into the room. He was sitting up on the steel table, holding Dasius's hands.

"Are you going to behave?" D asked, his voice distant.

"No," he said. "He's only fifteen. Let him watch television."

"I've been helping with procedures since I was six," I said, moving around the table. I propped Laurent's head with my hands as he lay back. I wanted to kiss his cool forehead. 

"That's irresponsible of your father."

I had received a long education in keeping my mouth shut, so I kept it shut. D was not, is not, and never was my father, though he raised me in his house and paid the bills. That is something I have been sure of since I can remember, knowing what a father is, and never expecting what counts as unconditional love or affection from that man. I had also had, though, as long an education in proving over and over my worth. I rubbed my eye. Being home was good but confusing, and I didn't want to mess it up.

"Let me go, beautiful boy. I could throw you off me easily," Laurent whispered to me, as D angled a light.

"But you won't. I bought you this great new blush pallete. You want to try it after?"

"You don't like that sort of thing," Laurent said, lying still.

I shrugged but he'd had enough of me, and maybe enough of trying to struggle. Ever since I'd known him, he never had really bothered to fight with me. He had always seemed interested in me, but as if he were doing it out of a secret obligation. I don't know. Maybe that is just nervous conjecture on my part. Even though lately life is a lot more dangerous than it was then, I felt just as nervous most of the time. People like to think they've shattered me, but I've always been like this as long as I can remember. 

He let me hold his head still while D performed a retrobulbar block, numbing the globe of the eye and preventing ocular movement.

"Can I have an injection?" Laurent asked politely, gently, like a shy child asking the doctor for a lollipop.

It made me cringe to hear that, even though I didn't want to cringe. As if he was fooling anyone with it. But what did he care if I cringed? I kept quiet.

"How do I respond to that?" D asked. "You are an addict. If you want opioids, you go to Denmark and lie under the bed with Matteo."

"And when it suited you?" Laurent whispered.

D made a small movement with his head that I saw out of the corner of my eye.

"You have nothing to hide from the boy. He knows it all. Shame."

"I have quinine. That is all I have," D said, in frustration.

"What do you use that for? For cutting?"

"As an anticoagulant, at times. But I use it to sleep. If you don't behave I will use the eyelid retractor. This is my last warning to you."

"He's behaving. He's not doing anything, just talking," I said, wishing immediately that I could scoop the accidentally voiced thought back into my mouth. "I'm sorry."