The Donor to a Vampire (Donor #1)

Chapter 1: No Rest for the Wicked

The Sage, a boisterous and popular local watering hole visited by both young and old, was, as each night, packed to the brink. Drunken customers swayed to the music, trying to escape their mundane, everyday lives with a large quantity of booze and overly loud conversations. Some, wishing to feel less alone, came here to find someone to keep them company for the rest of the night. Several such lonely souls were already coupled and making out, or more accurately, passing saliva in the darkest parts of the bar.

Although I couldn't care less about their unwise decisions, I wasn't paid a minimum wage to observe people; it still bothered me when customers went from first to third base without consideration for the rest of us in the bar. No one wanted to see their baby-making organs except for the couple wholly immersed in the cloud of lust.

"Bring us another round, will ya!" Shouted a very intoxicated patron, waving at me with an empty pitcher, distracting my current spacing out.

Turning towards the sound, the man angrily cursed at me and whistled, still waving the empty pitcher. Sighing, I made my way through the crowd. The closer I came, the more the scent of alcohol in his breath made me want to dash the other way.

Fixing a polite but strained smile, I acknowledged his rude request with a sing-song, "Right-o."

While Taking the empty, heavy glass into my hands, the patrons' lingering glance at the length of my bare legs didn't go unnoticed.

You creep.

I shuddered on the inside; however, in the end, the weirdos, creeps and regulars were the ones that brought the most money to this joint. Additional tips could be persuaded out of their pockets and into my paycheck if my voice and face exuded kindness rather than annoyance. Humming along to music that boomed and vibrated from the speakers, my hips swayed to the rhythm while I was working on the order. The jingling of spare change landing into the glass Tip Jar made me smile like the Grinch. It was most fortunate that my back turned toward the people submitting the money; otherwise, I would scare them away with my evil, conniving smirk.

While filling the pitcher with beer for at least the tenth time this evening, a girl passed out on the bar counter and was forced into another drink by her intoxicated girlfriends. The bachelorette party produced shrieking sounds worthy of Raptors from the Jurassic Park movie, which frightened me out of my skin the first couple of times. The other patrons were still spilling their drinks and cussing at them each time a drunk bridesmaid kindly reminded everyone at the top of her lungs: "CHRISTA IS GETTING MARRIED!" The blissfully happy bride, Christa, was now passed out with her head in the bowl full of salted peanuts while her supportive friends drew another phallus on her arm with a black sharpie.

Must be nice, I thought, having such friends to take you out and make you piss out drunk. The very next morning, with a hell of a hangover that would make even Satan regret his choices, I would probably be finding myself a new group of friends.

As I walked down to the dancing crowd with a big, full tray toward the table, I felt a slap on my ass—more than once. I stopped and gritted my teeth. Masking my irritation, I set the liquor down on the already full table littered with empty glasses.

"I believe this is yours, boys. Here's the bill, pay by the register."

Before I could turn and deliver another order to a different group, one who thought he was the brave one of the bunch grabbed my hand and said with a big slimy grin, "How much for you, baby? Do you come with the bill?"

He was too drunk even to sit straight, let alone pick up a girl with that stupid sexist line. His attempts to flirt were accompanied by wolf howls and whistles of the rest, egging him on. Humiliation was something I was used to at this place, but I had to live and deal with it if I wanted to keep this job. I muttered my mantra: "Think of Jeremy", while trying not to feel sick to my stomach when more than one man stared down at my cleavage. Unfortunately, my shirt didn't offer much coverage.