God Hates Us

I open my eyes to find myself in the same room I’d woken up in yesterday. Frowning, I try and remember what happened the day before, but I can’t recall walking back up the stairs. The window beyond the bars is dark; it must be late. It’s late summer, so that would put the time at anywhere between 8 pm and 6 am. Not very helpful.

Sitting up, I notice I’m not chained to the bed and get up, looking down to see I’m wearing different clothes: black jogging pants and a black T-shirt with grey skulls all over it. They fucking undressed me?

“Sorry. Didn’t think you’d want to sleep in your clothes.”

I start, turning sharply to see Johnny lounging on a chair in the corner. He had the grace to look guilty, at least. “How did I get up here?” I ask.

“I carried you up.”

“You what?”

“You were asleep, so I carried you up.” He shrugs.

I’m not happy about this, but there’s no point in shouting at him. “What time is it?”

He pauses for a split second. “It’s 2 o’clock in the morning.”

“How do you know? You didn’t look at a watch.”

He shrugs again. “It’s a vamp thing. So’s the mind-reading. And speed. We can move a lot faster than humans. But you already know that.”

I nod. “Yeah, I knew about the mind-reading. Didn’t know you could all do it though.”

“Some of us are better at it than others. We can all do it to an extent, but I’m better at it than the others. Well, I’ve got the longest range, but Zack’s more accurate than me, especially when it comes to people he knows well.”

“Oh, right.” Makes sense, I guess.

“That doesn't scare you?” he asks, cocking his head slightly on one side and frowning.

“It used to. Not anymore.” I don't go into detail; there doesn't seem to be much point.

“It used to scare the shit out of me, too.”

He looks at me for a moment, then sits on the edge of the bed, patting the covers hopefully. After a few seconds, I sit down, but on the other side of the bed and keeping my feet on the floor, ready for anything.

I think for a moment, then ask tentatively, “How did you become a...”

“A vampire?” He chuckles. “It’s not a very interesting story, but if you really want to know... I was changed about fifty years ago, maybe fifty-one. I forget. I was only 24 when it happened.

“I was walking to my girl’s place. It was dark, very late, but I couldn’t go in the daytime ‘cause her father hated me. Thought I was a bad influence, when it was him driving her to drinking and smoking, not me. I was trying to get her to stop.

“Anyway, I was just around the corner, when someone grabbed me from behind, told me to hand over my money. They had a gun on me, so I handed it over, but I didn’t have a lot. Nobody in my neighbourhood did, back then. When they saw there wasn’t much, they shot me twice then took off. I really thought I was going to die, lying in the street with my blood pouring out, but then Zacky appeared. I didn’t know who he was then, but he said he was going to help me. It hurt so much, worse than being shot, what he did to me that night, but it’s thanks to him that I’m still around today, even if I’m not technically alive by your standards.”

I’m silent for a minute, then I say suddenly, “Why are you being so nice to me? The others hate me; why don't you?”

He doesn't reply for a moment, then says slowly, “I guess... I still remember exactly how it feels to be human. They can remember it too, but for me it’s still a huge part of my life, and I guess that makes me more...sympathetic.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He frowns slightly, then nods. “You’re right; I didn’t.”

“...So are you going to?” I say, exasperated.

“They don't hate you. And neither do I. They just...”

“...Don’t like me very much?” I supply, with a half-hearted chuckle. “Well, to be fair, I’m not too fond of you people either.”

“I don't dislike you.”

There’s a pause. For a few seconds, he looks as if he can’t quite believe what he just said.

“I’m sorry, what?” I’m very confused.

“I didn’t say I liked you. I just don't...dislike you.” He smiles sadly and looks away. “You remind me of my Lacey.”

“Lacey? Oh, your girl.”

He nods, still looking sombrely at his knees. “She had your spirit, your fight. You would’ve liked her,” he adds, looking up and turning his head sideways.

“Right.” Why is he telling me this?

“Good question.”

“Ugh, that's gonna get old...” I make a face.

He chuckles, then tilts his head slightly on one side. "You hungry?" he asks, looking down at me.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess. What's for dinner, mom?"

"Hah. You wanna cook?"

"Eh?" Now I'm really confused.

"You like cooking, right?" he says, frowning a little.

"Well, yeah, but I never told you that..." Now I'm frowning.

He looks uncomfortable. "I have my means," he says evasively, before saying with a sense of finality, "So d'you wanna cook or not? I will, if you won't. I'm hungry too."

"I thought you people didn't eat?" I'm genuinely interested now; nothing I've seen or read has told me anything other than that vampires don't eat human food after they turn. They don't need to.

"Well, we're not supposed to, but..." He leans in, with an air of someone telling a grave secret. "I miss it. Pizza, especially. It was my favourite."

"Before you died?" I finish.

He nods. "I don't think of it like that, but yeah, I guess you're right."

I sit for a few more seconds, then get up and say, "Right, that settles it. I'm cooking pizza."

A smile breaks across his face and he gets up too, beating me to the door and holding it open for me. "After you."

"Thanks." It’s weird for me to be so polite to a vampire, but for some reason, Johnny doesn't repulse me like the others do. Maybe it's like he said: he's only been one for half a century, so he still remembers what it's like to be fully human.

We get to the kitchen and find Shadows sitting at the table, drinking what looks like beer. Upon closer inspection, I see that the bottle is filled with something darker, opaque.

Nice.

"'Sup Johnny. Cass."

