God Hates Us

For the next seven days, life goes on pretty much as before: I cook my own meals most of the time, Johnny and I spend most of the day hanging out together, being careful not to arouse the others' suspicion, and the boys sit around in the evenings playing video games and poker, or jamming in preparation for their next show. On the eighth day, they decide to go out. This means that, as they can't leave me alone in the house, Johnny and I are left alone in the house for the first time.

"You sure you don't mind?" Zacky asks, turning in the doorway. I'd heard them laughing about it downstairs when they thought I wasn't listening, talking about how Johnny got stuck 'babysitting', and had to suppress a smile.

"Nah, it's fine." Johnny glances back at me briefly, then says, "Someone's gotta keep her out of trouble."

"Alright. Well, don't wait up, bro."

And they're gone.

Johnny shuts the door and, the moment he's sure they've left the premises, flings his arms around my neck. I laugh, pushing him away playfully. For a while after the revelation of his feelings, I hadn't been sure how to react, or what my own feelings were on the subject, but a few days of hard thought had thrown up the fact that I haven't even had a date in months, let alone a real relationship; Johnny is (aside from the obvious species difference) the kind of guy I would normally go for, so I decide to give him a fair chance, just as I would any other (human) guy.

Grabbing my hand, he drags me into the next room where we collapse onto the couch and sit for a few moments, still laughing. I glance up to see that Johnny's looking at me, frowning slightly.

"What?" I ask.

"Oh, nothing." He grins, then puts his arm around my shoulders, hugging me close. "It's just…"

"…Nice not to have to hide?" I finish with a smile.

"Mmm." He looks at me with a mixture of happiness and a strange sort of…desperation? I'm not sure if that's exactly right, but it's as close as I can get. I open my mouth to ask him what he's thinking, but my words are interrupted as he touches a finger softly to my lips.

The next few hours pass in a sort of blur, neither of us leaving the couch. The TV is on in the background but neither of us is really watching it. Eventually, after about four hours of this, Johnny sits up, looking at me thoughtfully.

"What?" I ask with a frown.

He doesn't speak, but strokes his hand slowly down the side of my face in reply. He stops at the side of my neck, then runs it round the back of my neck, lifting my head so that our lips meet again. This kiss is short; I'm just beginning to enjoy myself when he pulls away and gets up in one smooth movement, grasping my hand and pulling me to my feet.

"What, Johnny?" I ask again, exasperated now. It's really starting to get on my nerves that this mind-reading thing only works one way. He just smiles, then leads me out of the room. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, he doesn't wait for me to start climbing; instead, he swiftly sweeps an arm under my legs, the other holding me round the waist, and carries me up, continuing the kiss as we go. The top of the stairs (and, unfortunately, the end of the kiss) comes far too soon, but when I see which room we're in, my disappointment vanishes.

It has to be Johnny's room. The walls are painted in plain cream, the windows draped in heavy dark-grey velvet to block out any unwanted sunlight. Vampires aren't affected by UV the way the movies portray them to be (they don't spontaneously combust or melt) but it is uncomfortable for them. A pair of matching bass-guitars, one black and one white, stand on a rack against the wall by the window. There's nothing in the way of decoration, no art or even posters, but as he shuts the door I see what must be hundreds of little coloured pieces of paper pinned haphazardly to the back. On closer inspection, they turn out to be concert tickets.

I'm almost jealous...

He chuckles, drawing my attention back to the centre of the room, and I realize I've completely missed the whole point of coming up here in the first place.

The bed completes the monochromatic colour scheme with black covers and pillows, silky like the ones in my room, and white sheets. The head of the bed is an ornately-wrought black iron semicircle. Oh, and the bed is huge; surely nobody needs that much space?

He laughs, sitting on the edge of the bed and beckoning me over. When I'm within reach, he grabs me round the middle; I shriek as he flings me into the middle of the bed. Laughing, I poke him in the ribs, making him yelp, and then suddenly I'm on my back, and he's on his hands and knees, looking down at me.

