Walking around outside is much easier after that. Mainly because I don’t look like a greasy hobo. I was able to shave my awkward stubble. My skin is no longer caked with grime. And my hair is an acceptable (for me anyway) length, hanging just to my shoulders. There’s just one problem. Even though the night is the time of beasts, there is still human night life.

I’m fine with it for the first couple nights. After all, the blood from the boy has satisfied me. But hunger comes quickly, and then it is very hard to control myself. All of the aromas mix together in my nostrils. Women hurry by occasionally. They’re heartbeats are so strong. It would be so easy to silence them. I could catch up…Rip out a throat or two. Be filled.

But no. I will not make myself into a liar. I will stay clean.

A walk past the strip club one night confirms the rumors. The clearly STD ridden blood of the whores gives off a scent that by itself can make the world a little hazy. I try not to breathe as I walk past, because a fuzzy mind clouds inhibitions. And cloudy inhibitions cause unwanted actions, such as killing.

I’ve been searching for a place to get blood that doesn’t require killing. Unfortunately, the beastly community is so far gone that none of them see the point in that. They all laugh at me and say there’s blood all around. I just have to take my pick. I’ve considered stealing from a blood bank, but doesn’t that inevitably kill a human anyway? I don’t think I can win.

I’m reaching the end of my rope by the end of the week. My throat burns, my stomach churns. And humans walk by. That one smells sweet. That one spicy. That one is strong and young, a little treat. That one is old and frail, easily taken down. His wise blood would be pungent and inviting. Hers would be full of adolescent pep and very refreshing. And there, a small child. Such innocent blood. It must be delicious.

I try to fight off these thoughts, but they never cease to haunt me. It makes me want to crawl back in my alley. Then I will be surrounded by the stench of rotting garbage. It will plug my nostrils enough to stop the temptation. And then I will be safe. Safe. And miserable. There has to be another way for me to keep my promise. Mikey wouldn’t want me to be miserable. But…To be truly happy, I would need to do something drastic. Such as plunge my fangs into that man over there.

Oh, he’s ripe with intoxication. Easy prey. And totally unsuspecting…He’s wandering around, lost in a daze. How easy it would be to sneak up behind him…Breath in his scent up close…Plunge in and rip out his life. Wait, when did I get behind him? He doesn’t sense me here. I could turn around, leave without him knowing. But up close…He’s so…Almost familiar? He’s…

The boy! I jump back, startled by my realization. He turns around and I am met with his familiar hazel eyes. When he sees me a dopey grin overtakes his face, “Heyyy! I know you! Can’t hide behind that haircut.” He wags a finger at me like I’m a child hiding from my mother.

I shake my head, “You’re just a magnet for trouble,” I mutter to myself as I pick him up over my shoulder.

“Gonna finish the job?” he slurs, “Good. I don’t,” hiccup, “Wanna be alive. I got nothing.”

I shake my head, but don’t justify his drunken rambling with a response. Instead, I continue to my lair as quickly as I can. If another one of my kind sees us, I fear there will be a battle. I don’t want that. Especially since I’m not at full strength. Luckily, we make it back without incident. I toss him down on a bag of trash, prepared to chew him out. But he’s already asleep. Fine. I’ll lecture him in the morning.

…

The bugger that he is, he waits until the sun is high outside to wake up. And when he does, he takes his sweet time. First he groans. Then he stretches. And stretches. And rolls around a bit. And rubs his eyes. Then he squints. And he squeezes his eyes back shut. And he mutters, “Fucking hangover,” And I feel for him, because I can remember that feeling.

Finally, he blinks the sleep away. He sits up and looks around. His eyes rest on me, and become wide. Wide and innocent looking. Deceptive. He backs up as far as he can into the wall and begins stammering useless apologies. Apparently he thinks he’s invaded my space, and he wants me to just let him go. Can’t do that, though. It would be irresponsible of me as an adult.

“What was a kid like you doing stumbling around drunk last night?” I ask him.

He blinks, and then laughs, “Kid? Dude, I’m twenty-two.”

I narrow my eyes, “Very likely story. Prove it.”

He reaches around to his back pocket and produces a wallet. Flipping it open, he hands it to me. Sitting in the top flap is a driver’s license. I stare at it for a moment before remembering what the many words mean. Franklin Iero. That must be his name. The picture is of a clearly younger him with a shaved head. Now he sports a neat Mohawk. Height 4’11”. Short little guy. Birthday October 31, 1981.

Isn’t that some sort of holiday? Yeah, it’s the day little children dress up as monsters and collect candy. I think I was a vampire when I was little. Oh, the irony. Unfortunately, though, the year doesn’t prove anything, because I have no idea what year it is now.

“What year is it?” I ask him.

“Two thousand three, why?”

Holy shit. It’s really been that long? I was bitten in spring of 2002. A whole year has passed without me realizing it. A year since Mikey was…And I had no idea. How did I survive all that time with no food? I mean, it should have driven me insane. Much sooner than it did. Was it Mikey’s memory that kept me normal?

“You still have that cup?” Frank asks.

Startled out of my inner ramblings, I reach behind me and find it. I never thought about the fact that he’d want it back. He takes it and reaches into his pocket. When his hand returns, it has a pocket knife in it. He flicks it open and holds it to his wrist. Alarmed, I reach out and grab his wrist.

“What the fuck are you doing?!”

He scoffs, “What does it look like? I can see you’re starving. Don’t even try to lie. I think this is the third time you’ve saved me from certain doom? Yeah, so let me show some gratitude.”

I don’t agree with his logic. After all, it was Mikey who saved him the first time. You can’t save someone from yourself. And he’s already given me three instances of blood. That’s quite enough, if you ask me. But before I can react, he’s jerked the knife downward. There is a large cut in his wrist, and blood flows freely from it. Sweet, sweet blood. The sticky warmth is gliding down my fingers. I pull them to my lips and suck the spilled delicacy off.

When it’s all gone the cup is shoved in my face. It’s filled halfway with more of the vital liquid. I chug it down thirstily. It causes me to moan. It’s just so good. All the blood in the city doesn’t compare to this guy’s. It’s gone way too soon, and I’m still thirsty. I look at him. He’s pressing his shirt to the cut in order to stop the bleeding.

“More, need more,” I gasp out. He nods as if that’s natural.

“I suppose I could spare a little mo—”

But I’m not listening. I’ve attached my lips to his wrist. I gulp needily at the sweet, sweet liquid. Then he starts to tug and I snap out of it. I pull away and lick the wound closed. He then takes his hand back, looking woozy. I wipe my mouth, then lick my hand clean. He stares wonderingly at his wrist.

“How did you…?” he looks at me.

I grunt, “Believe me, I wish I knew. Point is I did. I can. You’ll be fine with a little bit of iron. And, you know, if you actually stay away from me and other monsters.”

He nods as if that makes the most sense in the world, then he looks at me, “I have vitamins at home. But…If I have to go, can you tell me your name?”

“Gerard,” I say. It feels weird in my mouth. No one’s called me it for so long.

“Well, Gerard, I hope we run into each other again,” he winks, and then he’s gone. He is such a strange guy.

Notes

Drunk Frankie is cute ^-^ maybe i should write him in more