Morgan

Everything was still, as though time had stopped. The night seemed to draw itself out, longer, unchanging. I felt as though I was taking the same breath of air over and over again. It was highly unsettling. I wanted it to stop. I wanted this to be over with already. I was sick and tired and I felt as though every ounce of energy has been sapped from me.
I was lying in my bed, wide awake. It was nearly twilight because the sky outside was just starting to see the navy blue of morning. I could repeat myself over and over again on how my heart continuously beat as though it were running in my chest, but it was nothing compared to now. My heart was pumping like it was going to burst from my chest in a spray of gore. It felt like it was going to jump from throat and cry abuse. I was waiting for Liam.
He hasn’t told me an exact time. He just said he was going to come and change me before morning came. And morning was coming quickly, and he still was not here.
I started crying. Every emotion I had felt all night came exploding through my eyes in a horrid gust of tears. I sobbed so loudly that if anyone was outside my door they would surely hear me, I was sure of it. I wailed till my chest hurt, if it can hurt anymore than it was now. There was no release to it. No reprieve. It just brought more and more pain.
Liam betrayed me. I knew this because the sun, yellow, not blue, was just starting to peek out from my window. I was angry now. Very angry. I got up from my bed, prancing my room like a maniac, fisting my hair in my hands. There was no hope for me now. I was going to die, sickened with disease, and Liam let it be so. Liam, Liam, Liam. How I hate you Liam, for not keeping your promise. You promised me. You swore to me. What did that kiss mean to you? How dare you? I wanted to scream and curse be to God. I wanted the most horrid things, that if I weren’t so angry, they surely would have scared me.
Then I felt a cold, stone-like hand cover my mouth. I nearly screamed, but the hand muffled it. My pulse shot up. A bead of sweat erupted from my hairline. My breast heaved a non-existent breath.
“Why are you crying, darling?” said a voice, a voice as sweet as honey, a voice that angered me so much that my face turned red, a voice that made my knees liquefy. I moved my face from his hand and turned around to greet him. His red eyes sparkled, and pity etched on his gloriously handsome face. I did not want the bloody vampire to feel bad for me because I cried. He was the reason that I cried like this in the first place.
I slapped him in the face. Surely it didn’t hurt him, but he still stared at me with surprise. He was silent for a moment, his mouth opening and closing, as though he could not form the right words to say. He took a breath, as though that would clear his head and help him assess.
“Why did you slap me?” He mumbled finally, but I noted he was more curious that hurt. He even started to grin, as though he could not help but find it humorous.
“Because you late.” I replied through tightly gritted teeth, “You made me believe that you were not going to come. You had me… you had me…” I was no lost for words, and I broke down, tears streaming from my eyes like a water pump. He had me by my shoulders before I collapsed be his feet. He lifted me back to my feet again and then swept me off the floor, carrying me in his arms. Then he carried me to my bed and set me there, while lying down next to me. He gently brushed away tendrils of my damp brown hair and tucked them behind my ears, his cold fingers traced the angles of my faces, swept over my lips. He leaned in to kiss me.
It was not like before when we were in the forest, that it had caught me so off guard. I kissed him like I would die if I did not. His hand fisted my hair, his icy smooth lips punished mines with glee and passion. He ran a hand along the curve of my body, inserting his tongue in my mouth. I accepted it with welcome. He tasted delicious, something hearty and whole, like a rare sirloin meat.
It must be all the blood he drinks.
He took both my wrists, staring at them. His thumb was on my pulse, which was thrumming like hummingbird wings.
“If I do this, there is no going back.” He said, his face serious, slightly pained.
“If it means spending an eternity with you, I would gladly do it.”
I meant it. And he knew I did. Something in his expression changed. His red eyes watered. Vampires cry? I did not know they can. I thought they were like dead bodies with no real human functions. But surely, tears filmed over his eyes, falling from this eyelashes and streaking down his cheek. But they were not just any tears. They were not clear. They were pink, like blood diluted with water. The more he cried, the more red his tears were. He was crying blood.
“I waited for so long.” He said. Then he slashed his own wrist. He produced a blue washcloth and kept the steadily dripping blood from touching the sheets as to not leave any evidence, which was quite thoughtful. If Sue or anyone else happened to find blood on my bed sheets they might become suspicious. His blood was darker than mine, and the smell that came off of it was intoxicating. It was not like anything that ever came across my nose before.
For some reason, it made me so thirsty, and I was not yet even a vampire. My mouth instantly filled with saliva.
“Our blood is supposed to smell and taste good to you, Morgan. Think of it like a procreating hormone, to make you want to drink it. If you drink my blood, you will be a vampire.” He commented as he noticed my ravenous expression.
I could not help but blush. The rising heat flushed from the tip of my toes to my cheeks in a raging, sensual fire. The closeness of his strong, lean body had me feeling emotions I only felt when he drank blood from me. I felt aroused, erotic, devilish, I sat up and licked his earlobe; he moaned quietly, running his hands up and down my back. I arched to the movement of his hands, like a cat dying to be petted. I felt like I could purr, especially when his chilling lips cascaded soft, sensual kisses along my throat, gently scraping his fangs on the rapidly thrumming pulse point there. I felt daring. I felt alive. I felt like a different girl, special than I have ever been before. I was about to be everything I was not.
And I was in love with Liam Gogh.
He lifted his head from my neck, bringing his fingers to my lips. I kissed them. This was sinful, ungodly, the way his bright red eyes shimmered with lust and sensuality and stimulation. This was fornication, a terrible indulgence! But Lord, it was dreadfully powerful. It was temptation of the worst kind. This pruriency I experienced would surely have my mother fainting.
He brought his bleeding wrist to my lips.
“Drink.” He commanded. I may not have been a girl to take bossiness lightly, but I found myself bringing my lips and drinking, drinking in the elixir of immortality, feeling the power, the hatred, the love and lust, the loneness, the pain, the supremacy, the atrocious strength, the inhumane weakness. I felt it rush down my throat, delicious and cool. I can even feel it changing me in the inside, destroying my disease, also killing my human body.
But this death, coming slowly to me as my body got weaker and weaker, my feeble immune system trying desperately to fight off the foreign substance I consumed as it transformed me…
Was the kind of death that I always dreamed of.

