Protip for Vampires #201: don't judge me.
There's a song from Green Day buzzing around my brain, a groovy, lazy bass-line looking for some lyrics and failing to find them. It's the perfect song for a montage, because guess what, it's time for a fucking montage.
Day One:
I felt so fucking chill the next day. I mean, I woke up around 6PM and then had to rush to catch the bus to work, but it was still a pretty relaxed vibe that made me question what the fuck I had been freaking out about been anyway? I was hallucinating, nothing more. Ibrahaim had freaked me out more than I was willing to admit even to myself, but who could blame me? Then I caught a whiff of sanity and realized possession was a real actual-factual thing, so there was really nothing to worry about. Right?
"Are you high?" Sammy asked as soon her eagle-eyed observation of me verified her suspicion that I was in fact extremely stoned. "And if you are, where's mine?"
In retrospect, I have to admit my entrance into the store had been a little less steady than I had imagined. The overly exaggerated movements had not helped at all, even as I sat behind the counter and tried to pretend to be perfectly normal. Fact: even stoned people know when their "I'm totally fine act" isn't fooling anybody.
I flashed a toothy grin at Sammy. "Okay, so maybe I'm a teeny, tiny bit stoned," I admitted, fishing under the counter for the novelty mug Sammy had gifted me on my birthday. "Maybe a lot. Who the fuck knows, because I'm so chill right now it's not funny." I found the mug and flourished it triumphantly, the bouquet of dicks on the side emphasizing the gold lettering underneath which eloquently read: 'Get fucked!'
"House rules state you have to share, so ante up motherfucker."
"Can't. This buzz is from last night."
Sammy gave me a look that said very clearly how much of a fucking idiot she thought I was. She glanced around the store as if to make sure nobody was listening, and leaned in close, brow furrowed with concern.
"Are you mainlining?"
Mainlining—the term for injecting drugs intravenously, usually opium or heroin, right into the veins—was one of the things that Sammy was strictly against. She was all for recreational pot and maybe the occasional shrooms or molly, but hard drugs were where she drew the line... just not snort the line, if you know what I'm saying.
"Not at all," I said, one hand over my heart, the other held up, palm outward as if I was swearing an oath. Sammy didn't know I was a vampire, so what the hell was I supposed to tell her? The perfect lie occurred to me even as I opened my mouth. "This is some designer shit that Beatrice turned me onto." There was a flash of recognition and interest from Sammy. Awesome! "You remember Beatrice, right?"
Sammy tried to appear nonchalant, but she shrugged and let it go. "Figures your rich friends would be into some weird shit, especially that one."
"You honestly have no idea how weird," I replied, the first honest thing I had said all morning.
Thus began a week of me being stoned senseless and waking up in strange places with no memory of how I had gotten there. If you've ever been on a proper bender, then you're already familiar with the mechanics of this very singular experience. If you haven't had the pleasure and the ensuing week-long headache, well let me assure you of exactly how completely fucked up it is.
Very.
Fucked.
Up.
Day Two:
I couldn't wait to get off work.
All evening, I was jittery and crabby to everyone, impatient to get back to HTDK, get my fix, hang out with some random strangers, and just have a good time. I'd had a taste of the good life, a life I'd never had, and of course I wanted more, and I wanted it all the time.
Work was the last place I wanted to be, so I bided my time, and as soon as Benjamin showed up to relieve me around 3AM, I was out of there. I didn't even say hello or goodbye to the poor dude.
We continue with our montage. You know how it goes. Loud groovy music plays, maybe something from Everybody Loves Irene or maybe some Radiohead. Doesn't matter what music it is, just as long as it's slow and intense, to match the mood. Everything is rinse and repeat, all fun and games because this is fun right?
Hit the bar. Smile like I belong, shake a few hands, and try to pretend I'm not there for one reason. Ask Otis the upstairs bartender for a drink that I'm never going to touch, all the while scanning the room, looking for the Bleeders.
The Bleeders are the girls like Mallory (yes, I finally found out Suicide Blonde's name) who get off on giving their blood to the vampires; just a taste of course, enough for your average vampire to get high, definitely not enough to call in the coroners, because the last thing you need is a bunch of dead bodies all over than damn place, right? The Bleeders apparently experience a type of euphoric, orgasmic experience that comes from having your blood sucked, so they're happy; we're happy. There was an entire system in place, with a solid code of conduct that was even more strenuous than stripper rules. Apparently you're not supposed to fuck the Bleeders, but Mallory had broken that rule with me on day one. Something, something, blah-blah-blah about the place not being a brothel. The Bleeders (girls and guys) were not prostitutes, and there was absolutely no glammering allowed; they gave freely of their blood because it was what they wanted.
