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Description
God he was tired.
It was dark now, just after 8 and he was already tired. He groaned. Just after 8 and he was already screwed.
Charles, Charlie to his friends, looked up into the night from his seat on a low swing. He liked parks, the children’s ones with the brightly coloured roundabouts and the slides and such but he could never go during the day. The parents would look at him strangely for one; think him some sort of pervert, watching the children play. But he remembered playing on something similar as a kid, just a simple stick tied to a rope but a fine swing and one that had held him and his sisters’ well. When he had arrived at the park, he had gone directly to this fancier version of his childhood toy. He had swung gently, using his trainers to push and the chains had tinkled and chimed and he had smiled at the sound but now, he simply couldn’t find the energy.
He went to put a pale hand to his forehead and wasn’t surprised to see it shaking. He’d left home this evening positively; beaming almost, though he covered his teeth with his lips. He hated them, they were horrible. He’d smartened himself up especially, wearing his good trousers, brushing his hair. He’d even gotten a wolf whistle from a couple of drunken girls, staggering off to their next club in their high heels.
In these high spirits, he’d gone to his usual suppliers, but no one could help. Empty, all out, need time to replenish the stock, dude. Sorry man. After treading the pavement for 2 hours, he considered going to others, finding his own. The quality would not be as fine but it would do. Then he was torn.
Who knows what it would be mixed with? Could be bad. Could be fatal. But-
He let out a hysterical cackle that sounded more like a bark and let his shaking hand run through his sandy hair, hardly changing the mess it was already in.
After deciding not to risk it, he’d come here. A lamplight on the street had dimly illuminated the metal frames of the swings and see saw and his feet had led him inside. He decided that it didn’t matter where he was. He was fucked, so he might as well be fucked somewhere nice.
He tried to start swinging again and found he couldn’t. Whatever buzz he had from the last time had died completely.
He could- no he would never go that low. Never go to that rat’s nest. He had his dignity, as small and tainted as it was.
“Fuuuuck” he drew the word out and buried his face in his hands. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
Afterwards, he would say it was because he was so tired, so drained that didn’t hear the tinkling chime of someone sitting in the other swing. He only noticed the air flow that rushed past his face as it raced to fill the space the person had left as they swung higher and higher next to him. The force of it was strong it made his own seat sway a little from side to side, as if it wanted to join in.
Charlie took his face out of his cupped hands to see a pale figure swinging beside him. They swung too quickly to tell if it was male or female, though the white hair seemed too long for a man. The figure was wearing a long coat too which didn’t help in discerning sex and it trailed lazily after them as the swing began to slow, the arc tightening and growing small.
It was a girl, he saw. A young one, in her 20’s, perhaps younger.
Something stirred in Charlie’s mind.
No, he told it, stop it. She’s just a girl.
But it was as if she hadn’t noticed him at all. She just watched her feet until they came to a halt in front of her, straight and erect in the air. She then slowly relaxed them and let the swing move of its own gravity, legs dangling. He noticed they were encased in old fashioned shoes, brogues. He thought they might belong to a man. Her boyfriend’s maybe. Maybe his trousers too, those bellbottoms that were becoming ever more popular, they looked a little loose. He couldn’t see her shirt.
And she was humming under her breath, what was it? Something low but swinging, with some life in it, maybe Prima or Etta. He liked the contrast of it against the dark night and the cold. He found himself liking this girl and her fine taste in music. He liked her sunglasses too, Ray ban’s, though he didn’t see the point of them right now. Looking through them, this place would be as black as your hat; the kid must be blind wearing those things at this time of night.
He wanted to wait and let her be first to speak, he thought it would be interesting, to see what her voice was like, what she would say to a peculiarly well dressed man sitting on a child’s swing at coming about 9 at night with vacant eyes but after a while, after a not uncomfortable silence, he decided to start them off. He did what all Brits do when meeting someone for the first time.
Talk about the weather.
“Nice night ‘ent it? Bit chilly though.”
He rubbed his hands in an almost burlesque gesture and grinned at the girl. Then he remembered his teeth and quickly covered them again before the girl could see but the girl didn’t turn, she stared at her feet. Maybe she couldn’t see through the glasses. Charlie saw the coat she wore was quite thin despite the length, cotton or something and she wore no scarf. There were gloves covering the hands that held quite delicately onto the metal links but they were dress ones, satiny and thin.
