Chapter Five
Yellow light drowns the long stretch of road, street lamps shining in the midst of darkness. Louis's cold hands grip his steering as they approach Fool's Gold. Harry's eyes focus on its flickering neon sign. The second 'o' looks duller than the other letters, he thinks. Distantly, they hear loud music blaring at full volume.
Harry hasn't checked his phone in a while, but he's certain Liam texted or called at least a dozen times. He's usually very punctual. He's never ditched work before. He's never left halfway through his shift, either. Liam tends to worry a lot, so Harry can't help but feel guilty.
He glances at his watch. "I should be on stage right now," he murmurs. "Liam's going to kill me for skipping. What if he fires me?"
Louis frowns. "You can't be a pole slut right now, Harry. You nearly killed a man last night whilst giving him a lap dance," he says, chuckling softly at the end. Harry, however, doesn't see the humor in it.
"Don't call me that."
Louis pauses. "Don't call you what?"
"A pole slut."
Louis rolls his eyes. "Relax. I was joking."
Harry crosses his arms over his chest. He tries to glare at Louis, but he's too busy looking through the windshield. He switches on his turning signal as they approach a stoplight. The green arrow blinks inside his dash.
"Well," Harry sighs, "it's not funny. It's degrading."
"Alright. How would you like me to refer to your occupation, then?"
"Stripper or exotic dancer."
"Okay, then. From now on, you're Harry the stripper."
Harry rolls his eyes, leans his head against the car window. His temple presses against the cold glass. They fall into an awkward silence, just listening to the sound of traffic and city life. Girls in tight dresses and stilettos walk along the pavement, and Harry watches them carefully as they pass by, noting their disheveled appearances. Frizzy hair, caked makeup, dizzy walking. Prostitution is like a black hole— it swallows innocent souls and holds them captive for eternity. There's no escape. Harry prays to every divine being that he'll never wind up like that.
Louis bites his lip as he parks his Porsche next to the curb. They're a few blocks away from Fool's Gold, next to a sketchy hair salon and a run-down autoshop. This part of town seems deserted. Perfect for killing, Louis thinks. He feels weak and fuzzy with hunger burning in his belly. He needs to eat. The craving tugs at his brain, an insistent reminder that he needs blood.
"Listen, Harry," he grumbles, his hand still resting on the shifter. "I'm sorry if I come off as ignorant. I've just never met someone like you."
Harry's golden eyes flicker for a moment. "Someone like me?"
"Yeah, you know. The stripper type," he explains. "I tend to befriend more... sophisticated people."
Harry huffs with annoyance. "I'm not a 'type,' Louis. I'm a stripper, yes, but I'm other things as well. It's just my job."
"I know, but—"
"Can we just follow the plan, please? Mitch should be here any second now," Harry interrupts, his voice gone bitter.
Louis needs to learn how to bite his tongue. Or better yet, he needs a thought filter. He doesn't purposely act in an ignorant manner, but he can't help it. He was born in the late 1700's, after all. The modern world is much different, and needless to say, he still has a lot to learn.
"Sure," Louis breathes, turning off the engine. "Let's go."
Harry climbs out of the car. The air feels chilly, goosebumps rising on his vampiric skin. Darkness consumes the landscape. Stars prick the black sky, a crescent moon glowing brightly with a yellow-tinted hue. Harry prefers the nighttime. The lack of light, the coldness, the mystery. It's all so comforting.
"Mitch usually waits here," Harry says, pointing towards a dark alleyway. A dumpster rests against a brick wall, littered with roaches and rats. It smells like rotting flesh.
"Here?" Louis scoffs. "Next to the rubbish bin?"
Harry shrugs. "He's banned at Fool's Gold, so he stays here and smokes until Zayn's shift ends. Then he follows him home, usually, or tries to attack him."
Louis freezes. "What do you mean by 'attack'?"
"Corners him, tries to grope him, roughs him up a little bit. He's a bastard."
Louis grimaces. "What a scumbag."
Suddenly, Harry's eyes widen, his pupils dilating like a full moon. He glances over his shoulder. Panic washes over him, as if he's just seen a ghost.
"C'mere," Harry hisses, grabbing Louis's petite wrist.
He tugs him down the alley, then crouches behind the dumpster. Louis curses under his breath.
"What the hell?" he gasps, a little out of breath.
Harry clamps his hand over Louis's mouth. His palm feels like ice.
"It's Mitch."