*******************

Whitney

I have once heard that when you sleep, your brain unconsciously produces millions of images a night. I have always thought the reason why the brain does this is so that it can remember everything from the day before; and if it doesn’t, then we might as well have memory spans of a goldfish. When I don’t remember things, I blame it on my brain, who didn’t reproduce the memory while I was asleep. But I almost never remember my dreams. Which is kind of backwards, if you get what I mean.
Last night I had a dream that I remember clearly. I really wish I hadn’t. It left such a bloody impression on my mind that it has me going crazy. A haunting, terrible impression that I simply could not forget, no matter how hard I thought about something else. I wish that I had a memory span of a goldfish. That would have been so much better.
I had a dream that I was on the streets again, wearing my usual whore garb of skirts so tiny even if I didn’t bend down you can see my ass and shirts that looked like bras. But the outfit I was wearing was unbelievably glittery. Everyone who passed me could not help but turn and look. But these people turning to look at me where everyone that I ever knew.
It was George who passed by me first. He was leering, his glasses askew, his face unusually gaunt. When I peered closer at him before he went away, I noticed that he was clamping a hypothermic needle between his teeth, and I doubled back in horror when a strange hunger enveloped my stomach, and I longed to reach for it. Then Sasha came. Her face was red and puffy, but there was something horribly wrong with her eyes. It was like they were not there at all, and those things peering back at me were empty sockets –empty sockets dripping something that looked horribly like molten silver.
My mother was next. She wasn’t walking. She was floating. She didn’t walk by me like George and Sasha did, she floated right to me. She looked like her normal. Fat, short, with rollers in her hair and a cigarette in her mouth. She looked condescending, towering over me, staring at me with disapproval. I have never seen that expression on her face before. The only thing that usually twisted her features were –well, nothing. My mom had this thing about her that made you think she was always in her own world and never gave a fuck about anyone else. But now her attention was directed to me.
“I hate you.” She whispered. Her voice was dripping with vicious malice, so much that it came out sounding like a snake hiss. “You were never anything. Slut.”
Her words felt like a slap to the face.
“You were incredibly easy. Popping your cherry was like taking candy from a baby.” Said George, who suddenly appeared by my mothers side, with his emaciated face and broken glasses and needle in his mouth, mocking, his eyes traveling up and down my body. He licked his lips. His tongue was very long and thin and forked, like a lizard.
“You hurt me, Whitney. All you do is hurt everyone around you.”
I was staring at Sasha, her terrifying face so close to me I could smell the burning, melting silver oozing out of her eye sockets.
There was a thread at the corner of her lips, a thread attached to a needle. I watched in horror as the needle lifted up, as though some invisible force were handling it, and pierced through the delicate skin of her lips. First the bottom, then the top, threading them together in a ghastly grotesque manner. Blood, thick and red, ran down her lips in streams as the needle continue to pierce and poke. It was sowing her lips together, sealing them shut, her words dying with the needle.

