Misery of the Vampire: A Vampire's Memoir (Complete).

Chapter eighteen.

I began to question my morality. If our world was of sin, if we were outcasted by society then why couldn’t I be it’s enemy? I was already caring for David and giving my all towards the greater good, but I desired strongly to go against it. Killing the occasional man for survival just was not enough for me anymore. I kept it all secret from David when I began to stalk the streets of downtown New York. Each night there would be a warm new body, my thirst quenched and feeling a new fulfillment within this seemingly bleak immortal life. I often thought about what my family back in Paris would think. What Emily would have thought if she was told that the vampire she nursed back to health and repaid her for her kindness with a stab to the back, became a serial killer. A vampire’s lust for blood will sooner or later take over if he is not careful. 

With each corpse I would drain them of their blood, even if they weren’t of the living. I would store away most for David, due to the fact he was weakening further. The corpses I would open up and study, utterly fascinated with human anatomy. Death felt familiar, almost like home to me while I lived in the era of the Bubonic plague. This was when inspiration hit me, and what caused David to finally know the truth. I took a young man’s blood, a handsome specimen whom had made advancements upon me after a few moments entering a bar. He was tall and lanky, blond wavy hair adorning his scalp like a halo. It was a shame for him to have entered that night, such a waste. I can still remember when he pinned me down against the back seat of his car. He desired my body, but there was only one thing I wanted from him. Before he could enter me, I bit down into his neck and felt my fangs ripping through skin and muscle. I lapped away at his crimson life force, and felt him struggle within my grasp.

I realise how far I went, how carried away I had gotten with describing one of my favorite victims. Vampires tend to describe things in prose, my theory is that it's in our nature. But I took his blood home to consume in peace, before the idea struck me. I took out a canvas that David had stored away, and set it upon its easel in his workshop. David, while he was feeling healthy enough, used to restore paintings for paying clients. His works were masterful, and he was well known underground. But ever since the disease struck in full force, his tiny space was abandoned. I began to paint with that young man’s blood, watching as it trickled down the canvas. Within each stroke I felt energized, as if I found another purpose. After a few hours, Emily’s face was revealed. She was always on my mind. A deep, soulful friend of mine I had betrayed. 

Her own portrait in blood, the strong irony that came with it. That’s when I wondered where she was. I felt David’s hand on my shoulder as he squeezed softly. I sensed disappointment from him, but yet he was too weak to stop me. I then felt guilty, but there was a strong sense of stubbornness that not even David could extinguish. At the time I did not realize that I destroyed David’s only way of coping. With my painting’s creation, I fully became a monster, just like my sire before me. And poor David could already see Giovanni within my eyes. He beckoned me to come to his room and help him dress, an attempt to steal me away from my painting, but I wanted more. The painting had arisen something within me, a deep passion for death in my loved one's image. But I followed David, and we both chose to pretend nothing happened. But my heart felt a pang of pain as David was cautious with me, as if he was fearful of becoming my next painting. I had dove into the deepest darkness of our kind, yet I couldn't feel regret.

*****

 I painted what had been eating away at me for the past few centuries, agony, death, and the people I held within my heart. Each victim was special in a way, they reminded I of someone I already knew. Painting with blood brought an almost orgasmic energy from deep within, something that I still cannot explain to this day. My paintings hung within the workshop, while some were scattered across the counters and desk. David never dared to enter, as I was changing before his eyes. But he was determined to pull me from the darkness in which I entered. 

I awakened to the smell of fire at the brink of dusk, just as the son was setting. There was a faint glow from my bedroom window which looked out into the backyard of our home. I wrapped the silken white sheet around my bare body as I looked out, cautiously that is for I was fearful of the sun being still up. There was an orange haze in the sky, as a few stars were already out. I looked down, and blinked softly. Down below in the old, unused fire pit, my paintings were burning. David stood out there near it, feeding the flames. He wore his blue bathrobe and house shoes, his back arched over as there was a look of fury on his face. Surprisingly I wasn’t angry, but rather expected him to do it. There had been talks from him where he would warn me about the council and the repercussions I would suffer, especially with the piles of evidence in the workshop. I just hadn’t realized how far David would go to protect the person who destroyed his coping mechanism in a world where he was dying. 

Those eyes of fury met mine, and while staring into them he tossed another painting into the fire. David had always said that fire was cleansing. The only painting that he would never burn in this lifetime was hidden. Emily was neatly tucked away into my closet, wrapped carefully with sheets. I took relief from that notion as it eased my pain. I turned my back to David and got ready for the night. In the bathroom mirror I could see that I was turning corpse like once more without feeding. I had used my share of blood to create my works. David had insisted that I take his share and return to proper health for a vampire, but I refused it. He was my father in a sense, but I was no child. Black liquids seeped from my eyes and nose as it was becoming old within me. There were black veins bulging from my skin, a fitting punishment perhaps for a vampire such as I. 

I cleaned myself the best that I could, and descended down the stairs with the allusion that I was healthy. David could only glare at me for my childish behavior. I remember making an attempt to turn the door knob, but it was locked. David handed me a cannistar of blood, and without speaking, he made his way to the den. I followed his demand and slipped out of my coat before following him. David made his attempt to appear healthy, and for a moment I forgot he was dying. He motioned for me to sit with him, but still remained silent. It was a moment we shared together that didn’t appear to be much, but to us it was powerful. We haven’t been close to one another for years. David suddenly held me close and kissed my cheek tenderly. 

“Please, my son, never turn into our sire again. I feared I lost you….”

He trailed before I placed a clawed finger on his lips. Even though he carried death, I wanted to prove something to him.  Gently, I undid his robe to reveal his bare chest. The skin looked as if it was returning to death. I buried my face into his left breast, and sank into the soft flesh. For ja moment I could feel grief from him, and utter surprise. But pulled in his diseased blood and fed like an infant with its mother. David eventually began to stroke my hair and held me close, tears of both sorrow and joy trailing down his cheeks. His blood was now my blood, David became a part of me. He became my sire. 

David held me close throughout the night. I can still feel his lips pressed against my forehead, and the warmth we shared between each other. I knew then that I traded my immortality to become a part of David, and my sacrifice is taking place within this cell as I write.