When Darkness Plagues Our Bond

8:24

I read the clock that sat opposite of my twin bed. Rising from the not so soft mattress, I took in the appearance of my bedroom. Basically empty, with few objects I had collected throughout the years scattering the floor, there wasn’t much to look at. My mattress sat on the floor, pressed up against the wall. My clock, pushed up in the opposite corner, was black and beaten. The only decoration was an original Van Gogh I had been given during the eighteen hundreds.

The painting was as close as a memory to my time spent in France I could get. I had grown up in France during the sixteen hundreds, unsure of the precise dates. The painting portrayed the outskirts of Paris. Looking at it always made me nostalgic for the farmlands I had known as a child. But this was all a blur for me, and forever lost in my past.

Leaving the lifeless room, and entering what I had made into a living room, I turned on the television. It wasn’t much, a small twenty inch screen that only reached the local news station. It was of great use to me though, knowing where the authorities were located so I could avoid them while feeding.

Sprawled across the screen tonight was the headline ‘18 year old male found dead’. Then they showed the picture of last night’s meal. He hadn’t had the sweetest blood, rather tangy and salty. I chosen him because he was drunk, and wouldn’t be able to fight back. These nights I was no longer in the mood to hunt my prey, just an easy catch.

Of course I always had some remorse for my victims. Taking a life wasn’t my favorite part about being what I am. In the beginning it was difficult, I chose to never kill those who I fed off of. This of course lead to angry mobs. My victims would wake up, and begin to spin the tale of the seductive mistress who drank blood from unsuspecting men. Back then I changed locations frequently, every month or so. Eventually I learned that the safest way to stay hidden and unknown was to drain the helpless humans.

Sighing, I turned off the television. It was time for me to go see Brendon.

Grabbing a hoodie to hide my face, I walked out of my warehouse.

With my abnormal speed, it took no longer than thirty seconds to make the two mile trip to his apartment. Already parched in the tree, I look in confusion at his dark windows. There wasn’t one single light turned on. Listening for any movements inside, I found none.

“Damn.” I cursed to myself.

Screwing my face in concentration, I tried to think of where he could have gone. Generally I was able to pick up where he planned on being before he would actually be there. This allowed me to find the place previously instead of standing around like an idiot, as I am now.

He’s not at Ryan’s, Ryan is currently in New York with his girlfriend. Spencer is out of town visiting family. Perhaps a bar? A club? After the other night’s display of aggression, it’d be hard to believe he was with his parents.

I searched the surrounding streets trying to locate my human, spotting him about two blocks away. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, head held down, and dragging his feet. Frequently bumping into those he passed, he appeared to be troubled.

I ran across rooftops and jumped from tree to tree, landing soundlessly ten feet behind him. Deciding to ignore the one female who had seen my landing, I followed Brendon into a beaten down bar. He headed straight towards a bar chair, and sat down. I stopped and scanned the place for an empty seat, preferably with Brendon in my line of view. Spotting a vacant booth in the corner, I sat down.

A young woman made her way to my booth. She pulled out a pad of paper, and shows off smoke stained teeth with a smile.

“Hey, what can I getcha?” She says, popping her gum.

“Oh, um, water?” I asked, more than said.

“Be right back with that hun.” She replies, placing the pad of paper into her smock, and walking away.

I stare towards the bar, and watch Brendon down what appears to already be his second beer. Setting the bottle down, he flags the bartender over.

“Another one?” The big, burly bald man questions. He’s holding an empty glass in one hand, and a red wash cloth in the other.

Wiping the corners of his mouth, Brendon answers, “Yeah. Thanks Paul.”

The next forty five minutes pass similar to the first five. The blonde woman checks on me every fifteen minutes or so, and Brendon drinks a beer for every ten minutes that pass. I can see him starting to sway and slur his speech. I guess his drinking was not so minimal anymore.

“I think you’ve had enough Brendon.” Paul, the bartender, tells him. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Huh?” He says with a confused face. “Oh yeah, a ride home. Of course.”

My human the liar.

Leaving a tip on the counter of the bar, Brendon picks himself up off of the brown bar stool, and stumbles his way out of the building. It takes me less than a second to be with in a five foot radius of him. Shadowing his steps, and listening to his breathing, I keep a close eye on his behavior to make sure he won’t pass out.

Brendon hastily turns around, but by this time I’ve already jumped onto the nearest roof top. Apparently I wasn’t as soundless as I thought I was. With a disturbed face, he spun back around and continued on his way.

I took this time to think over a couple things. I no longer had to worry about Brendon’s love life, or if he would complete school. However I now got to witness him waste away. It seemed that every night I saw him this past month, he was worse. Even the difference between last night and tonight was drastic. From moping around his house, to drinking away his problems. Was there any way to really help him at this point? Even if I made myself known?

“Why can’t this be easy?” I demanded, looking up into the dark night sky. Sighing, I return to walking the roofs along side Brendon.

But he’s not there. The path he was on only twenty seconds ago was vacant, and I couldn’t spot him.

Starting to panic, I hear a distant scream. Running at a speed I had never known capable, vampire or not, I reach the ledge of a run down strip joint. Staring in shock at the scene below me, my body goes frigid. My eyes turn into slithers, changing from their vibrant green color to a hollow black. My nails are puncturing my palms.

There on the cement floor of the alley, lies Brendon. His head is split, and profusely bleeding from the wound. Barely conscious, he stares in horror at the gun being pointed between his eyes.

With no thought, I drop down onto the ground behind the man twice my size.

Brendon, who’s attention I have apparently caught, allows his jaw to drop and eyes to double in size.

“Who are you?” His question is directed at me, but the man mistakes this.

“Shut the fuck up!” The man yells, striking Brendon with the gun once again. Now unconscious, he lies limp on the damp cement.

Finally making my presence known, I say as venomous as possible, “And that would be the biggest mistake of your life.”