*****
I woke up screaming like a bloody banshee. Writhing in my bed, sweating a cold sweat. I was in pain, so much pain. It clenched at my muscles and made it hard to breathe. I shrieked again, falling from my bed to the floor. I simply could not stop. The pain was unbearable. My head felt like it was on fire. My insides felt like jelly, like they were immersed in acid and were slowly bubbling. I bellowed for help. I clawed at the bed sheets that fell with me, wrapping them around myself. I was so cold, so, so cold. Then I got too hot and threw them off, whimpering like a lost puppy, scratching at my own arms where the little scars were.
I wanted heroin so bad now. My veins begged to have the chemical rushed through them. My skin died to be popped, pop, pop, pop until the heroin got under there, giving me the rush. I wanted to get high so badly I screamed again, cursing everything.
“FUCK!” I roared, flipping over the tiny cot I was sleeping in, thrashing and flaying and bashing myself into the walls, the dresser, slamming my fist through the net iron that covered the windows, breaking my knuckles. I didn’t even feel the pain. I was already in agony.
Security then came into my room, holding bayonets. One man, with a huge walrus mustache that fluttered with agitation, whacked me in the shins and I went down with a moan. He hit me hard. Then medical personnel then came in, flaunting needles that were probably filled with some kind of sedative.
“NO!” I shrieked, trying to get away from them. But the security guard with the walrus mustache held my arms behind me, agitating my broken hand. I kicked and wailed, and he lifted my kicking feet of the floor so that another security guard could grab them. I fought. I fought as hard as I could. Adrenaline was shooting through me. I tried to boot my body out of their grip. My flannel hospital gown ripped by my knees as the security guard desperately tried to hold me.
“We need to restrain her. I can’t inject like this now, I could harm her. Put her in the castigation room.” Said the medical personnel. The castigation room was a small, square room with a high ceiling that gave you that claustrophobic feeling that you were trapped inside a well. The only thing in it was a cot with metal braces and tons of straps, to control any crazy patients. Any fucking crazy patient like me. They would leave you in there for a full twenty four hours without food or water as punishment, no human interaction, no moving around, no reprieve even if you have to take a shit, no nothing. So you can belt out and scream all you want. Eventually you’ll get tired, that is unless they stick a sedative in you first.
“No, no, please…” I begged. Did they not understand? Did they not understand what I was going through? They cannot feel the hellish inferno raging through my body, non-stop, like I jumped into a furnace, or boiling water, charring every single one of my fucking molecules until I felt like toast. How dare they assume, with all this therapy that they shove me into, making me talk to people who are paid to hear me ramble on and on about my life? They know nothing about me! They cannot even try to know anything about me. They’ve seen it all but I can guarantee that none of them has actually experienced it. Why try to emphasize when they don’t know what they are talking about? Be strong Whitney, you don’t need the drugs. You are independent.
“FUCK INDEPENDENT!” I ended up shrieking out loud, “I WANT THE FUCKING DRUG NOW!”
I started kicking harder. The man with the walrus mustache lost his balanced and ended up falling back. I took that to my advantage and kicked the other man in the face. He yelped in agony and held his nose. I made him bleed, and the blood seeped from between his fingers.
“Oh no you don’t.” the man with the walrus mustache growled as I got up to my feet and tried to run for the door. He ran after me and tackled me to the ground. He was very big and fucking heavy, so we both went colliding into the door jamb and I ended up getting hurt. I groaned; my shoulder and hand were throbbing. He scrambled up and grabbed me by my shoulders, dragging me back. My feet dragged limply from between his feet. The fight was lost. I lost. There was nothing I can do. They were going to put me in there until I had officially gone nuts. As punishment. I hated them. I hated them all. The dude that I kicked in the face. The medical man. The guy with the walrus mustache, him especially. I sobbed openly, but I barely fought as they laid me down on the cot and started strapping me down. First they clenched my wrists and my ankles in the iron cuffs. My wrist pulsated with agony and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Then they took the leather straps and wrapped them around my breasts, my stomach, my hips and legs. I was snug in tight and very uncomfortable.
“I never did anything to anybody.” I mumbled to the medical man, who was tapping the syringe needle full of clear liquid. He did not say anything to me. But he looked at me with an odd mixture of pity and disgust.
“You are doing this to yourself, Whitney.” He finally replied. He lifted up my skirt and exposed my legs. I was instantly reminded of my tricking days, when I was exposed to everyone that paid for me. I imagined the doctor spreading my legs open and having sex with me. He would do it however he wanted to, and I would simply lie on my back and take it, thinking of the birds and the bees buzzing and flapping wings around me, or of heroin. I always thought as soon as he was done I would get out and find a dealer, buy me some heroin. All the fucked up things I did before would be forgotten as soon as I had it . He would have been just another guy. Another one of my faceless men. I lost count on how many guys I had sex with. Sex was just business. Business that got me money, money that I used to get heroin. The doctor was right; everything that ever happened to happened because I allowed them to.
I cried out as the doctor suddenly stabbed me with the needle to my upper thigh. But it was such a familiar feeling that the tears that fell from my eyes were tears of nostalgia. For a moment I made myself believe that that syringe was full of heroin.
It was not the rush I wanted. Instead, I felt sleepy almost immediately. My limbs were beginning to feel like soup. I couldn’t even move my fingers anymore.
Sasha’s face came to my mind. Her big eyes were silver, and her magic and power magnified around her, making her look electrified.
“Its all for you own good.” Her face in my mind said, and then she disappeared in a swish of smoke. I saw nothing more as my heavy eyelids could no longer stay open.