Break the rules and try to make them do something against their will, and you end up like this poor dude I watched the bouncers drag out of one of the booths. They were still in the act of punching him senseless, a dance of brutality and desperation of not wanting to be punched. He put up a good fight, but Lurch got in a good solid blow that spun the dude around once before he collapsed onto the floor like a wet noodle. Lurch and the other bouncer then proceeded to drag the limp body into the back elevator. All I saw of him was a bloody mouth and glazed-over eyes, but for just a second it was as if we made eye contact.
I looked back to Mallory, a little shaken at the scene of violence. I had been embracing her, enjoying her scent, and looking forward to sinking my teeth into her neck, but how can you ignore the sight of a dude being dragged out the back? Fact is you can't.
"What's going on?"
"They're probably going to yank his fangs out."
That one caught me by surprise. I realized after a second that I had covered my mouth with my hand.
"What?"
"Don't worry about that asshole. He glammered Destiny last week and thought he could get away with it. You fuck with the Bleeders, you pay the price."
"Dude must be a complete idiot," I murmured, then smiled at Mallory, determined to put that out of my mind. "Now, where were we?"
Remember this scene. Trust me. It will be relevant later.
Day Three
I... I really don't remember much.
If you want, you can fill in the blanks. Imagine me dancing to the music or whatever you want, while everyday stuff goes by, because that's exactly what it felt like. Wake up late, ignore Doreen's look of concern, stumble off to work, avoid Sammy or the boss, leave work and head to the club. Schmooze the vampire, meet Mallory, drink a mouthful of her blood from that beautiful neck and lose myself completely.
The good life, all fun and games, right?
The thing about a montage is that it comes to a point where the music cuts out and the fun and games come to an end.
Day Five (?), Six, whatever:
I honestly have no idea how I even made it home. I must have fallen asleep on the bus or something and sleep-walked the rest of the way, completely on autopilot. It wasn't even like another blackout: I opened my eyes, and there I was leaning head first onto the door to my apartment, battling the keyhole, which refused to accept my key. My eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, and my arms and legs ached as if I had been out running multiple marathons around the city.
I frowned as the multiple healing cuts and bruises on the back of my hand caught my attention. What the hell?
"It's just me, Doreen," I stage-whispered as I entered, sure I was going to find her looking at me from her bed on the couch, ready to attack the intruder.
Except that's not what happened.
Doreen wasn't asleep on the couch. Only a couple of lights were on in the apartment, and there was no sign of the giant of a woman who was my new roommate. The couch had been converted into a very tidy bed that looked more comfortable than it was, but it was untouched.
"Are you gone?" I called out more quietly, a vague hope daring to wander into my mind that she had decided to leave after all.
A moment, and a familiar smell tickled my nose. It was the sweet musky odour that only came from people fucking. If sex had a body, it would have been rubbing its hands in my face right about then, forcing its fingers up my nostrils, all the while taunting me, reminding me that this was exactly not what I was getting, but somebody else was. Somebody named Doreen.
My bedroom door was closed.
Yep: they were fucking on my bed.
"No fucking way that this is happening!" I declared, and reached for the door handle, no other plan in mind except to ruin Doreen's early morning activities.
Someone yanked open the door just as my hand touched the handle, and I jumped back, first by the sudden movement, and then by Beatrice's perfect naked body in the doorway. She was slim and lithe with perfectly shaped abs (of course), her small and perpetually perky breasts catching my attention and daring me to look nowhere else but there. She wasn't completely naked: she had on a pair of yellow rubber gloves and a gigantic black strap-on dildo that swung threateningly at me. Ever the expert in sex-toys, I immediately identified it as the Doc Johnson Double-Ended Dildo 9000MX, $224 including taxs. Behind her, an equally naked Doreen shrieked and tumbled off the bed onto the floor.
"Bobbikins!" Beatrice exclaimed with a grin, the dildo bobbing between us. Beatrice had traces of red on her lips and teeth. "I forgot this was your place."
"What the fuck are you doing here?" I demanded. My heart raced, caught somewhere between panic and complete fucking terror. The last time I had seen Beatrice, she had been chasing me down to end me. I hadn't even seen her at the club on any of the nights I had been there, and now here she was. I was fucked.
"I thought it was obvious," Beatrice frowned. "I'm fucking the shit out of Doreen. Say hi, Doreen!"
"Hi, Bob!" Doreen piped up obediently, then: "Sorry, Bob!"