For the first time, Johnny doesn't initiate it. Instead, surprising myself, I reach up, grabbing his collar and pulling him down to meet me. Before I realise what I'm doing, I've unbuttoned his shirt: he leans back, slipping his arms out of the sleeves and throwing it across the room. His chest is flawless, pale but slightly tanned, just like his arms, with muscles lightly defined beneath the smooth skin. For a few seconds, we stay frozen like that, just looking at each other, then my hands creep to my collar and start to pull my shirt over my head. Getting the idea, he agrees enthusiastically and soon I'm down to my underwear, exactly the same as the first time we met.

Under slightly different circumstances, I remind him, making him smile in response. My hands find his belt, unbuckling it, and soon his jeans have met the same fate as his shirt and my clothes.

We're hesitant at first, me because of my instincts screaming at me to stop, and he because (I think) he doesn't want to hurt me; he's about three times stronger than me after all, even with all my training. Before long, however, we've found our rhythm and the next couple of hours pass by like immensely enjoyable blurs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well," Johnny says softly, buckling his belt back up. "That was..."

"Interesting," I finish, fastening my bra back together.

"Amazing, I was gonna say." His grin turns to a smirk as I blush. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks, sounding slightly worried.

"No, I'm fine. More than fine," I reply with a smile, casting an eye over the room for my missing shirt. "Hey, have you seen-"

He holds it up, still smirking. "But I prefer you like that," he says, pouting.

I laugh, then hold out a hand. "Come on."

He shakes his head, grinning childishly.

"Hand it over!" I dive at him, wrestling for the shirt. My fingers graze his side and he convulses, laughing.

Hang on... I attack him again, this time aiming not for his hands, but for his ribs. It works; all he can do is curl into a ball and beg me to stop, tears of laughter running down his face.

"You're ticklish?" I say incredulously, not ceasing my attack.

"P-Please! Just...stop!" He lets go of the shirt, rolling off the bed to land on the floor with a thud. "Ow..."

I can't help it; the look of pained indignation on his face is hilarious. Still feeling somewhat drunk from our previous exertions, I collapse in a heap on the bed, laughing until my eyes water.

We get dressed and slowly make our way back downstairs with the intention of making me something to eat. The cupboards and fridge cough up a jar of chilli sauce and some diced chicken, among other things; soon I've got the makings of a great stir-fry.

Suddenly, Johnny freezes, closing his eyes and concentrating hard. "They're back," he says softly, stepping away from me and sitting at the table. I put one of the plates back in the cupboard and dish up for one, sitting down to eat. We both hear the door open, then muffled voices getting steadily louder and louder.

"So d'you think you're in?" The first voice (sounds like Brian) says.

"I don't know, man. It's only been one date." Gotta be Matt.

"Aww, I always knew you had it in ya." Brian chuckles mockingly.

"Hey, fuck you, dude. You're just jealous 'cause none of the girls you get with actually like you. They just think you're hot 'cause you got long hair and play guitar."

"At least I get some."

"Just because I like a girl with a little substance-"

"So do I."

"Different kind of substance, bro." Another voice cuts in with a chuckle; sounds like Jimmy.

"Leave it alone, Brian," Zacky says good-naturedly, his tone a mixture of exasperated and amused.

"Whatever."

From the twanging sounds coming from the living room, somebody's picked up a guitar. The kitchen door is only ajar; it's pushed open to admit Zacky and Jimmy.

"Hey, guys," Johnny greets them.

"Hey, Johnny. What's goin' on?" Zack replies, peering interestedly into the pan on the stove. "Cass, have you been cooking again?"

I swallow my mouthful of chicken, then reply. "Yeah."

He raises an eyebrow. "Smells good. Maybe you should give Johnny a few pointers?"

I chuckle, but don't reply.

"What're you grinning about?" Jimmy asks, elbowing Johnny.

"Nothin'. Just how I'm gonna beat your ass on Halo," Johnny says without hesitation.

Jimmy scoffs. "Oh, it is on!"