Morgan.

When my mind woke up, and my thoughts were recollected, I felt like I was floating into nothing. I felt as though the universe was carrying me off into a different dimension, and I was being pulled by a string. Someone was pulling me down. Not someone, per say, but something. I could not explain any farther than that. How can I? This is something that I beyond me. Beyond anything living thing or even partially living thing. But the feeling was so eerie that chills ran through my body. If I had a body right now. I remembered that I am now dead, waiting to become a vampire. So were was my soul? Was I trapped somewhere in limbo, floating, until Liam performs whatever he does and brings me back to earth?
I could not help from wondering: aside from drinking another vampires blood, what else must be done to complete the process? Is my body buried underground in a casket? Did my funeral already happen, and Sue and my parents both realized I was dead and gone and never to come back? Did they think that I finally succumbed to my diseases, or did they found out the truth? I wanted to know that happened, and the need to know made me feel desperate…
What was that smell?
The first physical aspect to my coming new life sent a strange rollicking thought of realization coursing through my system. It was a very similar scent to Liam’s blood but there was something about it that was simply so much better. It had my mouth watering, figuratively, right? I did not know, what this scent was, what kind of blood was it…
But it sent a horrible sensation of thirst to my throat that immediately made me want to choke and gasp. It was scalding hot, like I had swallowed slivers of glass. It was a desperate feeling that made me want to lunge for whatever the source of that smell was and drink it, consume it completely, anything I can do for this burning to end.
That’s when I was suddenly snapped back to reality, or earth, or even in my own body. I felt my soul coming into something solid, and with my newfound body I immediately, unconsciously, made a grab for the blood that smelled tantalizingly delicious. But someone dangled it out of my reach.
“Morgan…” the voice was recognizable, but so light that it barely reached my ears. Then I began to become aware of others things. I was lying on something soft but slightly scratchy, I could feel it under my skin. Besides the blood, I could smell something richly pungent, like the scent over freshly turned earth. And I also caught of whiff of something awful… ugh, fox urine. And a familiar, unique scent. Something that smelled of a vibrant musk only a good, strong, worthwhile male can give off. It smelled rich and superb, like the beautiful full moon would if I knew how it smelled like. Like honeydew melon or cucumbers, like healthy soil freshly turned. Like the coppery, salty scent of blood.
The thought of blood had my throat raging in thirst again.
I opened my eyes, but I hadn’t actually realized that they were closed until it occurred to me that I couldn’t see anything. When I opened them, it was as though I were a blind person seeing things for the first time. Everything looked sharper, clearer, more at hand than it seemed to me before.
And I saw Liam’s striking face. His red eyes, his perfect mouth and nose, his strong brow and thick jaw. He smiled, and a flash of light dazzled off his flawlessly white teeth, making me blink.
“Liam!” I breathed, immediately reaching for him, clutching him to me. I forgot about blood for a moment, and all I could think of was him, my love. I loved him since I was a little girl, I understood now. I did not care for what he was. I was like him now. Now, we can be the same together. We can love as one, no holds barred. Everyone believe me to be dead, prompting us the perfect excuse to be together.