Louis glances up. A tall man approaches and leans against the wall. A cigarette bobs between his lips, the burning orange tip glowing in the dark. He wears a white t-shirt filled with holes and unidentified stains. His denim jeans look a few sizes too large, sagging below his waistline. His barrel belly pokes out under the hem of his tee. He narrows his eyes down the street, watching Fool's Gold intensely.
"What a creep," Louis says quietly.
Harry just nods in response. They wait silently for a minute or two, simply watching Mitch, studying his movements. A breeze rolls by, carrying a whiff of Mitch's scent. Louis shivers with hunger.
Louis gives Harry a thumbs up to signal that their plan is a go. They need to act quickly. When he's certain the coast is clear, Louis sneaks out from behind the dumpster. Mitch has his back turned to them now. Louis tiptoes quietly, swift and silent like the wind. He's done this hundreds of times; he's killed many people. But that doesn't make it any less nerve-wracking.
Harry watches nervously, chewing on his nails. He doesn't even notice that he starts crying. He feels like a monster, a murderer, but his vampire instincts can't be stopped. They need to do this, no matter how much he doesn't want to.
Abruptly, Louis grips Mitch's arm with his extraordinary strength, spins him around before he can even blink. His cigarette flutters to the concrete ground. Louis pins him against the nearest wall, wrapping him in a chokehold. Mitch gasps for breath, tries to scream, but Louis just tightens his bicep. The man's face pales as the oxygen leaves his lungs. He attempts to fight back and flail his limbs, but Louis is far too strong. He could probably shatter a skull with just his pinky finger.
Wanting to escape any wandering eyes, Louis drags Mitch further into the alley where they can't be seen. Harry blubbers on the ground and shields his eyes. He can't watch.
Louis smashes Mitch's face against the bricks. His arm locks around the man's throat and suffocates him with each passing second. Harry whimpers and tries to muffle his own sobs, still cowering behind the dumpster.
"It's all over now," Louis whispers.
He sinks his fangs into Mitch's throat where his neck meets his shoulder. Mitch gasps for breath, his blue lips trembling.
Relief floods through Louis's body. He sucks the man's warm blood, finally satisfying his hunger. His eyes flutter with satisfaction. In a matter of seconds, Mitch's dead body falls pliant in Louis's grasp. Louis continues to slurp his blood greedily, sucking at his throat with urgency. Feeding is one of the few times that Louis actually feels alive. He'll never grow tired of this sensation, no matter how gruesome the circumstances.
"Harry," Louis gasps, forcing himself to pull away. He needs to save some for Harry. He needs it more, being a newborn vampire and all.
Harry glances through the slots of his fingers. He looks absolutely horrified. He's trembling with his knees curled against his chest. Louis doesn't know if he's shaking from fear or hunger, or perhaps a little bit of both.
"Harry," Louis repeats, sharper this time. "We've got to hurry. Take a bite so we can leave before someone finds us."
Harry just shakes his head. "I— I can't," he stutters.
Louis sighs impatiently. "Harry—"
"I can't! I won't do it!"
"For fuck's sake, Rose!" Louis grits out.
"I can't!"
Feeling frustrated, Louis turns back to Mitch and takes a large gulp at his wound, filling his cheeks with lukewarm blood. The redness oozes out of the corners of his mouth. Then he releases Mitch's limp body, letting him fall to the cold ground. He lands with a loud thud. He's pale and bloodless, his eyes still open in a creepy manner. Harry feels sick to his stomach as he stares at the dead body.
Louis grabs Harry's collar and heaves him off the concrete. It doesn't take much strength. Harry is incredibly weak now, in dire need of blood to quench his thirst. Regardless, he's letting his morals overtake his survival. Louis decides to take matters into his own hands.
Still holding a mouthful of Mitch's blood, Louis presses his lips to Harry's, forcing his lips apart with his tongue. Harry doesn't fight back. The blood transfers into his mouth, and suddenly he's gulping like his life depends on it. Perhaps it does.
He sips through Louis's lips, sucking and nibbling. He can't suppress his instincts. Once his taste buds sense a single drop of blood, there's no turning back.
Harry breaks off the kiss with a gasp. He blinks at Louis with surprise.
"What the fuck?" he asks blatantly. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why the hell did you kiss me?!"
Louis rolls his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm trying to save your life."
"Fuck off! I can take care of myself," Harry grunts.
"Prove it, then!"