“Ent you cold? I’m cold, and I got the full works on!” he chuckled weakly, plucking at his fishbone jumper and bowtie with his fingers. He felt a bit sick now; everything was getting a bit spinny.
“Here,” he said cheerily, despite his light-headedness, “have me coat, that one ‘ent doin’ ‘owt for you by the looks of yeh.”
He leant forward to peel it off his back, but as he did the world bent and twisted and he wasn’t just dizzy, he was fucking spinning man, and he knew, for certain, that he would fall smack on his little round face. What a shame. Him trying to be a gentleman and falling on his face for his efforts. Might be a little sick too, though he didn’t there was enough in him to be sick with.
It would look horrible though and would probably scare his lady friend off.
Shame.
All this went through his mind in about 3 seconds and he was on his way down when the still figure beside him moved with a frightening quickness off her seat on the swing and grabbed his shoulders with her gloved hands. He felt sure he would pull her over with him, she was a slip of a thing but while she did not stop his descent, she managed to slow it down so that his head didn’t crack so horribly against the floor. She ended up on her knees beside him, her torso lined up with his own, hanging over him. Their faces were only inches apart. He could see those big sunglasses beginning to slip off her nose
“Well you’re a strong one ‘ent ye.” He mumbled, highly aware of the closeness of the kid and his breath against her face, despite brushing his teeth only a couple of hours before.
“Not really,” she said, finally “Just quick.” Her voice was surprising; it was lower than he thought it would be. With her size and colouring, he expected it to be girlish, maybe lisped, a voice of a child. Instead it was almost throaty, as if she had spoken too long and too often, and soft, more like a Negro.
She slowly removed her hands from his shoulders and straightened up, and he saw that the fingers were curled, almost claw like. As she deliberately curled and uncurled them, he wondered dazedly if he had hurt them.
She spoke again, low and soft. “How long is it since you last ate?” she said, still leaning slightly over him, her long hair curtaining off the light.
Charlie pulled his face as if considering this. “Well, I ‘ad a ham sanwhich at abou’-“
“Don’t be an idjit, tell me. When was your last hit?” The girl interrupted, her face firm and lips thinned. Charlie’s eyebrows knotted; did she think he was a druggie or something? Those sorts hung about these places he knew. Charlie was a lot of things he didn’t like, but he wasn’t that. He used his hands to try and propel himself away but he was too weak. And she was too close to him, far too close. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t see him looking.
“Aye think you misunderstahnd Miss, I don’t do...that sort of stuff. I don’t believe in using drugs.”
The girl gave a frustrated huff and lifted the collar of her coat with one hand, and the curtain of her hair with the other; it was very white in the dark he thought numbly. Doing this exposed her neck, also quite white in the dark.
He understood.
She understood.
“Secret’s out then.” His smile was weak and dazed and exposed his horrible teeth but she didn’t seem bothered by them.
“What’s your name.”
“Charlie Potts, Miss.”
She went to take off her sunglasses as she spoke but stopped and stared at him through them instead. He could feel it.
“Please, call me Vida, and Charlie, remember this is a onetime thing. I don’t plan on becoming a donation centre for daft vampires who left it too late to eat but you look like death warmed up, you feel it too so just this one time.” She leant back over him, exposing her neck.
“I couldn’t...” Charlie said weakly, but he could, he really could. He was so thirsty. And there was something at the back of his mind urging him to go for it, go, drink and suck and rip-
“It’s okay, you’re too weak to do any real damage, I can pull you off if you go too far,” she smiled down softly at him. “I’m pretty fast too, I’m a lightning bolt, me. I can certainly outrun an empty Bleeder. Oh, and don’t try any mind tricks, I’ll know if you do and I’ll leave you here for the dawn to take care of. I don’t care if there’s a bit more ash in the world.” The smile was the same, a little thinner perhaps but he could sense something heavier beneath it, it was something too old for her young face. And he believed her.
“Okay?” she said again.
He tried to answer, something witty perhaps, make her laugh in this awful situation but his throat was so dry and everything was hot and -
He managed a nod.