"And so it begins," Zacky mutters, making me laugh as I clear away my empty plate.

We go into the living room, sitting at the table where Brian's already sitting with Matt, strumming some chords. He glances up as I sit down; close proximity to him still makes me a little nervous, but having Zacky on my other side makes me feel safe.

The next few minutes pass in comfortable silence, broken only by Brian's quiet guitar playing and sporadic curses from the other end of the room.

"You're gonna die, short-stuff!"

"Fuck you, Sullivan!"

"Oh, yeah? Well how about-"

"Dammit!"

"Haha! Wait... No!"

"You're outta practice!"

"I hate you."

Johnny laughs. "Love ya too, bro."

Zack looks at me resignedly. "Kids."

I laugh, amusing myself by watching the expression on Jimmy's face become steadily more indignant, while Johnny's grin gets wider.

A minute or so later, a question I'd been meaning to ask for some time sprang to the fore of my mind. I was a little apprehensive of approaching Brian directly after my encounter upstairs, but I felt safe enough in a room with at least two vampires I knew would protect me.

"Brian?"

He looks up without stopping his playing. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering, if it's not too personal... Why were you in prison?"

Raising an eyebrow, he glances at Zacky. "You've been talking about me," he says with a slight smile. "Alright, you asked for it... I killed a man. Several, actually."

I'd been expecting something like that, but it was still disconcerting to hear it spoken aloud. "Oh, right? Any reason why?"

"Not really. See, what Zacky failed to mention was that the 'prison' he worked in was actually an asylum for the criminally insane." Brian grins wolfishly.

"I see. But you're not insane, obviously." I hope.

"Not anymore. I think it was Zacky changing me that fixed whatever was wrong inside my head. But before that...oh boy. I'm grateful that they locked me up."

"And I broke you out," Zacky said with a smile.

"Grateful for that too, bro." Brian stopped playing and extended a fist; the two vamps knocked knuckles. My curiosity sated (and then some) I turned around to look over at the gamers on the other side of the room. It appeared that the tables had turned. Now Johnny was wincing, while Jimmy's chuckling grew louder.

Brian continues playing, plucking out atonal - but somehow still pleasant – melodies as fluently as though they were from memory, though it's clear he's improvising.

"D'you play?" he asks suddenly, taking me by surprise.

"Uh, a little. Why?"

He holds out the guitar. "Give 'er a whirl."

I hesitate, then take the guitar carefully, very aware of how valuable it must be, and how pissed he'd be if I dropped it. I slide the pick out from under the strings, think for a few seconds, then pluck out a few notes, frowning in concentration. I haven't played a guitar in years, but (if I do say so myself) I used to be pretty good.

"Not bad," Brian comments with a smile, watching my fingers. "Was that Boston?"

"Yeah." I stop playing, embarrassed.

"Nah, go on. That was good!" Zacky says encouragingly.

"You know chords, right?" Brian asks, picking up another guitar from a stand behind Matt.

"The basic ones, yeah."

"Hit A minor, C, F and E."

I do as he asks, strumming them once. "Like that?"

"Yeah! Now strum them a bit, give it some rhythm."

"...Okay." I give it a go; it doesn't sound that good to me, but as I play them again he grins and starts playing along, picking out harmonies to the chords I'm playing. It sounds great, and I can't help but be impressed. He's good.

"Nice. You should keep that one, Bri," Zack comments, watching Brian's hands as he repeats a fiddly motif then stops.

"Yeah, maybe." He smiles at me and, for once, I can't help but smile back. It's strange, but I almost feel that, had we met in other circumstances, we might've been friends.

"Aww, thanks, babe," he chuckles.

Damn, forgot about the mind-reading thing.

"No worries. I won't tell." He winks.

The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, with Jimmy getting his ass kicked by Johnny on the Playstation, and Brian alternately showing and teaching me stuff on the guitar while Zack and Matt watch with amusement. In all my (for lack of a better word) 'adventures', I'd forgotten how much I loved music.