With that, Harry crouches next to Mitch's deceased body. He latches onto his throat, creating two new prick marks in his pallid flesh. Louis watches as Harry drinks what little amount of blood remains. It's metallic and addicting. His body tingles all over.
Harry hums with pleasure. He feels possessed by his own inner desires. Oddly enough, it doesn't feel wrong. It feels good.
"Enough," Louis snaps, smacking Harry's arm to get his attention. "We've got to go. It's almost daybreak."
Harry releases with a puff of air. His chest is heaving, as if he's just run a marathon. Blood drips from his soft, pink lips. He's a beautiful contradiction of innocence and impurity.
"Wh-what about his body? Our saliva is all over him! He's crawling with our DNA," Harry points out.
Louis shakes his head. "You're a vampire, Harry. Your DNA is foreign to police databases. It's completely different from a human's."
Harry's still worried. He runs a hand through his long, brunette hair. He looks back at Mitch's corpse, how his dark eyes still appear pierced with fear. A feeling of dread sinks in. They just killed somebody. Holy shit.
"I know you're in shock," Louis begins, rubbing his shoulder soothingly. "But we need to hurry. Let's get you back to the cabin, alright? Get you tucked in and warmed up. Would you like that?"
Harry doesn't respond. He follows Louis wordlessly as they exit the alleyway, leaving Mitch's body curled up against the wall. He accidentally trips over his feet once or twice. The streets are still empty, save for a few wandering pedestrians and prostitutes. Louis leads Harry back to his shiny Porsche.
They climb in silently. Neither of them exchange a single word, unsure of what to say. Louis decides to let Harry process it all. He thinks back to his first kill over two hundred years ago, how scared and nervous he felt.
Harry's face looks glazed over, stuck in a daze. His eyes appear naturally green again, having satisfied his hunger. A bit of dried blood still stains his upper lip, but Louis doesn't mention it. He's too spacey to buckle up, so Louis reaches across the console to fasten his seat belt.
The car's tires skid as they flee the scene. Louis speeds down the street as they settle into an uncomfortable silence. Harry stares at his hands, his expression nearly impossible to decipher. Louis doesn't like the sudden quietness. It speaks the truth, which he fears more than anything else.
"Can't believe we did that," Harry squeaks, fingers trembling over his own lips. Mitch's taste still lingers there.
"I'm proud of you," Louis assures. His blue eyes stare through the windshield. The headlights produce bright streaks of yellow, illuminating the road before them.
"We killed him," Harry mutters.
Louis senses his guilt. "We had to, Harry. We didn't have any other choice."
Harry blinks in response. Stray droplets of blood stain his hands.
"I want to go home," he whispers eventually.
Louis barely hears him over the buzz of the radio. "Huh?"
"I want to go home."
"We are going home, love. We'll be at the cottage soon."
"No," Harry seethes. "I want to go home to my flat. Alone."
Louis takes his eyes off the road for a few seconds. He sends Harry a quick glare.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Louis murmurs. "You're still learning how to be a vampire. You're unstable, Harry."
Harry frowns. "I'm capable of making my own decisions, thank you."
"Harry—"
"I want to go home now!"
The harshness of his voice startles Louis, causing the car to swerve a bit. He grips the steering wheel tighter.
"For fuck's sake, Harry! Calm down," he orders. "If I had a heartbeat, you would've given me a heart attack!"
"Don't tell me what the fuck to do! You're not in charge of me."
"I'm trying to look after you! You're not safe on your own. "
Harry crosses his arms over his chest. Stubborn, Louis thinks. Ridiculously stubborn.
"Take me to my flat, Louis," Harry says coldly.
Louis swallows the lump in his throat. Through the darkness, he can still see the glimmer of tears in Harry's pretty eyes.
"After all I've done for you, this is how you repay me?" he snaps.
Harry scoffs. "I don't owe you anything. I wouldn't be a vampire in the first place if it wasn't for you!"
And, ouch, that hurts.
"Rose, c'mon," Louis pleads, his voice gentler. He's genuinely worried about Harry's well-being, both mentally and physically. "Let me take care of you."
Harry's bottom lip wobbles. He stares at his lap.
"No. Take me back to my flat, please."
Louis's heart shatters. He knows it's probably just hormones and emotions. After all, killing a human being isn't easy the first time around. But that doesn't make the rejection hurt any less.
They drive without speaking another word. And when they reach Harry's flat, he makes sure to slam the door behind him.