laltre-stelle-blog
for those sad nights
dante spoke true on paradise, there is a type of love that moves the sun and the stars, but that love is not ours
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I Am A Horrible Vampire
Chapter Two: How Do I Adjust?
I found out I was a child of the night, on a Saturday morning. How ironic. It might as well be the worst Saturday morning I’ve ever experienced. That entire weekend might be the worst weekend of my life.
First, because I had to explain to the day guard why there was footage of me coming into the building covered in blood. Thankfully, Bill is gullible and I said that I had come from a crazy party where someone had thought it would be funny to pull a Carrie. He bought the story and let me off the hook no problem.
Second, I had to clean my apartment. I didn’t time myself exactly but I could have sworn it took me 7 years to get the blood out of my walls, floors and ceilings. I duct taped my fridge back together and cleaned up all the glass, even if i spent much of the day stepping on it and wincing. When I stood my table backup, it nearly fell on me because one of the legs were broken but I fixed it up with my duct tape. I finished cleaning as the sun set outside my shattered windows. That was when I realized I had laundry to do. Sighing heavily, I gathered all my blood soaked stuff and brought them down to the laundry room.
It was hard to drag a bedsheet, 4 pillowcases and two blankets covered in blood down the hallway to the laundry room without getting noticed. Maxine, the old lady that lives in the suite next to mine, just happened to be coming back from the laundry room. But luckily, she’s almost completely blind in her left eye.
‘Hello Libby…’ Maxine greeted me. For some odd reason she always thought I was her granddaughter Libby. I looked nothing like Libby; she had long, auburn hair and I had short, dark brown hair; she a good foot shorter than I was and she wasn’t as stick thin as I was back then.
‘It’s Russell, Maxine. Your neighbour.’ I told her gently.
‘Libby, you sound so different...Are you trying out something new with your acting career?’ Maxine asked in her shaky old lady voice.
I shook my head but smiled. ‘Maxine, that’s because I’m not Libby, I’m Russell from 409.’
I saw a look of realization cross her face. ‘Ohhh Russell, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you in so long...Why don’t you stop by for tea anymore?’ There was a tinge of sadness in her tone, she finally looked in my direction.
Guilt poked at my not-beating heart. ‘I’m sorry that I haven’t been around much, Maxine. Life just gets topsy turvy every once in a while.’ I said avoiding her gaze.
‘Well, if you need anything, my door’s always open.’ Her voice held a happiness and willingness of sorts.
‘Thanks Maxine.’ I said with a happiness of my own.
She smiled at me then walked past me to get to her apartment.
I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I was thankful that she didn’t say anything about my sheets. I don’t know what excuse I would have made to explain them, had she asked.
The walk down to the laundry room was quiet after seeing Maxine, which was strange because I lived on the most crowded floor of this building. It was like one of those times that time and space feel warped around you. At that time I didn’t mind though, all I cared about what cleaning my sheets.
I finally reached the laundry room and found it empty. I silently thanked God for blessing me with this empty laundry room. I loaded up my laundry into the nearest washer and that’s when I heard the beating again. At first it started out soft, like an afterthought in my head but soon it got louder and louder.
Looking back on this, I realized that the reason why going to the laundry room was so quiet, it was because the Thirst was blocking out all other noise. The beating was a lot more subdued then that it was the night before but maddening nonetheless. I left the laundry room and rushed to leave the building entirely.
Gladly Bill was off for the night already and the night guard was new and didn’t know me much. He ignored me as I made my hasty escape out of the building. Walking through Montpellier at night was always something I loved to do. The stars were different out here than they were in other cities, maybe I just think that because I grew up there my whole life—and well my unlife. But tonight wasn’t a night to stargaze. Tonight was different, tonight I was on the hunt.
The beating of hearts got louder when I left the building, it was like I was wearing headphones and that was the one song playing. Lub, dup, lub, dup, lub, dup. Over and over and over again. I nearly reached for a little girl that passed a little too close to me. I could almost smell the blood running through her fingers that brushed passed me. It was getting harder and harder to control myself as people flooded the streets to enjoy the nightlife. I took to the back alleys again, using the cover of the night as a safe haven.
I can now consider myself an expert when it comes to the alleys of Montpellier, they’re like a second home to me now. Navigating them is a piece of cake, but I have yet to discover where every twist and turn will take me.
The farther away I got from busy streets and sidewalks, the softer the beating got. Of course it didn’t completely disappear, things still live in the alleyways. Rats would scurry past me as I traversed the urban maze behind the buildings, their little hearts making the same pitter patter noise as their feet. I couldn’t resist anymore and later I began draining them as they passed. Rat’s blood isn’t the most appetizing thing but it was enough for me then. I don’t remember exactly how many of them I drank from that night but I do remember a pile. This night ends the same as the night before, except I passed out in a garbage can.
