Cosmopolitan Blood Loss.

Chapter 2.

The lights were blinding, even behind my closed lids. Trying to open them proved futile, as the lights only scorched my retinas when exposed, so I kept my eyes closed. Then it hit me, I've died. That had to be it. These were the bright lights of heaven. Or not. With my luck, I was still alive, still near that 'thing'. I inhaled deeply and then forced out the loudest scream I could. Then another thing hit me. Literally, smack across the face to the point my head snapped hard to the other side, hit something solid, and lolled back to the other side again.

I gagged violently as the strong, metallic flavor of blood flooded my mouth. My body tried hard to convulse with my spastic gagging motions, but I wouldn't get far; I was tied down.

It was panic and fear that forced me to open my eyes against the lights now, squinting hard down at my body. I was tied down to the examination table with shredded scraps of what used to be my brand new lab coat, the surgery light beaming above me. My eyes tried to scan anywhere outside of where the light shone, but all that was there was darkness. Until I saw the fangs. They loomed just to my left, 'John Doe' was resting his chin on overlapped hands laid on the examination table. His eyes watched me intently while his tongue was running over his fangs, licking the blood that covered his face from the stab to the forehead, a scare tactic that worked pretty damn well.

He now propped himself up on his elbows and cocked an eyebrow as I tried to keep my cool demeanor, a waiting game to see who snapped first. I sucked at that.

"Do it quick..."

"Do what quick?"

"It. IT!”

"It?"

"You know! Kill me, do it quick."

The room was silent for a few, heart stopping seconds and then vibrated with laughter. The guy was practically doubled over with laughter, his teeth flashing wildly in the light, as he cackled. "Oh God! You thought...oh GOD that's brilliant!..." He erupted into laughter again and clutched onto the table for support. My face was screwed up in all types of confusion by the time he finally calmed down. "What!? What's so funny?"

"It's just..." He was holding back laughter. "It's just, you thought I was going to kill you. That's hilarious!"

What the hell is going on?

"How is that funny!?" I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and scream, "You got punk'd, bitch!" No luck. This "thing" stopped laughing and pushed some loose raven black hairs damped with blood off of his face

"You're right. I'm sorry. It's not like I'm going to kill you. Not yet..." He was smiling sinfully again, sending more shivers all over my body. "I just needed to invoke a little fear. As much as it pains me to say, I need your help."

Since the mood had warmed a little, I felt it okay to argue with him without resulting in serious injury and/or fatality on my part.

"You're kidding me right?! Help you?! First off, you're a psycho, madman, [i}thing, or whatever you are. You were DEAD, then suddenly reanimated. You tried to kill me and now you have me tied down. Second off, well, again, YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!" My anger and confusion just imploded upon itself to give my courage gauge a boost. I was starting to regret it. This is no way to thwart off an angry psycho. Suprizingly, though, he sat quite still, watching me all the while.

"I believe the correct term you're looking for is 'vampire', 'thing' is a little harsh, my dear. And YOU tried to kill ME first, for arguments sake. But, if you'll stop whining now, you can get to work."

My mind left the first and second sentences alone, a combination of sheer impossibility for the first and the boredom of arguing for the second, but the last sentence had me growling in anger.

"Doing what!?"

"Sewing me up! You made these in the first place.... I can't stand needles." Ha! I had just stabbed a man to high holy fuck and he comes back alive to tell me he hates needles, Jesus.

_____________

The mystery deepened as I found myself freely helping my attacker. My panic really hadn't returned after I had heard his laughter and I felt oddly calmed by his presence, the light headed feeling after passing out must have been in full force. My hands worked the needle through the flesh as I sewed up all of the 'vampire's wounds. The only thread he let me use on his wounds, deterring away from the thick staples and wire I used for corpses, to minimize ugly scarring was a thin pink thread I kept in my desk for clothing malfunctions. The thread kept breaking and falling out of the needle and the whole event was becoming one of severe agitation. Not to mention the 'vampire' kept wincing and huffing things like "Ow" and "Jesus Christ, woman! Gentle! GENTLE!" every two seconds, which made me want to sew his mouth shut while I was at it. To pass the time, I thought I might as well move past the awkward feeling that filled the room, the feeling I had always loathed. "So, what's your name?"