She lowered her torso, so that her neck hovered directly above his mouth. Suddenly, everything was exquisitely clear, the goose bumps on the pale skin, how the white hair blocked the moonlight but somehow amplified it in a silver sheet, the beat-beat-beat of her pulse, dancing just under the skin. He could also see, from this perspective, under her sunglasses.
Her eyes.
He understood why she covered them, yes, like he covered his teeth.
All this ran through his head as he lifted it to eat, allowing his horrible teeth to do what they were made to do. And he let it flow, hot and sweet and oh so good, into his mouth.
He always felt split when he ate. Almost literally. There was one part, which he thought his human half; the boy that he had been before Louis, screaming at him, asking what he was doing, that he was drinking blood, only monsters drank blood. What did that make him? It always told him to stop, please stop.
The other half told that side never. He didn’t see this as the vampire half of him, not really. He just thought that this was instinct, that deep instinct that keeps us living, surviving, an instinct that he had never had to acknowledge before. It didn’t really care what he was, human or vampire as long as he wasn’t dead. It’s imperative was clear and easy to remember; blood is the fuel that runs us now, so shut up and shovel in some more.
He thought first, as his teeth sank in, as he always did; only take what you need.
Louis, his sire had been a glutton, drinking his “claret”, which he seemed to take pleasure in calling it, in fine crystal wine glasses. He kept great collections of blood in cellar “to mature” said Louis, and had fresh stashes of it around his home in decanters. If they had human visitors, which they did for Louis liked to socialise, even with human aristocracy, he would graciously offer them his special claret and smile smugly into his glass when they would take a sip, discreetly grimace and never touch that glass again. They would never say anything though, Louis was far too connected.
Charlie had refused to take part in this game and would sit with a glass of water when they had mortal guests, taking small sips like a bird. It tasted terrible, dry almost and sat heavily in his stomach but once they left, he would relieve himself in the water room and he would feel better. He hated the vomiting but it was better than feeding in front of them, like eating bacon before a pig.
He had also hated how common Louis made the act of feeding, how easy, as if what he drank came from a well or a spigot instead of living being. He hated the flippancy he had attributed to it.
So Charlie was determined to be the opposite. He wasn’t stupid, he never denied the need to eat, but he would try to stretch out the times between feeding, test his stamina, like he had as a child at Lent. He’d also made deals with a few friends, good friends, people he could turn to for what he needed and who would keep it quiet. Most were Indergrunde stock and understood his need for privacy. He had been so precise about it, working out a system, planning time for each donator to spend replenishing their blood count between each feed, that’s what made this situation so stupid. He had planned himself into a dead end.
The person he had gone to tonight, this week’s donor, was gone. Apparently, according to his neighbour his mother up in Leeds was dying and she wanted to spend the last few days she had with her only boy and the rest of her family. Charlie didn’t begrudge him this, so he’d gone to the others, hoping against hope that there would be someone to help. There wasn’t. He had planned well and each were stocking up again. He couldn’t ask them to give any more.
How did she know? He thought as he drank, each suck and sip giving his thoughts greater clarity. I was just a sad looking bloke playing on a kid’s swing. Anyone else would have taken one look at me and thought me a drunk, or a hippie too high on drugs to know where he was. How?
“Enough” she said eventually. Charlie, with a dim reluctance, removed himself from her neck, grimacing at the bloody mess he left on her neck. It made him think of leeches, mindless and bloodthirsty. He licked his lips clean, using his sleeve to wipe his face. He wasn’t really one for etiquette was Elizabeth’s Potts’ son Charlie. It was only as he reached for the handkerchief in his waistcoat, to offer it to her to clean up with when he saw her waver. She had leant over him this whole time but now she was swaying so slightly, like the swing had when he fell from it.
Charlie quickly rose and sat her back on her calves. His head spun for a second, from getting up too fast but it wasn’t half as bad as it had been before. He felt the blood settle heavy and good in his stomach when he moved. Too well. She had given him too much, let him drink too long. Her head was lolling ever so slightly on her neck, unsure of which side to settle on.
