The CurseA Story by TJ
One Vampire's struggle with addiction, guilt, abuse, and desire
People tend to think vampires lurk around in the darkness, jumping out from behind bushes and back alley dumpsters to attack unsuspecting victims. However, any vampire that suffers the condition for any amount of time will quickly realize this is not sustainable; they need a more long term, more easily acquired form of sustenance. They need a willing victim, a feeble minded individual who, for whatever reason, would willingly give their blood to monster. Basically, someone who didn’t realize what they were getting themselves into. A child.
Vampires were sick, disgusting child abusers. And what’s worse, most of the vampires that take children as their long term food supply, suffered the same abuse themselves; over ninety-two percent. They’d swear they’d never pass their abuses on to others, almost one hundred percent did so, but the seed of vampirism had already been planted and it was so difficult to stop it from bearing fruit. Maybe they tried to fight it, maybe they didn’t, either way once they got their first taste of blood there was no chance of overcoming the thirst; the change completed and their soul was lost. From there the numbers were clear; about one percent would commit suicide and the others would continue their way of life, taking victim after victim for the rest of their days.
The numbers were all grim. I’d studied them, them and all the other knowledge available, trying to find a way out for me, a way to break the cycle. But I never did, there was no hope.
“I hate how you ask me these trick questions; you try to make me look stupid.”
“No, Darius. I just want to provoke some of your inner thoughts to the surface so that we can deal with them together.”
“You try to make me sound dumb!” I snapped. “I can’t help how you feel.”
“I know you can’t, Darius. And I’m not trying to make you sound dumb, however I do want you to hear yourself verbalize these…defenses of him. You have to see that this wasn’t your fault and he wasn’t a good guy; not even close.”
I sat there, hands clasped, elbows on knees, eyes to the floor. My 'shame position', that's what my shrink called it. It was the position I took while talking about the things in my life I had never wanted to talk about, things I had every reason to feel ashamed about.
"This isn't your fault, Darius; you've got to remember that."
"I know, it's just..." Finding the right words in times like these were always so difficult. How do you get a person to understand how you felt - how you feel - with such little things as words?
"I mean - it's like...ugh. I liked it, that’s what you don’t get. Every time I'd see him I'd get excited for it, I thought about it all the time and...it made me feel good.” I felt sick saying these words, even though I’d known all along how I’d felt, actually saying the words disgusted me “I knew it was wrong, knew it was; I didn't know exactly what was going on back then, but I knew it wasn't right, but I still didn't say anything because I enjoyed it."
"You can't blame yourself for what happened. He manipulated you, that's what they do. That's why they choose children as long term victims; feeble minds."
"But he didn't," I protested, lifting my head to look her in the face. "Never once did he tell me that what was happening was 'our little secret' or that I'd get in trouble if I told someone, or threaten me, or anything like that." I let my hand fall back to its position, and spoke quietly, "I knew it was wrong and I kept my mouth shut because I wanted it to continue. Period."
"One way or another, you were only a child," she retorted in a tone that was meant to be comforting, but seemed patronizing to me. "You can't be held responsible for the things he did. He had power over you simply through his age, if nothing else.”
"It was...cool, I guess," I said, ignoring her smug words. "I mean, I was hanging with an adult - not only an adult, a vampire. What twelve year old wouldn't like that? And he was so cool to me, like, nice to me, I mean. He'd take me to do all this fun s**t and show off his powers for me." I could feel the nostalgia creeping in; the childish twinkle of admiration in my voice. “HE never went all out; we called it keeping it Hollywood.” I said with a giggle. "Fangs only. I don't think he'd even have done that if he didn't have to."
The grin on my face persisted, sickeningly, in spite of my efforts to suppress it.
"He wanted to make you feel special, Darius. He wanted-"
"He loved me. I know what he did was wrong but he did it because he had to.
"I can still remember how he'd rub me down gently, barely touching my skin," I looked up at her awkwardly, realizing how that sounded. "That increases blood flow so he didn't have to bite as deep," I explained, then, shaking my head, whispered "I loved that."
"He had to bite where no one could see," I continued, "bottom of my feet, the back of my thighs, lower back,” I paused and a another grin spread across my face, "even my a*s, sometimes, if my other scars hadn't healed. I can remember the whole thing so vividly, it felt so...awesome. There was only a little sting when he first bit me then, the sucking was like, you know, like someone giving you a hickey or something, you know, pretty cool feeling. Then, there was the lightheaded feeling as you lost more and more blood, and of course the high from the venom."
Reminiscing over the feelings, I could almost feel the sensations again. I had enjoyed them, and I was enjoying them now and nothing could disgust me more. I was a sick, sick man; supposedly victimized enjoying every moment of it. What was wrong with me?
"How often would this happen?"
"Every three months, just like the Red Cross. Most guys were probably out draining kids dry every week, but he made sure he didn't overdo it with me." Was that pride in my voice? It was. I was actually bragging.
"He treated me well," I whispered, hanging my head in shame.
Even now he still had me in his grasp.
