I'm Just the Worst Type of Guy to Argue With.

I smirked, walking down the steps to prepare a man’s demise, the specific man being Cierra’s father. I heard her slight sobbing, the tears that fell like waterfalls down her pale façade, and even the gentle touch as she brushed back the hair of her dead best friend. I ducked into the closet to retrieve her father. I heard her suck all of the air into her chest and quietly tip toe down the stairs and out of the home that had sheltered her for so long.

She didn’t know that I heard, she didn’t know that I was just letting her run, she wouldn’t last long anyways, and I had something to do before I retrieved her… I dragged her father into the trunk of his own car, and drove to the mausoleum that I called home, but a crypt was not a home, was it? It wasn’t as if I could make the broken cinderblocks, the stench of rotting flesh and sinew, and the musk of fibers breaking down somewhat friendlier, but, nevertheless, this is where my body mimicked the sleep-like stage of pitiful humans. One bed, no creature comforts, because I was not a mere creature, I will always be the dominating presence of the night, even if night fades to day, fear will still permeate the air that I had strode through quite a while ago. Humans have this innate sense of fright, they can tell when they should run or hide, that’s exactly what made them so fun to chase. It wasn’t just the euphoric thrill of cat and mouse, knowing that the cat is more developed than the mouse, and will therefore win, but that the cat can look just like the mouse, and creep and disease into its very life force, until the feline can snatch the rodent from the mediocre and interconnected web of life that bound all sentient organisms and many of the stupid ones too. Except for me, that is.

I encompassed both life and death in my sturdy shell and crushed their rules and principals with an iron fist. I took the parade of humanity and rained on it with their own waste and filth. I remembered how it was so many years ago, there wasn’t a hole in the atmosphere, girls only came with price tags, and were often bought for less, children feared the night, rather than reveling in it as many did now.

I chained the unconscious parent to the very chair where I had killed so many people, just like him. I made sure the bonds were tight and made my leisurely way to the lamp where my Sugar sat, exhausted and very nearly out of breath.

I decided to pull the creepy serial killer act back out of my hat, not literally, of course. I walked out of the shadows, I played on all of her senses: the shuffle and scuff of my shoes on the cracked pavement, the glowing scarlet eyes; which weren’t even my eyes generally I could assume a perfectly normal human form, hazel eyes, black hair, blah, blah, blah. I then made sure that she could smell the blood of innocents on my hands, on my clothes, everywhere. Her breath quickened, catching at a point in her throat, which caused a slightly obnoxious wheeze. Queue hair-raising dialogue, take one.

“Didn't your mother ever tell you not to walk down dark alleys at night? I doubt your mother would even have to tell you that, you're a smart girl; you should know it's only asking for trouble.” I spoke, adding sound to the silence of the shadows that I emerged from. I lithely took a smoke, taking my sweet time, and casually letting her worry herself to bits and pieces. I crushed the cigarette, with a resounding crunch that echoed across the eerie hush, adding a more suspenseful tome to the same old scene which would play out. Surprisingly, I found the repetitive scene far more interesting with the fair beauty added into the equation.

I grabbed her throat and pushed her against the wall, nearly knocking the very wind from her tight, firm body.

“Now, Sugar, what are we never, ever going to do again?” I asked, only lashing out in anger to scare the girl, I was perfectly fine with the cliché girl-gets-chased-by-vampire-down-dark-alley, I even enjoyed it, since it just made her blood far more delectable.

“W-walk down d-dark alleys?” She stuttered, her voice taking a grand trip over the simple words, due to the beta-endorphins wreaking havoc in her body.

“That’s right, but I don’t think you’ll have another chance to walk down dark alleys.” The subtle death-threat: always needed for a perfect execution of her, or the phobia party that I was hosting.

I bit her. “Damn Sugar, you taste so good.” I inadvertently moaned, I guess adlib was my style then, because the scene that just played was practically scripted, by vampire writers of long past, with the exception of that spur of the moment outburst of pleasure, which only increased her adorable terror.

As soon as she was asleep from the pain, which would eventually increase ten-fold, I walked to the place I sanctified as home, to torture and kill her father in front of her. He remained tied in a chair, but he was slightly waking, with lids half closed, I leered, a brilliant laugh lying beneath my visage, not entirely rolling off of my tongue, because no one was in immediate or massive agony, yet.