Charlie admonished himself and took out his hankie to clean her up. He was gentle, his hand steady, trying not to press too hard on the punctures. They would heal well, not immediately like he had read in vampire novels that were becoming ever more popular now but quicker than your usual cut. Should be gone by tomorrow, all scabbed up and gone.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you shoulda-“ he looked at her wretchedly, “You shoulda pulled me ahff.”
She didn’t answer for a good minute instead swaying like a sunflower in the breeze. Then her eyebrows, what he could see of them, knotted and she seemed to wake up a little. Her hands came up and rearranged the sunglasses on her face.
“You needed it.” The girl, Vida she said her name was, slapped herself lightly across the face and it cleared. “See,” she smiled “Feeling better already. Now help me up.”
She held out her hand almost midair, somehow avoiding his chest. Charlie stood and dutifully pulled her up. Her feet were a little unsteady but they quickly corrected themselves. He smiled again, this was a hardy chick. Most usually preferred to sit, for at least half an hour, after donating and those who tried to stand would be quite dizzy, despite the relatively small amount that he took. He would stay a while and look after them, make sure they were warm, talk to them, and of course, fetch them tea. That was one of the many things Charlie missed about his humanity; being unable to have a good hot cuppa. The rest of eternity was hardly worth living without a milky brew, he often said with a rueful smile.
She leant on him and he was about to curl an arm around her waist, simply to keep her upright when she scolded him.
“Hands off lover boy, I can do it. Give a girl a minute.” So he did, slightly bemused, the air growing colder. He offered his coat to her again, and this time she took it, but only because of the low heart rate, she said. “I would be stupid not to.” She said as she pulled it on on top of her overcoat. It looked a bit silly with them both different sizes but she said it was warm, so that was good.
“Okay, I’m fine.” She said walking a few steps, as if to make sure she could. She reminded him of a toddler who’s just found their land legs. She turned back to him, her face serious and her voice firm. “Now, I have a few things for you. Hands out Charlie.”
He did as he was told, both hands out like a child expecting sweets.
She dug into the pockets of her overcoat and found several business cards. She handed over the clump of card and deposited them into his cupped hands. He was surprised at the accuracy, considering. “Now, these are all friends of mine, associates who are willing blood donators, some personally and some on a larger scale. That one-“ she pointed to what he thought was a yellow card in his palm, edged with black patterns, though it was hard to tell in the dark “-is owned by a good friend, she has access to hospital blood bank supplies. I know it isn’t as good as fresh but in an emergency, like what happened tonight, it does what it says on the tin.”
She was laughing at him now, he thought, not openly but her eyebrows told him more.
“I know you have your own associates, probably got a whole system planned out.” She used both her gloved hands in an all encompassing gesture, again almost mocking but Charlie didn’t mind. The situation deserved mocking, and it could be; now it was over.
“But aye can always use a backup.” Charlie finished for her, with guilty little boy smile.
“Exactly. And this is also for you.” And at that she pulled a card from an inside pocket. It was small, pale green and in the shape of a fifty pence piece. The legend on the front, printed in black ink said:
Vida, mirror walker and hunter.
And on the back was a handwritten phone number and address.
“Use it if you want to talk, if you have problems. I can help sometimes.”
She patted his shoulder brusquely a few times and then began to leave, somehow finding her way to the park gate. When she got there she shouted back to him:
“And you can use it if you want your coat back!”
Charlie was dumbfounded for a moment, then realised what she meant. He just waved back with a stupid grin on his face and watched her almost disappear in the dark in his coat. He ran his tongue against his teeth, the terrible things, still tasting traces of blood in between them and clinging to the gums. Its flavour was different, not better or worse than any others he had tasted, but it seemed heavier, shadowed, faceted. Different.
Looked back down at the small green card she had left. He lifted it his face and there was a faint waft of something. Perhaps lavender, perhaps clove.
Yes he would use it, but not to get his coat back, and not to taste that weighted blood again. No.
But to ask how a blind girl could find a vampire in the dark.
All mine and I wont apologise for the length c:
It was dark now, just after 8 and he was already tired. He groaned. Just after 8 and he was already screwed.
