Some words are better left unsaid to your vampire girlfriend
A short vampire fiction, or is it?
I bit my boyfriend at 3:33 in the morning. He demanded an ambulance. All I wanted was a toothpick.
“What the fuck!” he shrieked in pain. Not a typical response to early morning lovebites. I confess, it was a little too early and I did get carried away. One too many nips from my Dewer flask, no doubt.
I flinched back, almost tumbling off the bed to the floor. Frankly, I was startled. Obviously he was too — probably more so, but I thought he’d be in a hypnotic state of ecstasy. I mean, that’s usually how it goes.
He ripped the case off his pillow and held the white linen against his neck and shoulder, staring at me. His eyes were blazing black — with anger or terror, I couldn’t say — but his heart raced well over 100 BPM. He was definitely in shock.
Not surprising. He could see the blood. I could feel it, every cell moving like lava pillows over my lips, escaping down my chin, and a piece of scalene muscle lodged in my teeth. I was going for his carotid artery. I was never great at navigating in the dark.
I know, I know. You’re probably thinking there’s a full moon and I’m a werewolf, or maybe something sexier like a cat lady, um, woman, people — oh you know that movie, the one with the David Bowie song. I can live for a thousand years… yada yada. But no. Depending on where you’re from and who you ask, I’m strix, betal, revenant, motetz dam, blood sucker. Vampire.
All of these are folklore, by the way. Only myths of the Egyptian Goddess Sekhmet come close, and even that’s a tale taller than the truth.
“What the fuck!” he shrieked in pain. “Call a fucking ambulance!”
I didn’t move, looking him dead in the eye before half considering doing it. But rule number one when you accidentally bite someone: damage control. The AB negative in my flask had been so potent, though, that I was struggling to control anything at all.
An ambulance was out of the question. The cops. The headlines. Jesus, can you imagine the headlines? Bartender Undone by Bloody Mary. Or worse, the internet memes about sparkly vampires, which I am definitely not. Well, not usually. I can’t help that glitter was thrown at me yesterday night. That shit has a serious half-life.
“You’ll be fine,” I assured. He wouldn’t be.
I licked my lips. A hint of black pepper and cherry radiated across my tongue. Not good, because as soon as you start to savor, you get lost in the moment. I grabbed the shoulder of my oversized t-shirt and wiped my mouth. That didn’t diminish the aroma permeating the bedroom. Imagine juicy Wagyu beef, perfectly rare, with a rich, slightly spicy Bordeaux jus and—
Turn him. Drain him. Those were the only options. I didn’t take that decision lightly.
I looked into his dark eyes. He did have depth. On our first date date, because we’re not talking about the initial three-night stand or anything, he took me to a Tamara de Lempicka retrospective. I just loved hearing about her life, seeing her work from a new perspective. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that we’d met in Paris, snorted copious amounts of cocaine together, and then made love — or at least tried to — on the most uncomfortable René Herbst lounge chair in existence.
He was refreshing, pretty to look at, great to party with, and even better to fuck.
“Bitch, call an ambulance!” he shrieked again.
On second thought, I’d only known him for a month and I’m already late to the ball.