“Here, love, I have something for you.” He said then. My mind screamed blood, and surely enough, he pulled out a large bronze goblet from behind him. My now sensitive ears can hear the sloshing of the liquid inside of it, and I could almost see the delicious aroma of it wafting from the rim of the goblet. My thirst flared in my throat, and I immediately reached for it. He dangled it out of my reach, holding his hand in front of me to stop me.
“Easy now. Your first time should be drank slowly. You should savor your first drink of blood, remember the taste, the texture, the substance of our lives.” He said. I gulped and nodded, pacing myself slowly, willing myself not to lunge like an animal. Liam was teasing me, and I felt like not the mood to be teased. Every time he made the notion to give me the goblet, I would reach for it and he would pull it back, his eyes telling me to be undemanding. But how can I when he is infuriating me? I growled, the feral sound collecting in my chest and rising through my lips. It was more than animal-like, it was dominant and powerful. I was shocked to hear it come from my own mouth, but I could not help but feel amazed. I was powerful. Elegant. I felt inexorable.
“Growling at me?” Liam quipped playfully his eyebrow raising into his hairline. But he snapped his fangs and growled back, grinning.
“Liam, please!” I begged, my hands outstretched. They were shaking. He was now concerned, his playfulness vanishing in an instant.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… well, here.” He gave me the goblet, and I fervently snatched it.
I was mindful of what Liam told me, so I brought it to my lips slowly. There was so much blood inside of it that if I were still human it would have made me queasy, but the smell was delicious. It actually made my mouth water. When I brought it to my lips, why -there was no other way I can describe the wonderful taste of it. It was just rightfully amazing. It was wholesome. It cooled my hot thirst. This was a God’s ambrosia. This was everything I was meant to live for.
I finished the blood, slightly disappointed that it finished. But I was happy. I was no longer thirsty. I put the goblet aside and crawled into Liam’s arms.
“Oh Liam,” I murmured against his sweet smelling body, “I am finally a vampire! I can feel it in my bones. We are together!”
He pulled me back, a handsome smirk of wonderful delight beautifying his features. He put his hands on my face –they were not cold, so I assumed that we were now the same temperature and thus could not tell the difference- and brought my mouth to his in a feverish kiss. I eagerly kissed him, but something was different. It felt a little off somehow. My mouth felt too full.
I leaned back, gleaming my tongue over my teeth, and was only slightly surprised to find that I had fangs. They were very sharp.
“I am going to have to get used to kissing you with fangs.” I commented, grinning sheepishly. But that did not faze them. He leaned his head towards me slowly, his eyes completely intent.
“We have eternity.” He proclaimed, his voice low and guttural. “I love you, Morgan Helen Gogh.”
I nearly gasped as he said that. Did that mean that he was proposing to me? Why, if I were still human my heart would have been beating so ferociously, but that did not still stop that butterfly feeling! I brought my hand to my breast, and I felt tears from my eyes.
“Liam…”
“Marry me.” He said simply, cutting me off. He set warm kisses around my throat and collarbone, tilting my hand back, sending deep shivers of arousal down to my very core. “Marry please, my love. I love you, I always did.”
“Yes.” I said. I did not say anything else. I only agreed. It was meant to be, after all.

**************************

Whitney.