Charles, Charlie to his friends, looked up into the night from his seat on a low swing. He liked parks, the children’s ones with the brightly coloured roundabouts and the slides and such but he could never go during the day. The parents would look at him strangely for one; think him some sort of pervert, watching the children play. But he remembered playing on something similar as a kid, just a simple stick tied to a rope but a fine swing and one that had held him and his sisters’ well. When he had arrived at the park, he had gone directly to this fancier version of his childhood toy. He had swung gently, using his trainers to push and the chains had tinkled and chimed and he had smiled at the sound but now, he simply couldn’t find the energy.
He went to put a pale hand to his forehead and wasn’t surprised to see it shaking. He’d left home this evening positively; beaming almost, though he covered his teeth with his lips. He hated them, they were horrible. He’d smartened himself up especially, wearing his good trousers, brushing his hair. He’d even gotten a wolf whistle from a couple of drunken girls, staggering off to their next club in their high heels.
In these high spirits, he’d gone to his usual suppliers, but no one could help. Empty, all out, need time to replenish the stock, dude. Sorry man. After treading the pavement for 2 hours, he considered going to others, finding his own. The quality would not be as fine but it would do. Then he was torn.
Who knows what it would be mixed with? Could be bad. Could be fatal. But-
He let out a hysterical cackle that sounded more like a bark and let his shaking hand run through his sandy hair, hardly changing the mess it was already in.
After deciding not to risk it, he’d come here. A lamplight on the street had dimly illuminated the metal frames of the swings and see saw and his feet had led him inside. He decided that it didn’t matter where he was. He was fucked, so he might as well be fucked somewhere nice.
He tried to start swinging again and found he couldn’t. Whatever buzz he had from the last time had died completely.
He could- no he would never go that low. Never go to that rat’s nest. He had his dignity, as small and tainted as it was.
“Fuuuuck” he drew the word out and buried his face in his hands. “Fuckfuckfuck.”
Afterwards, he would say it was because he was so tired, so drained that didn’t hear the tinkling chime of someone sitting in the other swing. He only noticed the air flow that rushed past his face as it raced to fill the space the person had left as they swung higher and higher next to him. The force of it was strong it made his own seat sway a little from side to side, as if it wanted to join in.
Charlie took his face out of his cupped hands to see a pale figure swinging beside him. They swung too quickly to tell if it was male or female, though the white hair seemed too long for a man. The figure was wearing a long coat too which didn’t help in discerning sex and it trailed lazily after them as the swing began to slow, the arc tightening and growing small.
It was a girl, he saw. A young one, in her 20’s, perhaps younger.
Something stirred in Charlie’s mind.
No, he told it, stop it. She’s just a girl.
But it was as if she hadn’t noticed him at all. She just watched her feet until they came to a halt in front of her, straight and erect in the air. She then slowly relaxed them and let the swing move of its own gravity, legs dangling. He noticed they were encased in old fashioned shoes, brogues. He thought they might belong to a man. Her boyfriend’s maybe. Maybe his trousers too, those bellbottoms that were becoming ever more popular, they looked a little loose. He couldn’t see her shirt.
And she was humming under her breath, what was it? Something low but swinging, with some life in it, maybe Prima or Etta. He liked the contrast of it against the dark night and the cold. He found himself liking this girl and her fine taste in music. He liked her sunglasses too, Ray ban’s, though he didn’t see the point of them right now. Looking through them, this place would be as black as your hat; the kid must be blind wearing those things at this time of night.
He wanted to wait and let her be first to speak, he thought it would be interesting, to see what her voice was like, what she would say to a peculiarly well dressed man sitting on a child’s swing at coming about 9 at night with vacant eyes but after a while, after a not uncomfortable silence, he decided to start them off. He did what all Brits do when meeting someone for the first time.
Talk about the weather.
“Nice night ‘ent it? Bit chilly though.”
He rubbed his hands in an almost burlesque gesture and grinned at the girl. Then he remembered his teeth and quickly covered them again before the girl could see but the girl didn’t turn, she stared at her feet. Maybe she couldn’t see through the glasses. Charlie saw the coat she wore was quite thin despite the length, cotton or something and she wore no scarf. There were gloves covering the hands that held quite delicately onto the metal links but they were dress ones, satiny and thin.