"Excuse me?" The vampire, I decided I'd give him the benefit of the doubt, was sitting on the surgical table now, a cloth over his lap. He was playing with the edge of it. His look musing around confusion and suspicion.

"Well, it's just, really you've been introduced to me by your death certificate as John Doe."

His head snapped back as his laughter cracked like a whip through the stillness.

"My name is Shant, Shant Tresloux."

"As in 'Thou shant' Bible such stuff."

"The same."

"And you're a vampire?"

He picked up on my mocking tone, but flashed his fangs none-the-less.

"And you're from here?" I pointed down at the ground as if to say, "And you're from France?"

"Prague, actually. But I've been living here for quite a while now." He grinned at my understanding, but it soon fell as I now rang out in laughter.

"How sickeningly cliche. A vampire from Europe with ties to religion."

"And you're any better? Tell me a little about yourself. How did you end up here? You're obviously American."

"Scout Dempsey, nineteen, born in Portland, Oregon, moved to France after receiving an invitation to study and work at this very coronation office. That's basically it." I said, matter-of-factly. It was silent again as he watched my steady hands seal an open wound on his chest, just slightly above his left nipple.

"So, if you're a vampire, shouldn't your wounds be healing on there own?"

Shant cocked an eyebrow at me. "Where did you get an idea like that from?"

"Vampire Folklore 101. You know the garlic and crucifix, the mirrors and the bats. All that stuff."

This caused him to laugh again, but I dug the needle a little deeper to show him I was serious. "Ow! Okay! Okay! Hardly. Just inventions people want to believe. Being a vampire really isn't that glamorous. My wounds heal just the same as yours, in due time. The wound will heal quite significantly faster than a mortals, but it doesn't truly heal immediately." I raised an eyebrow at him as to my point in all this, he continued,"I have no time to waste, and there's a process I must go about healing myself."

"And the other stuff?"

His eyebrow was now raised so high, I thought the muscles would freeze it forever in that position. "As I've said inventions. Mere myths."

"But the whole 'I vant to suck your blood'...", using my impression of a movie vamp accent, "that's all true right?"

There was no verbal explanation this time. Before I even knew what as happening, Shant slammed me on the surgical table, pinning me down, he was fast and before I could even scream, his mouth was around my neck. I felt the fangs scrape against my neck, breaking the skin, releasing the blood. I let out a little moan of pain, but I held onto it longer, drawing it out as a sense of sexual frustration heightened in me and I pulled at his hair. I felt his lips form a smile against my skin as his teeth clamped down harder and began to suck and drain me of the crimson liquid. A shriek of pain escaped from my mouth finally, I arched my back against this feeling that was bigger than me, sweeping over and engulfing me, and I couldn't escape it, followed by my barely audible whisper, "Stop, please stop..."

Shant let go, licking my own blood off his lips in a way I hadn't decided as utterly disgusting or slightly swoon able. Everything was just amounting to something over my head. WAY over my head. My body was weak and my mind kept telling me to relax. I laid back on the remain part of the surgical table that Shant was already occupying, breathing steadily. Dammmmnn. I was staring at Shant's rising and falling chest with a smirk on my face, "Got a cigarette?"

_____________

By the time I'd cleaned my work station of all the blood and objects thrown around in the struggle, Shant had already appeared to have washed up in the same tub we used for cleaning corpses. He was even more handsome with the twinge of peach to his skin and the blood cleared away. He was dressed in, no doubt, what he came in. A red hoodie under a jean jacket, a dirty, old pair of jeans with countless rips all over, and an even dirtier, tattered pair of boots.

"Clean up." Shant was gesturing towards my blood drenched clothing. "We're going out."