I opened my eyes to a flash of blinding white light. I shut them immediately, but I can still feel that horrible light bleed through my eyelids. I tried to raise my arms, but they were still shackled down. I also noticed that my left hand was wrapped in a cast and did not hurt as much, but it was extremely itchy. I tried to move just a little but the straps were constricting my chest. It was impossible to move in this thing. I whimpered –my throat was so dry. And my stomach was rumbling with hunger.
I also needed to take a shit.
I heard voices outside that door, whispering. It’s funny how you are in a room with total silence that your hearing becomes so acute. I can hear everything. I can hear the crackling of the building settling. I can hear the pipes inside the walls running water. I can hear a slight drone of the working camera that is keeping watch of me. Nosy fuckers, I want to scream. I hate you.
I breathed heavily through my nose. The need for heroin has settled into a loud hum all over my body, vibrating my very core. It was harder to contain strapped up like this. I felt as though some inner fiend was tied up and in protest ripping and snarling and screaming, but unable to move. I felt like ripping and snarling and screaming, but I was frozen in the realization that it was no use to fight against steel shackles and tough leather straps. Tears squeezed through my eyes, running down my cheeks. It was unbearable to have a streak of moisture on my face that I could not wipe off. It began to itch as it dried up slowly.
I could not help but to remember that dream, the one where my mother called me a slut and George said I was easy… and how Sasha said that I hurt everyone who crossed my path. I thought of the day when Sasha came to see me and then cried tears on my arm, her eyes lightening up a bright silver like she was putting a spell on me. I did not know what it was, but did that spell resulted in this, me being strapped down a gurney like some fucking animal, agonizingly feeling every second ticking by? Was this my punishment, was this what I deserved for hurting her?
How did I hurt her? She’s not here is she, addicted with no substance and worn out and trapped, clenching her ass cheeks so she wont shit on herself? Was she tricked into prostitution and abused… and…where the fuck is she with her magic and her unnatural spells and freaky eyes when she should be getting me the fuck out of here? She was doing nothing but feeling sorry for me, like very other damn person in this place. It’s a dog-eat-dog world and I was getting eaten. Alive.

*****
I was staring at the florescent lights that flickered on and off, listening to the slight purr of them, watching the shadows that wavered whenever the lights would fail to light the room for long periods of time. I was just thinking on how shadows were pretty lonely company when suddenly the door opened. The medical doctor came in. I hadn’t noticed how he really looked like until now. He was one of those handsome middle-aged dudes with salt and pepper hair and a gracefully aging face. His nice brown eyes looked sad when he came in and closely observed me.
“Are you ready to get out of here?” he bent over my face to whisper to me. He was so close that I smelled his Tic-Tac breath. For some reason it made my stomach churn.
“Yes.” I whispered back. I wondered how my breath smelled like to him. “I need to take a shit anyway.”
I could tell he was trying very hard not to laugh. The corner of his lips kept twitching up, and eventually he had to look away from me. “Alright, come in now.” He barked at the closed door. The same security guards that were handling me last night, the dude with the walrus mustache and the one that I kicked in the face came sauntering in, wary looks on their faces. What danger was I anyway? Were they afraid that I was going to poop all over them, considering that I have been in this room for so long without a bathroom break? Besides, I was exhausted. I did not eat or drink anything for twenty-four hours straight and the bed I was strapped to was so uncomfortable that I did not sleep well. I simply had no energy to fight back.
I flinched as the two security guards came closer, even if they were coming slowly. I could not help but remember them man-handling me like I was some sort of rabid dog. Well, maybe I was acting like a rabid dog. Scratch that, I totally was acting like a bloody rabid dog.
“Hey mate,” I cheerfully said to the man I kicked in the face, who was wearing a brace on his nose, “How is your face feeling?”
He scowled. I had the urge to tell him that it takes more muscles in your face to frown than to smile, but I thought better of it. They undid all the leather straps and steel cuffs that bound me to the bed. It felt so good to suddenly have regained control of my limbs that it sent a strange, nearly painful rush of blood to my waiting veins. I clenched my fingers to help the blood flow, and the security guard with the broken nose jumped, as though he were thinking I was going to hit him. What a turd.
“Okay, boys, take me to the canner before I smear my crap on your shoes.”
They both grimaced. I wasn’t sorry for being rude to them at all.