I tightened his manacles and went to chain my gorgeous captive to the bed post, with simple handcuffs, since she wouldn’t have all that much strength to her already withering form anyways. Her father woke up with a start, moaning in body-ache, looking at his forehead to see a conspicuous bump right near his pre-frontal cortex. The man started in anger when he saw his little girl, chained to a bed; he tried to break free of his chains, which just made a god-awful rattling sound. I turned on him, exposing my fangs to his impressionable eyes; he stared back in shock, and ceased his struggling. Though, he continued to glare at me.

When his daughter woke up, she tried to slip her hand from the tight handcuffs, which already had bloodstains from many, many victims, and her neck was currently colored with that very same ruby liquid, though hers was like a vampire’s equivalent of humans indulging in chocolate. It was time to bite the bullet and get the show on the road, I knew how to best mess with the mere humanity and pity of the mind, and I could easily make the torture worse for the girl, without even touching a hair on her pretty little head. She took a look at me; then at her father, who attempted struggling again. Ci gave me a look of hope, and spoke in a trembling voice, “I’ll do anything you want, just don’t hurt him.”
I raucously laughed, and the sound echoed across the stone cavern that we rested in.

“You, my dear, are going to do whatever I want, whether I hurt him or not, because, guess what? You have nothing to live for, but me. I’m the only one that cares enough to pay attention.” She looked at me with a deep sorrow in her eyes and accepted her fate, because that’s all she could do, she was the poison that forced me to kill all of those around her, because I just wanted more and more of the poison, the drug, the candy that was her vital juice, my sugar-high juice box.

“Now, Daddy Dearest, what are we going to do for you today?” I asked, with humor in my absolutely toneless voice, he just spit on my face. I wiped it off with a smile, and took one of my many tools of torture from my tray of torment. I decided to skip the scalpel, and went straight for the needle. As a human I had been afraid of needles, and now I just inserted them into people for… petty revenge? No.

“You do realize that, no matter how hard you try, no one can beat me, because I have no reason for this, I just find in pleasure in this. Joy is the only emotion that I really have, no love, no remorse, just wholesome unadulterated pleasure: Pleasure on an eyedropper full of pure LSD.” I turned to her father, “Your death, the foul odor of your breath mixed with the blood and guts that will be on the floor shortly, collecting dust. I’m just so happy doing this.” I flicked the poised needle, and was satisfied with the squirt of cloudy blue liquid that came from the microscopic end. I injected the needle into his skin, he winced and his pupils dilated as the drug quickly made its way through his bloodstream.

“This is Nymph blood, which can also be used as a truth serum, now, Mr. Trent, what do you really think of your daughter?” He laughed, a tear of joy nearly escaping his clouded eyes.

“What do I think of my daughter? Let’s see, she’s a faggot outcast, who died her perfectly beautiful blond hair with some cheap hair dye from Hot Topic, she was supposed to be popular, and have actual friends other than that stupid bitch of a best friend that she had. Frankly, Mr. Shankly, can I call you that? Where was I… ah, yes, I hope you just take my ‘emo’ kid away, or kill her, before I have to pay for a bleeding therapist!” I smiled, looking at the bewildered and tearstained face of Cierra. She looked pretty forlorn, just what I wanted.

I finished pumping him with a drug that increased pain tenfold and began my work. Firstly, I carved out the bones from his legs, and took the scalpel to his feet, taking all of his bones out systematically, with the exception of the spine and cranium, until he was just a bloody mass of rubber and sinew that had nothing to connect to. I then took some Super Glue, the old kind with dangerous acid in it, and put all of his bones back in. I stitched him up. He began to burn away from the inside. His daughter had turned away by then.

“I’m teaching you how to kill; you’ll need his lesson later in life, my darling, so you should watch.” She lifted her chin.

“You’re the only person that will bother with me, yes, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t scream if you try to kill me.” She said, boldly stating that which she had absolutely no right to state.

“Scream all you like, no one can hear. As for killing you. I would never do that, I love you too much to… what in the hell did I just say?” I love you, what bullshit was that?

“I guess that you really do care, what was that? The thing about ‘no love?’” I glowered at her from behind the corpse of her nearly dead daddy. I shoved a knife in him and it was over. She didn’t seem to care, but, then again, what did I know? What was I even doing? Why did I have to say that?