Archaic ||Peterick||

Death Before Divorceé

Pete hasn't always been so happy.

Pete hadn't always been so annoying.

Pete hadn't always went with the flow of things.

Pete hadn't always slept around.

Pete hadn't always been anywhere near okay.

Pete hadn't always been Pete.

Pete was once, somewhat, shy.
Pete was once bullied, for his bi-sexuality and the way he dressed.

Pete once went to a therapist.
Pete once tried to end his life.

When Pete was twenty one, everything got too much for him. His first proper boyfriend had broken his heart, his therapist was  full of shit and all his friends had moved on.

He knew it was aggravating for them to always be around him and he knew they would eventually leave. But it felt surreal, he had lost it all at once.

He had always complained about everything to them, he never realised how it must've made them feel. Come to think of it, he barely knew anything about them but they knew all his secrets, all his lies, all of it.

His mother had died when he was young so his father had raised him. But he yelled. He yelled so much that even when Pete was a grown man his father made him cry. He had hit him when he yelled, Pete and his siblings stitched each other back together after. Pete hadn't talked to them in a while.

None of them knew now. They didn't know, or probably care, that he was sitting outside of Best Buy at 2:30am, blaring music with a bottle of pills in his hand.

He gripped the steering wheel tight with his free hand, maybe there was another way out. Maybe there was something else. He shook his head and drown out those thoughts. He'd had enough of waiting.

He downed the pills.

A year later he was happier. He had survived, much to his dismay at the time, and moved on. He had refused therapy and gotten into music to distract himself.

He had also moved on from his ex. He now had a wonderful girlfriend who he'd loved very much. She supported him, listened and in return, he'd listened to her.

Then he was turned into a bloodsucking vampire. A monster he thought only to exist in fairytales. He had taken a small escape from his new life to remember his past. It wasn't the best decision now that he thought about it but there's nothing wrong with being shitfaced drunk once in a while.

He was bitten on his way home, stumbling across an alley. Cliché
right? He didn't even see who it was.

His girlfriend hadn't believed him at first when he came back hours later. Who would believe a drunk man, stories of supposedly non-existent creatures tumbling from his mouth like waves crashing on gagged rocks.

But then she could see for herself. His eyes, the fangs, the change in behaviour. She loved Pete and nothing would change that. Until death do we part.

And death had parted them, on both sides. Pete became the living dead and his girlfriend, simply the dead.

It had been an accident of course, he couldn't believe what he had done afterwards. They were just together one night, just holding onto one another. How were they to know?

How would they have known that Pete would get caught up in the moment?
How would they have known that Pete had to feed so soon?
How would she have known that Pete didn't know any other way?

Pete didn't attend her funeral, he couldn't. The guilt built up inside of him was too much and the ceremony was held in daylight.

Pete had visited her grave every night for a year and a half. He had brought her flowers, lilies, her favourite. He had sat and talked to her as he did when her heart was still pumping. This time he couldn't listen in return and he felt useless.

He took naps beside her grave, having an alarm so he could get home on time.

People thought he had died with her in some freak accident and they just couldn't find his body. That's exactly what had happened. The story just remained mostly untold.

His headstone was right beside hers, like an old married couple who had bickered and bickered but deep down truly loved each other. He had taken his naps on the old mount of dirt where his body should have laid. Peaceful. No one but bugs for company.

In that year and a half he had slept with countless people, those people were reported dead the morning after. 'Alcohol poisoning' is what they had claimed. It just proved how much they really cared.

Pete learned not to care so much. Caring lead to hurting. Pete couldn't handle anymore hurt.

He had no one to guide him so he used the one thing that had always worked for him. He brought women and men back to shitty hotels where their bodies were found hours after he had fled.

It wasn't normal he supposed, he had been bitten on a street corner. But he didn't know how to do that. He didn't know how to judge who would fight back and who would scream loudest. So he wore them out, waited for them to sleep before he attacked. By the time they had woken to struggle it was too late.

He was the last thing they all saw. He had deemed that a good thing for them.

He was now twenty seven. He was out on his latest hunt and he wanted someone easy. He spotted the perfect man. A tad shorter than him, slightly chubby and extremely good looking. He had chatted up the man, dancing with him before taking him home and having sex with him.

That's when it all went wrong again. The man was bossy, he was bossy in a way Pete would never admit he liked. But Pete couldn't complain too much. He was still walking the earth. Now he had a distraction. And for the first time in years, he felt very much alive.