****
Days have passed, and I swear on everything I was acting like a little angel. I treated the officials nice. I was even the sweetest thing towards the lunch lady, Alice, who liked me so much she often snuck tasty treats on my food trays. I even smiled at those batched security guards who always gripped their bloody batons as though they were dying to whack me with it.
I was charming and delightful on the outside of course, because in the inside of me I was still raging through complete hell. In my own personal world, the sky was black. Always dark and starless. The ground was non-existent. And I was falling in a pool of terrifying, agonizing withdrawal.
You think withdrawal is not so bad? Well, you are SADLY mistaken. Withdrawal is horrible. The heroin brought me a sensation of well-being, happiness, serenity. Without it, I felt like the weight of the most atrocious things in the universe was on my shoulders. I wanted support. I needed my strength. I needed leverage. It made me so disgusted of myself to know how much I became dependent on heroin, but a part of me didn’t care anymore. My body did not belong to me. It never did. My body belonged to the heroin. I was the Lady’s bitch. I was everyone’s bitch. The little lost girl who built a wall over herself, just to see who cared enough to break it down.
So far, no one did. The wall was still up there, embedded with barbed wire, and no one loved me enough to climb over it.

******
I had such a shocker the other day. It was even a bigger surprise then when Sasha came to visit me (she hasn’t visited me since then). I have seen a werewolf on the corner of a street, standing there like any other normal person standing on the street. A vampire once came to our high school class to give us a grisly, self-glorifying recollections. I have seen Druids shoot blue fire out of there mouths and floating without any support. But this was something else entirely. I never came so close to a creature of a Night Clan. Well, a Night Clan creature that wasn’t considered human. The vampire who taught us about world war two didn’t pay much attention to me, or anyone else in that classroom for that matter, so that doesn’t count.
Who knew that my new counselor was a fucking vampire?
When I walked in the room, dressed in jeans and wrinkled shirt, my checkered sneakers stained and torn, I had to double back. I was frozen in amazement. Wow, I was actually in close proximity with a blood sucker, and her creepy, remarkable red eyes were blaring directly at me. I broke out in a nervous sweat, scratching at my wrist, a habit I developed in this damned place. I could not break the stare that had slowly developed into a stupid gawk –I was so looking at her wonderful features.
She was so goddamned pretty. What was it about those immortal leeches that were so perfect-looking? God, did I feel inferior in her presence. She was sitting in a comfy armchair, her amazing pearl-white legs crossed elegantly at the knees. She was wearing a black pencil skirt and a white collared shirt, modest enough to not make you feel that uncomfortable, but yet tight and short enough to make any person’s heart race. She was certainly a fox, with her shockingly pale smooth skin, her lush, full mouth nearly as red and shining as her eyes, her long, voluptuous black hair, and that adorable cleft on her chin. When she saw me staring, she smiled. My heart raced a little when I caught sight of her large, sharp fangs. Fangs that could easily rip through my flesh as though I were made of butter.
“Don’t be afraid. Sit down, please.” She said. Her voice was throaty, seductive. Chillingly persuasive. It had the strangest pull on me, a pull that seemed to come directly from my midsection. I found myself unconsciously following her request, and I took a step forward. For some reason, taking that small step felt like I was walking on hot coals. She is dangerous, my mind screamed, I should turn and get the hell out of there. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Her uncannily unblinking red eyes were like magnets. My body wanted to sit next to her while my thoughts shrieked peril. I wanted to take a lock of her rich, vibrant black hair and bring it to my nose and sniff it. I wanted to do the weirdest things right now, things that never came across my mind, especially with a vampire chick.
I finally sat down. I had an overwhelming urge to ask her to blink, simply because she was creeping me the fuck out, but the sly smile that curled the corners of her perfect lips startled me into silence. Her fangs looked menacing, the expression on her face was that of a hungry cat eyeing a fat mouse.
“Its nice of you to come by, Whitney Stellar. My name is Morgan Blackwood.” She said. She adjusted the clipboard on her lap, keeping me from seeing the contents of it. “How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling?” I answered, “Do you really give a fuck?”
She grinned even wider. My pulse quickened when she actually purred. Not a simple little housecat purr; it was more of a big tiger purr, a sound so unsettling it sent a ripple of uneasiness down my spine.
“Frankly, no.” she replied smugly, “But its my vocation to seem interested, unless you don’t want me to.”