“Ent you cold? I’m cold, and I got the full works on!” he chuckled weakly, plucking at his fishbone jumper and bowtie with his fingers. He felt a bit sick now; everything was getting a bit spinny.
“Here,” he said cheerily, despite his light-headedness, “have me coat, that one ‘ent doin’ ‘owt for you by the looks of yeh.”
He leant forward to peel it off his back, but as he did the world bent and twisted and he wasn’t just dizzy, he was fucking spinning man, and he knew, for certain, that he would fall smack on his little round face. What a shame. Him trying to be a gentleman and falling on his face for his efforts. Might be a little sick too, though he didn’t there was enough in him to be sick with.
It would look horrible though and would probably scare his lady friend off.
Shame.
All this went through his mind in about 3 seconds and he was on his way down when the still figure beside him moved with a frightening quickness off her seat on the swing and grabbed his shoulders with her gloved hands. He felt sure he would pull her over with him, she was a slip of a thing but while she did not stop his descent, she managed to slow it down so that his head didn’t crack so horribly against the floor. She ended up on her knees beside him, her torso lined up with his own, hanging over him. Their faces were only inches apart. He could see those big sunglasses beginning to slip off her nose
“Well you’re a strong one ‘ent ye.” He mumbled, highly aware of the closeness of the kid and his breath against her face, despite brushing his teeth only a couple of hours before.
“Not really,” she said, finally “Just quick.” Her voice was surprising; it was lower than he thought it would be. With her size and colouring, he expected it to be girlish, maybe lisped, a voice of a child. Instead it was almost throaty, as if she had spoken too long and too often, and soft, more like a Negro.
She slowly removed her hands from his shoulders and straightened up, and he saw that the fingers were curled, almost claw like. As she deliberately curled and uncurled them, he wondered dazedly if he had hurt them.
She spoke again, low and soft. “How long is it since you last ate?” she said, still leaning slightly over him, her long hair curtaining off the light.
Charlie pulled his face as if considering this. “Well, I ‘ad a ham sanwhich at abou’-“
“Don’t be an idjit, tell me. When was your last hit?” The girl interrupted, her face firm and lips thinned. Charlie’s eyebrows knotted; did she think he was a druggie or something? Those sorts hung about these places he knew. Charlie was a lot of things he didn’t like, but he wasn’t that. He used his hands to try and propel himself away but he was too weak. And she was too close to him, far too close. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t see him looking.
“Aye think you misunderstahnd Miss, I don’t do...that sort of stuff. I don’t believe in using drugs.”
The girl gave a frustrated huff and lifted the collar of her coat with one hand, and the curtain of her hair with the other; it was very white in the dark he thought numbly. Doing this exposed her neck, also quite white in the dark.
He understood.
She understood.
“Secret’s out then.” His smile was weak and dazed and exposed his horrible teeth but she didn’t seem bothered by them.
“What’s your name.”
“Charlie Potts, Miss.”
She went to take off her sunglasses as she spoke but stopped and stared at him through them instead. He could feel it.
“Please, call me Vida, and Charlie, remember this is a onetime thing. I don’t plan on becoming a donation centre for daft vampires who left it too late to eat but you look like death warmed up, you feel it too so just this one time.” She leant back over him, exposing her neck.
“I couldn’t...” Charlie said weakly, but he could, he really could. He was so thirsty. And there was something at the back of his mind urging him to go for it, go, drink and suck and rip-
“It’s okay, you’re too weak to do any real damage, I can pull you off if you go too far,” she smiled down softly at him. “I’m pretty fast too, I’m a lightning bolt, me. I can certainly outrun an empty Bleeder. Oh, and don’t try any mind tricks, I’ll know if you do and I’ll leave you here for the dawn to take care of. I don’t care if there’s a bit more ash in the world.” The smile was the same, a little thinner perhaps but he could sense something heavier beneath it, it was something too old for her young face. And he believed her.
“Okay?” she said again.
He tried to answer, something witty perhaps, make her laugh in this awful situation but his throat was so dry and everything was hot and -
He managed a nod.
She lowered her torso, so that her neck hovered directly above his mouth. Suddenly, everything was exquisitely clear, the goose bumps on the pale skin, how the white hair blocked the moonlight but somehow amplified it in a silver sheet, the beat-beat-beat of her pulse, dancing just under the skin. He could also see, from this perspective, under her sunglasses.