I almost clench my fists at his uninvited use of my nickname, but let it go, ignoring his greeting and turning instead to the fridge and opening it. "Hmmm..." I find a lot of bottles which I'm sure are filled with innocent people's blood, but don't pass comment. Instead, I look through the drawers in search of human food. Behind me, I can hear Johnny and Shadows talking.

"What's going on?" Shadows asks, sounding amused.

"She was hungry," Johnny replies, "and I said she could cook. Zacky said I could do what I wanted with her, so I'm letting her do what she wants."

"How nice." Now Shadows sounds disparaging, but it seems like he's making fun of Johnny, rather than me.

"Whatever, dude. If it keeps her out of trouble, it's good for all of us."

"Fair point."

I turn around, my hands full of tomatoes, mushrooms and roast chicken. "I thought you people didn't eat?" I repeat my question from earlier, but this time direct it at Shadows.

He chuckles, then replies, "Sometimes it's necessary to do a little wining-and-dining."

"What, before you rip their throat out and suck them dry?"

He laughs out loud then, saying after a few seconds, "Not quite, honey."

"What do you mean?" Do I want to know?

"Even we need to get laid once in a while, babe." He says this with a slight smirk, watching for a horrified reaction.

I don't oblige, but respond only with one raised eyebrow and a sardonic, "So where’d you get the supplies?", pointing at the fridge.

"Blood banks, mostly," Johnny supplies, taking the food from my hands and placing it on the table, then grabbing a chopping board and a knife from a drawer.

"You steal it?"

"I guess you could call it that, yeah." Shadows eyes the knife, which is lying on the table, inches from my hand. "You sure that's a good idea, Johnny?"

"What's she gonna do? It's not silver, and anyway, she knows we're faster and stronger than her."

He looks at me pointedly, and I nod wearily. "I promise I won't try and kill anyone."

Shadows finishes his drink and takes the bottle over to the sink, rinsing it out and tossing it in the trash. "Fine, but if she stabs me, I'm not speaking to you anymore."

Johnny and I both smile slightly at that, then frown as Shadows sits back down, folding his arms.

"Dude, what're you doing?" Johnny asks.

"What, can't a guy sit where he wants? Besides, there's nothing else to do, and Jimmy's playing video games again so I can't watch TV." He sounds so put out by this that I almost laugh.

"That okay with you, Cass?" Johnny asks, looking at me.

I nod once. "Fine, I guess."

We don't move for a few seconds, frozen like a diorama in a museum, then I shrug lightly and turn to the table and start chopping.

It’s odd, but once I’ve started cooking, it almost feels like I’m back at home again. I remember cooking things like this for my little brother, Simon, back before all this started. Thinking about Simon made me remember something Johnny had said earlier.

“Hey, when you said I was being kept here ‘cause Zacky doesn’t want to kill me, how long were you talking?”

He doesn't answer for a minute, and Shadows doesn't offer any suggestions either. Eventually, Johnny says, “He wants to keep you here indefinitely, Cass.”

For a few seconds, his words don't quite sink in, but then my fist clenches and I slam my hand down on the table. “What the fuck! You can’t just-”

“We can.” Shadows doesn't sound amused or sarcastic anymore; instead he almost sounds pitying.

I open my mouth to say something angry and filled with expletives, when a stab of pain makes me look down. I’d slammed my arm down onto the knife, and as a result had given myself a long jagged cut which was already seeping blood. “Fuck.” I look back up at the other two, then tense automatically, picking up the knife in my other hand.

Johnny is stood stock still, staring at my arm as though he’ll never look away. Shadows is standing up, his eyes darkening visibly; if he opens his mouth, I’m sure I’ll see the same nightmarish fangs Zacky had displayed before. He doesn't get the chance, though, as Johnny suddenly unfreezes and moves so that he is between Shadows and myself. “Matt. I think you should leave,” he says quietly.

Another throb of pain makes my eyes drop to my arm, which is bleeding freely in a red stream.

Matt doesn’t move.

“Matt. Get out,” Johnny repeats, pushing against his chest. Finally, he seems to snap out of it, and slowly turns away.

“That’s gonna need stitches,” he says casually over his shoulder, but I can see the struggle it was to tear himself away; there are finger marks depressed into the table at the side where he’d been sitting. He only hesitates for a second at the door before exiting.

Johnny turns, his eyes still fixed on my blood; I can see his hands slowly clenching into fists as he fights to control himself.

"You should go," I say softly, trying to snap him out of it.

He starts, then looks from the cut to my face, as if he only just realised I was still there. "Yh-Yeah," he says shakily. "You sure? That looks bad..."

"I've stitched myself back up before. Just go." Before you kill me. Zacky wouldn’t like that.

Finally he nods, muttering, "I'll be right outside," before leaving the room.

Now I'm alone, I can allow myself a moan of pain. I don't like to show weakness to anyone, but this fucking hurts! I'm not squeamish about blood (how ridiculous would that be?) but it still makes me feel a little sick seeing what should be on the inside... on the outside. A quick search of the cupboards yields a first-aid kit, including (thankfully) a needle and some thread. I’m sure they’re not normally included in these kits, but I’m not complaining. I was just digging out some antiseptic and a wad of bandages, when I was suddenly aware of a presence behind me.

“Johnny? I told you to leave.” I turn around, but it’s not Johnny.

My eyes take in tattoos; lip piercings; dark eyes; sharp teeth bared in a grin.