I was kind of shocked. I never heard a counselor say such a thing to me before. In fact, I wasn’t very sure if counselors were allowed to say those things. Still, I had a sickening feeling that no one could really do anything about it. What can the head of this institute do when presented with such a problem? If anything, this vampire bitch before me could easily be the administrator on the down-low, and there was nothing that anyone could do about it. Vampires are one heck of a force to reckon with. They were the voyeurs of the Night Clan, mainly because they are the only known race who are actually truly immortal. Werewolves are second in line, but all they do is age very, very slowly. Eventually they do age, and can die of natural causes. Druids have only slighter longer life spans than humans. Some Night Worlders, like Shape- Shifters, have very short life spans. Vampires don’t die easily. They have to be killed to die –torched in a fire, head chopped off, stake through the heart (which is the most effective means of vampire murder). There is no natural cause of death for them.
But I could not help but wonder how many tried and failed attempts to kill this gorgeous creature before me. She was very small (she could not have been taller than five feet two), but there was something about her poise than made me think she was very dangerous. She definitely did not look disgusting, but the sinewy muscles that lined every inch of her body were toned and glossy. Her manicured hands looked like they could rip my head off as easily as I can rip the head off a doll.
“Um, I dunno.” I whispered a little timidly, shuffling my checkered sneakers. She eyed me with pity, her head tilting to the side, her lustrous black hair draping over her left shoulder.
“Do you want the truth Whitney? I am here to help you get better. I might not seem to understand what you are going through, but believe me, seeing enough of your kind has led me to understand your pain. And a proper understanding of pain is what leads me here to you.”
There was a pause of a heartbeat –well, my heartbeat, since her heart was basically dead- and I stared at my feet again. I was finding it kind of hard to stare at her directly now that I was so close. It was like she was her own personal sun and she was blinding me.
“Do vampires know pain like humans do?” I asked her. It was a strange question to come out of my mouth, but I had no restrain over it. I internally kicked myself.
She was quiet for a moment. For a moment, I was deathly afraid that I had offended her, but I could not bring myself to look at her again. I was afraid to see her fuming.
“Yes, I know the prospect of pain, Whitney. I definitely know.”
Her voice was slow, crackled, like saying them hurt her inside. I was slightly taken-aback. Not that I hadn’t already knew that vampires had their own set of emotions. I knew they vampires are very intense creatures. And I can imagine how pain feels like to her.
“Have you ever been heartbroken?” I asked her.
“By a man? Not particularly no. I married the man that sired me and I am still married to him today.”
I finally looked at her. For a moment I saw the little twinge of delight upon talking about her husband. She was probably totally contented with him. I swear I can actually see her fluff up like a happy monkey eating a banana. For a moment, I could not help but feel insanely jealous. She found love. I never did.
“You are so lucky.” I told her.
She smiled.
“Were you heartbroken?” she asked me. I started to nod, but then shrugged half-way. How can I be heartbroken when I was never truly in love with him? He only played on my sympathies and I fell for that. I was an idiot, and that led me to this.
“Do you think that taking this heroin was a defense mechanism to deal with the pain of your heartbreak?” she inquired. Her red eyes were darting all over my face. I’m sure that if I lied to her, her expert eyes could see it.
“When I took it, all the bad memories went away. All the pain disappeared. Without it now, I feel it all coming back. And its bad.”
I drew my sweater tighter around myself and suppressed tears.
“Your eyes are watering. Your heart is beating in a thick, uneven motion. You hold yourself like you are trying to protect yourself.” She observed, writing them down on her clipboard. Her actions annoyed me, but I held it in.
“…and your heroin hungry mind is still trying to convince your body that it is needed through the notion of pain. This you must learn to suppress.”
“But how? I living my life here in this hellhole and all I can think about is that.” I replied. The tears finally fell. In my mind, I saw the Lady taunting me with her evil, enticing grin.
“Heroin is a relaxant stimulant. It creates the feelings of ease and well being. You have to find other ways to create those feelings, and train your mind and body to accept the fact that whatever you do to forget it, it wont be as instantaneous as heroin.”
I gulped. That did not sound easy. How can I, when it was already so hard to deal with in the first place?

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.05.2010

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