I sat back in my pew, staring at the giant, Christ-bearing crucifix at the head of the hall. Whose idea had that been? Who had sat back and the, “Hmm…perhaps we should put a giant statue of some poor man in the last moments of his horrific death, at the head of all of our facilities.” Seemed very sadistic to me, but maybe that was the draw; one last public execution, forever frozen in time, what better way to get butts in the seat than to appease man’s everlasting bloodlust?
Whatever the purpose, it only served to intimidate. A ten foot tall stone man, arms perched, head bloodied, staring down at you unblinking, waiting for the smallest misstep so he could reach down with his mighty fist and crush you. Perhaps that was the true purpose; intimidation. Maybe that was the church’s secret to its long grasp on control; a very physical manifestation of exactly what you’d have to explain yourself to one day. ‘That’s the guy who is going to hold you accountable for every word you’ve ever uttered and he does not f**k around.’
I chuckled quietly. It was probably wrong to sit in a church and chuckle at the fact that Jesus does not f**k around, but, hey, it was funny. I’m sure old sword-tongue would understand.
“A funny thought, Darius?”
I tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress my lingering grin. “Yes, Brian; you know how my mind wanders.”
“Yea,” he replied. “Well, do share. I wouldn’t mind a laugh myself right now.”
I grinned, “I don’t think you’d see the humor in it.”
“Ah, I see. Then, perhaps a few Hail Maries are in order?”
“Ahhh,” I considered the situation, “probably a few, yea.”
I lowered my head to the ground while my grin slowly faded.
“I’m messed up, Brian; bad. I can’t fi-…I don’t…I’m going to lose, Brian. This…evil in me, I can’t fight it anymore. It’s getting so hard…”
“Darius, Satan does not work in you anymore than he does in me, or anyone else for that matter. I-“
“Really?” I interrupted.
I peeled back my lips and spread the corners of my mouth as far apart as I could, and Brian saw for himself just how much the devil worked in me.
“When did that happen?” Brian asked, trying and failing to suppress his shock.
“A long time ago, I can’t even remember when; I’ve just never showed anyone, it’s embarrassing.” I leaned forward, placing my elbows on my and clasping my hands.
“I won’t do this to someone else. I. Will. Not!” my voice came out a harsh whisper, “I’ll kill myself first.”
“You can’t think like that, Darius; you can’t let this beat you. Besides, suicide is a mortal sin; you shouldn’t even speak of it.”
His words sounded ridiculous to me, but I just nodded. Of course suicide was a mortal sin, but what would one call what I was sure to do if I lived? Surely there was sin in that. Was taking my own life worse than taking someone else’s? At least in taking my own I’d have the peace of death, my victims would have to live on, empty and tormented, soulless; like me. You never get your life back from this; I know firsthand.
Of course, this question was purely academic; I knew I’d never take my own life, I just didn’t have it in me and I knew it. I wished I could blame the Bible " maybe at one point I could have " but it seemed now I simply lacked the righteousness. I knew it was the right thing to do, the only way to stop me, but I couldn’t. I simple lacked the necessary constitution to cure the world of this sickness knowing that sickness was me. Why couldn’t I just be a hero? A hero would stop the monster, even if it was inside him, but I was no hero. I was too selfish, too proud, too cowardly. I’d kill the world before I hurt myself; what vanity.
“Darius,” Brian said, pulling me away from my thoughts. “I know this is difficult, resisting Satan’s temptations are the hardest thing we as humans have to face, and even more so for you. But, Darius, you can never forget the power of choice.
“There are going to be hard things in life, they’re supposed to be; resisting Satan is hard; it’s supposed to be. And of course it will be especially hard for people like you and I, people who get special attention from Satan.
“You may look at all those numbers and all that research that love to study so much and feel like it’s ok to do what you’re doing, you have no choice. You may feel like you’re destined to do it, you can’t help but to do it; all these others have failed so how could you succeed. You will give up on yourself just as society has given up on itself; people will have unwed sex, so don’t try to stop them; people will have abortions, so let’s just facilitate them, and people will live a life of sin, so just accept it.
“Do not believe it! There is always a choice, you are not resigned nor destined to anything! Yes you will be tempted; that unholy thirst will grab onto you and squeeze you so hard you will feel its pressure on your very soul! Who knows how low it could pull you. But when it pulls you to your lowest…when you have that child alone with you for the first time and that demonic thirst is overtaking you and you know he can be your indulgence, your solution. When you’re thinking of all the numbers " and I knew you rely on those things as if they were your Gods " and you’re using them to justify what you’re about to do; telling yourself you have no choice…when that happens, remember. You always have choice. It is a decision that you are making; no outside forces, no inner monster controlling your thoughts, no nothing! It’s you making the decision to do what you’re about to do and you who can stop it.”
A pickup game of basketball really gets the blood flowing; dilated vessels, pounding hearts, muscles flooding with the stuff. I could smell it from my apartment, but from here I could taste it. Perched against the chain link fence that lined the basketball court outside the apartment, I thought to myself, ‘this must be what hell is like.’ I could feel my teeth digging into my bottom lip, I could feel the hollow panging in my stomach, and I could feel the desire lurking just beneath the surface.