Her eyes.
He understood why she covered them, yes, like he covered his teeth.
All this ran through his head as he lifted it to eat, allowing his horrible teeth to do what they were made to do. And he let it flow, hot and sweet and oh so good, into his mouth.
He always felt split when he ate. Almost literally. There was one part, which he thought his human half; the boy that he had been before Louis, screaming at him, asking what he was doing, that he was drinking blood, only monsters drank blood. What did that make him? It always told him to stop, please stop.
The other half told that side never. He didn’t see this as the vampire half of him, not really. He just thought that this was instinct, that deep instinct that keeps us living, surviving, an instinct that he had never had to acknowledge before. It didn’t really care what he was, human or vampire as long as he wasn’t dead. It’s imperative was clear and easy to remember; blood is the fuel that runs us now, so shut up and shovel in some more.
He thought first, as his teeth sank in, as he always did; only take what you need.
Louis, his sire had been a glutton, drinking his “claret”, which he seemed to take pleasure in calling it, in fine crystal wine glasses. He kept great collections of blood in cellar “to mature” said Louis, and had fresh stashes of it around his home in decanters. If they had human visitors, which they did for Louis liked to socialise, even with human aristocracy, he would graciously offer them his special claret and smile smugly into his glass when they would take a sip, discreetly grimace and never touch that glass again. They would never say anything though, Louis was far too connected.
Charlie had refused to take part in this game and would sit with a glass of water when they had mortal guests, taking small sips like a bird. It tasted terrible, dry almost and sat heavily in his stomach but once they left, he would relieve himself in the water room and he would feel better. He hated the vomiting but it was better than feeding in front of them, like eating bacon before a pig.
He had also hated how common Louis made the act of feeding, how easy, as if what he drank came from a well or a spigot instead of living being. He hated the flippancy he had attributed to it.
So Charlie was determined to be the opposite. He wasn’t stupid, he never denied the need to eat, but he would try to stretch out the times between feeding, test his stamina, like he had as a child at Lent. He’d also made deals with a few friends, good friends, people he could turn to for what he needed and who would keep it quiet. Most were Indergrunde stock and understood his need for privacy. He had been so precise about it, working out a system, planning time for each donator to spend replenishing their blood count between each feed, that’s what made this situation so stupid. He had planned himself into a dead end.
The person he had gone to tonight, this week’s donor, was gone. Apparently, according to his neighbour his mother up in Leeds was dying and she wanted to spend the last few days she had with her only boy and the rest of her family. Charlie didn’t begrudge him this, so he’d gone to the others, hoping against hope that there would be someone to help. There wasn’t. He had planned well and each were stocking up again. He couldn’t ask them to give any more.
How did she know? He thought as he drank, each suck and sip giving his thoughts greater clarity. I was just a sad looking bloke playing on a kid’s swing. Anyone else would have taken one look at me and thought me a drunk, or a hippie too high on drugs to know where he was. How?
“Enough” she said eventually. Charlie, with a dim reluctance, removed himself from her neck, grimacing at the bloody mess he left on her neck. It made him think of leeches, mindless and bloodthirsty. He licked his lips clean, using his sleeve to wipe his face. He wasn’t really one for etiquette was Elizabeth’s Potts’ son Charlie. It was only as he reached for the handkerchief in his waistcoat, to offer it to her to clean up with when he saw her waver. She had leant over him this whole time but now she was swaying so slightly, like the swing had when he fell from it.
Charlie quickly rose and sat her back on her calves. His head spun for a second, from getting up too fast but it wasn’t half as bad as it had been before. He felt the blood settle heavy and good in his stomach when he moved. Too well. She had given him too much, let him drink too long. Her head was lolling ever so slightly on her neck, unsure of which side to settle on.
Charlie admonished himself and took out his hankie to clean her up. He was gentle, his hand steady, trying not to press too hard on the punctures. They would heal well, not immediately like he had read in vampire novels that were becoming ever more popular now but quicker than your usual cut. Should be gone by tomorrow, all scabbed up and gone.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you shoulda-“ he looked at her wretchedly, “You shoulda pulled me ahff.”
