Silence of a Love Bat

“Take a chance/Take your shoes off/Dance in the rain/Yea we're splashing around/And the news spread all over town” – Panic! at the Disco, I Have Friends In Holy Spaces

“Please?” Patrick pleaded, eyes wide and smiling.

“No,” I stated, looking away because I knew it was only matter moments before I gave into his puppy dogface. His pleading eyes that changed colors (they were blue now) were wide. His smile was showing off his white teeth, and yeah. I couldn’t refuse.

“Please Emily. It’s just an animal cracker,” he explained, holding up the small cookie.

I still wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’m a vegetarian.”

“Please, Em,” he requested. His voice was dripping with sugar and sweetness.

“Fine,” I gave in. “Only one cookie.”

“I promise,” he grinned, already putting the animal cracker in my hand. “Just one.”

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, just one will turn into but what if you tried something different, like a carrot and that would go into well maybe you could try soda. I was too much of a pushover. I would jump off a bridge if Patrick asked me too, just so he could see if vampires could drown.

I sniffed the cookie, already wanting to gag. It smelled too much like artificial sugar, a powdery piece of carbs. I quickly bit my lip, and then stuck it in my mouth to get this over with. I can’t say it tasted bad, but it wasn’t any good either. It was like one of those wafers you get in the Catholic Church, boring with a bad aftertaste. I resisted the urge to spit it up, because the more it sat there and got soft and soggy the more I wanted to puke. I hurriedly swallowed it. I was choking and Patrick was on his feet, handing me a glass of water. I took it on instinct and made a face as the tasteless liquid traveled down my throat.

I still wasn’t used to being a vampire, just three days ago I went to go make Ramen Noodles. It wasn’t until I had the spoon dipped in the water that I realized my action was pointless. Joe luckily walked in before I had a PMS/bitchy meltdown, and he said a genuine thank you. Yes, I still got PMS if you really want to know. Something I didn’t tell Patrick yet because I would end up in another “experiment”. Like this one.

“Asshole,” I growled, when I was done with my little episode.

“It’s called chewing,” Patrick laughed, sitting back down on the stool in front of me. He took a pen from somewhere under the mess of his workbench, and jotted down something on his book.

“You know, you tricked me!” I hissed. “Making me drink water too. Not fair.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, but he was still laughing on the inside.

“No you’re not,” I smiled, kicking his chair. “Don’t make me do that again, please.”

“I told you only one,” he assured me. “Can I ask you a couple questions now? Or you still need to blow off steam?”

“No, shoot,” I shrugged.

His smile widened, and he truly looked like a nerd. He pushed his glasses up, and studied the page in his book. “Okay, so. How sick do you feel? Any stomach pains? Headache? Anything?”

“Um, well-”

“Em-ily!” Joe screamed, slamming the basement door open. He was skipping steps as he ran down the steps, and almost tripped a couple of times. He looked scared, but he was also laughing.

“Joe?” I asked cautiously. “You okay?”

He shot over to me, grabbing my shoulders and standing behind my back. “He’s going to kill me!”

“Trohman!” I heard Pete yell, a stomping on the floor, and a door banging followed suit.

“What did you do?” Patrick asked, quickly closing the book and tucking the pen behind his ear.

“I read Pete’s diary,” he squeaked. Pete was in the doorway in an instant, eyes glaring.

“He’s so madly in love with you Emily, it’s scary.” Joe quickly finished, gripped my shoulders tighter.

“You’re dead, fucker,” Pete snarled.

I blinked and Pete had Joe on the floor. They were wrestling, and Pete was swinging punches. It wasn’t a serious fight. Joe was in a fit of giggles, and Pete was chuckling. The punches were lazy and the kicks were sluggish. It was like two teenage brothers fighting over the remote control.

“Get off, beast,” Joe laughed.

“It’s not a diary,” Pete insisted, rolling over to stare at the ceiling. “It’s a journal. Filled with my most personal thoughts and some lyrics.”

“Girl,” Joe said, slugging Pete in the shoulder and standing up.

When he left, Pete looked at me. “You want to go out tonight?”