This was my torture; a wine tasting for an alcoholic, only worse. A small part of me enjoyed being here, the sights, the smells, the thoughts that burned through my head, but for the most part I would rather have been anywhere else. I had to be here, though, Michael wanted me here. He mainly wanted to ensure I saw him put his skills on display, but also liked having me here to make sure the older kids didn’t interfere with their game. In reality, neither of these were valid reasons; bullies rarely showed up, and Michael wasn’t that good anymore, but he wanted me here, nonetheless and I appeased him.
Over the last few years the kid had grown on me. Well, a little more than that actually, he’d become like a son to me, no, a little brother. I thought about him nonstop: fun things I could take him to do; things I could pick up for him the store (I never left a store without getting him a gift, ever); if anyone had hurt him. His mother loved me - she called me the teenage pregnancy she never had - but she hated me at the same time for turning her son into a spoiled brat. Anything he wanted he knew he could come to me for and anytime he got in trouble I was his staunchest defender, if not his partner in crime; once I even snuck him a Nintendo DS while he was grounded. His mother really liked that one. She loved me, though, because she knew I loved him. What she didn’t know is that I also feared him, maybe more than anything.
“You won’t be seeing me anymore after today, Michael. I have to go away.”
“Wh-what?” The look that overtook his face was perhaps the purest form of shock I’d ever seen. “Where are you going?”
My glazed eyes darted around the room, avoiding his gaze. Just speaking was such a struggle. I was gurgling like a baby, trying to fight back a complete breakdown.
Meekly, I began to open my mouth to answer his question, but before I could he threw his arms open and shoved out his chest, the way boys do right before they scuffle. Then, in angry frustration, screamed, “what did I do?!”
His face was so strange to me then, even though tears welled in his eyes it was not sadness, but pure rage, insane rage, that covered his face.
“Michael,” I choked through my ever swelling throat, “I don’t want…I’m going to end up hurting you. I gotta-“
He stared at me with confusion and fear in his eyes. I felt like I was being strangled by the silence that filled the room while Michael sorted out his thoughts.
“Because you’re a vamp?” he scoffed, anger returning to his face. “You’re leaving because you’re a vamp? I don’t care, Darius. I don’t. F*****g. Care!”
“Michael!” I scolded. How off that at a time like that I would switch back into big brother mode.
“Darius! Please…PLEASE!” Michael’s body jerked violently into a pathetic slouch. “Please don’t leave,” he sobbed. “Don’t leave me.”
Seeing Michael this way was too much for me; I broke down. My sobs were uncontrollable, my tears flooded from my eyes. I had tried so hard to be strong for him and failed at even that.
“Michael, I’m sorry. It’s-“
“I’ll do whatever! Anything!” he pleaded.
Suddenly, he jerked himself upright, and once again stuck out his chest in pride. Then, he ripped off his shirt exposing a pale, skinny torso. I could almost see his ribs through his thin frame. And through his pale white skin I could easily see the pulsating vessels webbing throughout his chest.
“Bite me! Do it if you want, I don’t care! I won’t say a word, I swear! You can do it, if you just stay. Just stay.”
“Michael, I can’t”
But I could, and I wanted to. I could feel my teeth digging into my bottom lip. I could almost taste his sweet blood, almost feel its warmth washing through my mouth.
“You can do it, Darius, I don’t care, I don’t!” he begged. “It’s just me helping you out. I’m just trying to help you out! I want you to do it. You don’t have to go. No one will know.”
I could nearly feel it, the satiety, the absence of the horrible panging in my stomach. Quenching the eternal thirst that has tormented me for so many years I couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have it there. What had it felt like before my soul had been taken, leaving behind an empty space constantly begging to be filled. Before I was left with this constant, insatiable hunger? I couldn’t even remember.
I could feel it again.
And he wanted it, he wanted it…but did I? If I took it, there was no going back from there. Once I did this, the change would be complete, and the no amount of willpower would be able to fight away the cravings then. I’d be a monster " the same monster that’d haunted me. I’d hurt people, many people, but worst of all I’d hurt Michael, over and over again.
He wants me around, but that’s only because he has no idea what I really am, nor does he know what I would become. He has no idea what the sacrifice that he was offering to make truly entailed. It was more than his blood; it was his childhood, his soul, his humanity, much of his life; all that would be lost. His life would be filled the grief and guilt, torment, torture, unholy desires, and constant battle. Satan would be in him the same way Satan is in me and when he was my age and he looked back at how the Devil got into him, it was my face he’d see. I’d be cursing Michael " who I love more than anything or anyone in the world " to live my life.
But he wanted it.
And so did I.
© 2011 TJ
Virginia Beach, VA
AboutMy name is TJ and I'm still just your typical aspiring author :) Follow me on twitter @tj_coles And for some short stories in 140 characters or less follow @timmystales more..
People who liked this story also liked..