Waking up on Sunday morning was like waking up on Saturday morning, except I smelled disgusting. I somehow got myself stuck in the can I fell into but I got out by literally busting the tin can open. It was strange at first, considering I had no idea how powerful I was. But hey, I got out of there. I think the one thing I liked about drinking from rats is that it wasn’t as messy as drinking from deer. I wasn’t as bloody going home but I did smell like trash.
‘Is that stench you Russell?’ Bill the day guard asked as I wandered into the lobby of the building.
I nodded. If there was anything I kept from my life and brought into my unlife it was my not-morning-person-ness. And Bill was a morning person, to my disdain. So I kept my distance and my silence as I went back to my apartment. Killing Bill was definitely not on the agenda that day.
I never thought I’d say that I hated to take a shower, but I now do. I found out as I tried to wash the stench of rat blood and garbage from my person that vampires don’t mix well with running water. In fact, it burns us, quite badly. I remember having blisters running across both my shoulders and down my back, it was hard to sit for a good week or so. I now have to take baths. Which is relatively easy since I do have a bathtub but my whole, lanky and bean pole frame doesn’t fit in it completely. But I will take that over burning my entire body. I also found out that scented soaps also don’t like my new body. I still don’t know why.
Getting used to brushing my teeth without really seeing them was hard, because I didn’t really know where to start and of course, I had no one to ask. In the end, I came up with a little pattern to go by. Front, side, side, back and repeat for at least 3 times. Brushing fangs were a little more difficult, they only really come out when I need to feed, it’s like a primal instinct of sorts. Forcing them out didn’t really work, I just ended up hurting myself and trust me cutting yourself on your own fang isn’t at all pleasant. It’s like cutting yourself with a really sharp knife, except the knife is covered in even tinier knives and they dig into your skin. Not nice.
Finding a salve to put on the huge blisters on my back might have been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my unlife. Regular topical creams didn’t agree with my skin, it was making it worse instead of better. What turned out working was this really old—I’m pretty sure it was fucking expired—lotion, my mom got me when I first moved out. It was made of all natural stuff and I bet had I used it earlier in life, maybe it would have smelled better, but it did help me sleep with all the blisters on my backside.
Strangely enough, I slept in my own bed that night. It was like the Thirst wasn’t in me. There were not heartbeats, no slushing and pumping of blood through veins, none of the usual ‘I must feeeed!’ bullshit. It was quiet, and I liked it. Funny that I could sleep at night and live in the day. It was like I was bending vampire lore or something. I felt weirdly rebellious. Now I’ve heard that most fledglings live that way for the first few years of their unlife, but of course back then I didn’t know that.
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“sometimes you have to hurt to get better,” my physiotherapist says, as she jabs her elbow into my shoulder, and i think of pressing wounds to heal.
i try to think of all ways you disappointed me.
i think of your empty promises, the bitter taste in my mouth when you told me you had to cancel the date again but i could come over if i wanted. i think of how you told me you thought she was beautiful knowing that i would stand in front of the mirror and wonder if i wasn’t. i think of the way you looked away when i told you i knew you couldn’t hurt me.
i press the wound until the tears come to my eyes and i’m stumbling around, vision hazy and teeth cutting into lips.
i press down into the wine-soaked nights with all the boys whose names didn’t matter because i could only hear yours. i press down into the pictures of us that feel sharper than i’d expected. i press down until my hands feel too bruised to write this poem.
i keep going anyway. i make my way through the rose-bushes of my memories until i’m all scratched up and clinging to petals or stems or something that looks like love.
i curl my nails into my palms to keep it in place, limp towards the light. they say it hurts until it doesn’t, and if this is the end, at least i’ll have flowers for the grave of what we buried. or just a handful of hurt. (did i mean dirt?)
kiss me again, one last time.
i think it might hurt just enough, to get a physiotherapist’s nod of approval.
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snippet #56: 301218
i’ve wanted to call you mine
for the absolute longest time
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snippet #55: 131218
i long to wipe the tears that fall from your eyes
for i caused them anyway
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snippet #54: 021218
i fell in love with your rebellion
i fell so hard that i started my own little revolution
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snippet #53: 021218
in your warmth
in your arms
with you is where i belong
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snippet #52: 281118
grief is different or everyone
some cry
some scream
i write
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snippet #51: 281118
they say you only miss someone dearly when you’ve lost them
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snippet #50: 171118
i look back and i see us in love, close as can be
i look now and i see a distance that wasn’t there before
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snippet #49: 171118
it’s scary when you can see someone fall out of love with you
especially when it’s someone you still love so much
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snippet #48: 151118
songs are poems that flow as water does
musicians are water bearers that create notes out of their tears
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