She didn’t answer for a good minute instead swaying like a sunflower in the breeze. Then her eyebrows, what he could see of them, knotted and she seemed to wake up a little. Her hands came up and rearranged the sunglasses on her face.
“You needed it.” The girl, Vida she said her name was, slapped herself lightly across the face and it cleared. “See,” she smiled “Feeling better already. Now help me up.”
She held out her hand almost midair, somehow avoiding his chest. Charlie stood and dutifully pulled her up. Her feet were a little unsteady but they quickly corrected themselves. He smiled again, this was a hardy chick. Most usually preferred to sit, for at least half an hour, after donating and those who tried to stand would be quite dizzy, despite the relatively small amount that he took. He would stay a while and look after them, make sure they were warm, talk to them, and of course, fetch them tea. That was one of the many things Charlie missed about his humanity; being unable to have a good hot cuppa. The rest of eternity was hardly worth living without a milky brew, he often said with a rueful smile.
She leant on him and he was about to curl an arm around her waist, simply to keep her upright when she scolded him.
“Hands off lover boy, I can do it. Give a girl a minute.” So he did, slightly bemused, the air growing colder. He offered his coat to her again, and this time she took it, but only because of the low heart rate, she said. “I would be stupid not to.” She said as she pulled it on on top of her overcoat. It looked a bit silly with them both different sizes but she said it was warm, so that was good.
“Okay, I’m fine.” She said walking a few steps, as if to make sure she could. She reminded him of a toddler who’s just found their land legs. She turned back to him, her face serious and her voice firm. “Now, I have a few things for you. Hands out Charlie.”
He did as he was told, both hands out like a child expecting sweets.
She dug into the pockets of her overcoat and found several business cards. She handed over the clump of card and deposited them into his cupped hands. He was surprised at the accuracy, considering. “Now, these are all friends of mine, associates who are willing blood donators, some personally and some on a larger scale. That one-“ she pointed to what he thought was a yellow card in his palm, edged with black patterns, though it was hard to tell in the dark “-is owned by a good friend, she has access to hospital blood bank supplies. I know it isn’t as good as fresh but in an emergency, like what happened tonight, it does what it says on the tin.”
She was laughing at him now, he thought, not openly but her eyebrows told him more.
“I know you have your own associates, probably got a whole system planned out.” She used both her gloved hands in an all encompassing gesture, again almost mocking but Charlie didn’t mind. The situation deserved mocking, and it could be; now it was over.
“But aye can always use a backup.” Charlie finished for her, with guilty little boy smile.
“Exactly. And this is also for you.” And at that she pulled a card from an inside pocket. It was small, pale green and in the shape of a fifty pence piece. The legend on the front, printed in black ink said:
Vida, mirror walker and hunter.
And on the back was a handwritten phone number and address.
“Use it if you want to talk, if you have problems. I can help sometimes.”
She patted his shoulder brusquely a few times and then began to leave, somehow finding her way to the park gate. When she got there she shouted back to him:
“And you can use it if you want your coat back!”
Charlie was dumbfounded for a moment, then realised what she meant. He just waved back with a stupid grin on his face and watched her almost disappear in the dark in his coat. He ran his tongue against his teeth, the terrible things, still tasting traces of blood in between them and clinging to the gums. Its flavour was different, not better or worse than any others he had tasted, but it seemed heavier, shadowed, faceted. Different.
Looked back down at the small green card she had left. He lifted it his face and there was a faint waft of something. Perhaps lavender, perhaps clove.
Yes he would use it, but not to get his coat back, and not to taste that weighted blood again. No.
But to ask how a blind girl could find a vampire in the dark.
All mine and I wont apologise for the length c:
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© 2012 - 2024 anonbea
Comments8
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Love this it is well written. It has just enough information so even if you are new to your work you can pick up on it straight away! It flows nicely and has a mysterious atmosphere around it which makes you want know what will happen next. Great character descriptions, detailed enough without being overbearing and heavy. Plus I love the idiom for Charlie and his colloquial way of speaking it fleshes out his character thus making him more three dimensional!
Plus the art work is superb as usual!
Plus the art work is superb as usual!