I had no idea what to say. "Did you have to fuck her on my bed?" I finally blustered.
"Where else was I supposed to fuck her? Going back to my place would have taken too long." Beatrice asked, incredulous. She leaned in and whispered. "Don't blame Doreen: she couldn't say no to me if she tried."
Something occurred to me then. "Are you glammering her?" I whispered back.
Beatrice scoffed. "No need for that. At least not anymore. She just really, really likes me. Have you seen the painting? It's incredible, right?"
The absurdity of the entire situation crashed down on me then. If I have to point out what's absurd about me having an argument with a beautiful and very naked Beatrice who clearly had no issues with modesty, then my life really is a movie and nobody bothered to tell me, you know, despite the soundtrack and everything.
"Fuck it," I said, defeated. "Tonight has been way too fucked up, and I'm going to sleep, on the couch, because somebody who is not me is fucking in my bed!" I kind of snarled the last part, my patience finally wearing out, even in my defeat. I would have thrown a hissy fit and punched the air or something equally pointless, but there are some things you don't do when talking to a beautiful naked woman. Did I mention that she was naked?
"We'll try not to make too much noise in here," Beatrice grinned and slammed the door in my face.
I spent the next eight minutes curled up on the couch with my fingers in my ears. I tried really hard not to listen to the moaning and banging. And no, I wasn't turned-on in the slightest like some of you pervs are thinking, so stop it!
***
The life-sized mural of Beatrice was a stark reminder that the real Beatrice was in my apartment, and the last time I had checked, she had wanted to kick my ass. For whatever reason, she had left me alone, but now that was over.
I woke up to an upside-down Beatrice grinning down at me. She was upside-down because I had fallen halfway off the couch during the night.
"I've decided that you and I are going to be best friends in the whole wide world," Beatrice declared, and held out a sandwich in one hand. "Doreen got us breakfast."
Beatrice was at least dressed this time, wearing a stylish black suit with soft leather boots that had deadly-looking heels; her platinum blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. All she needed was a pair of sunglasses and a handgun with a silencer in order to look like some art student's vision of a female assassin.
"What time is it, anyway?" I groaned, dropping to the floor since it was easier than battling gravity. I took the sandwich before dragging myself into sitting cross-legged, still trying to decide how pissed off about being kicked out of my bed.
Beatrice squatted in front of me and tilted her head to the side as if she was examining some new and curious bug, or at least that's how itI felt. I bit into my sandwich, determined not to let her know how much she intimidated me, especially now that I'd seen her naked and couldn't get the image out of my head.
"Time doesn't matter," she replied cagily, then nodded. "How are you feeling?"
"If you're planning to murder me, can I at least finish my sandwich first?"
"No murder today. I'm in a 'just got laid' kind of mood." She grinned at the thought, and I squirmed uncomfortably at the memory of the moans.
"Doreen is a bit of a sweetheart, you know. She only looks tough."
"She's a big girl. She can handle herself. The question is, can you? Handle yourself that is?"
"I have no idea. I'm actually kind of freaking out right now. I think I might have been possessed—"
"Hold the phone there. Possession isn't a thing."
See, I told myself. But I still needed assurance."You sure?"
"I've been around over a hundred years and seen a lot of shit. Possession is definitely one hundred percent, not a thing."
"I keep blacking out, waking up with no idea how I even got somewhere—"
"Vampire narcolepsy."
"Vampire say whowhatnow?"
"I swear I'm not making this up. It's a rare condition, but it's been known to happen, usually after drinking blood. Your body is having these cravings, and you'll be waking up in strange places for a couple of days, but after a week or so, you'll be back to normal. If you don't walk under a bus or anything stupid, of course."
"Oh, that's a relief. I was here freaking out and thinking that old crusty bastard from the club had possessed me or something."
"Nope. Totally didn't happen. Vampire narcolepsy."
"Vampire narcolepsy," I repeated, feeling the taste of the words in my mouth and deciding they weren't so bad. Still, Beatrice knew what she was talking about and wouldn't actually deliberately lie to me, right?
We stared at each other and I ate my sandwich, determined not to be the first to look away. Beatrice smiled and stood up, but there was something in that smile that said she was only letting me think I won this time.
"Good talk," Beatrice said as she walked toward the exit. "Watch yourself, Bobbikins."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, and it scares the shit out of me. But at least you haven't said anything too cryptic yet."
"If you survive," Beatrice added cryptically.
"... And there it is."
The door clicked shut as Beatrice exited, and I tried and failed not to freak the fuck out.
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