Thursday, 14 December 2006, 09:00
The sun beamed through the glass wall, smacking me in the face. I grimaced and rolled onto my left side, pulling black silk sheets over my face. I groaned miserably, lying there motionless. My head was throbbing. This hangover is gonna ruin my whole day… What time is it…?
I slowly lowered the sheet, squinting from the blinding light, semi-coherent. Through my barely-open right eye, I analyzed my blurry surroundings, slowly coming to the conclusion that I was not in my own bed. I located a digital alarm clock on the nightstand and rotated it. 09:00… Fuck. I have to be at work in two hours… What the hell happened… and where the hell am I? Searching my memories, I slowly recounted the events of the past night. The last thing I remembered before blacking out was a waterfall of vomit flowing out of my mouth, down onto the oak floor. Oh shit…
I sat up, quickly scanning through the glass walls of the condo for Jack, but didn't locate him. Laying on his side of the bed, however, were my clothes, washed and folded, topped with a red envelope. A large "K" was calligraphed on the front. Grunting, I reached over, snatched it up, tore it open, and unfolded the letter within. A white card fell into my lap.
By the time you read this, I'll likely be working on 374's renovation. You're welcome to stop by if you'd like, but please make yourself at home. Stay as long as you wish. I've enclosed a master keycard with this letter which gives you full access to the building. Keep it—you're welcome to come by anytime. I trust you'll not abuse it.
I had a wonderful time getting to know you; I hope to see you again soon. Oh, and don't worry about your 'mishap'—I took care of it. It's not a problem. I'm just glad I don't have carpet, haha ;)
What the fuck was I thinking!? I screwed around with a DUDE!!! Fucking Christ, I must have been trashed… I sat the letter down on the bed and swung my naked, aching body over the side. I took a deep breath, rubbing my throbbing skull. After a moment, I grabbed my clothes along with the keycard, flung myself vertical, and walked through the transparent door into the adjacent bathroom. I sat my clothes on a counter and ventured over to the toilet. I lifted the seat and began to take the longest piss ever recorded in human history. As I relieved myself, I looked around at my amazing surroundings. Jack had a huge triangular whirlpool tub in the corner of the bathroom to my right. Behind me was a modern waterfall shower. Looking left through the glass wall, I saw the familiar kitchen and living areas, beautifully decorated and immaculately clean, without a trace of my cookie-flinging. As I grunted out the last squirts of my piss, I noticed a humongous bookshelf in the bedroom along the walls. I became interested in what he could possibly have so many books about—it was an entire library!
I shook my junk, flushed, and dropped the seat, causing an echoing DONK to reverberate through the entire floor. I dressed myself, added the keycard to my wallet's card collection, returned to the bedroom, and began browsing the collection of encyclopaedias, non-fiction novels, and tomes. I quickly became uninterested until my eyes locked on a large leather, hand-bound book that appeared hundreds of years old. I carefully reached up and pulled the down heavy book from the shelf. The cover was beaten and scored. I turned the book over in search of a title, but found none. Curious, I walked over to the reading chair and sunk in, opening the book to the first page. The paper was handmade, yellowed with age. The writing here appeared to be inscribed in German with an old dip pen, beautifully calligraphed. I could only make out three lines of text, which appeared to be a name, date of birth, and date of death.
Foerster, Heinrich Johann.
Geboren 18 Dezember 1521
Gestorben 2 Februar 1547
I rummaged through the book, stupidly searching for the English version. Names and words flew by until about halfway through the antique tome. I slowed as English began to take over. The book appeared to be a journal, handed down over generations. I hesitated for a moment, wondering how much trouble I'd be in with Jack had he caught me reading it. I quickly shrugged it off and turned the pages to find Jack's first entry.
Malford, Jackson Anthony.
Born 11 November 1981
Died 23 September 1997
Guess that's their 'undeath date'. This is so creepy… Let's see… '97-'98 was the year before my Freshman year. Nope, he's been dead longer than I've known him. Well, that's a weird thought…
24 Sept 1997. I was in a car accident yesterday. The EMT tried to stop the bleeding, but I was bleeding too much internally. I was going to die, but he turned my head and injected me with something… or somethings. I felt two stabs at the same time, with a row of hard somethings connecting them. If I didn't know better, I'd venture to say the EMT bit me. It stung, then burned. I was paralyzed. I felt liquid fire pump into my bloodstream. I couldn't scream. It lasted what felt like an eternity. Then it stopped. The bleeding stopped. The world just stopped. I could feel my wounds begin to heal. It felt like my stomach was turning inside out. A lot of pressure, but no pain, per se, as though I was numb, but I wasn't. Another eternity passed, then I felt myself normalizing again. Still no pain. I looked at the EMT and told him what had happened. He leaned down to my ear and told me what he did saved my life, but ended it at the same time. He gave me this book, saying that I needed it now more than he did, and told me to read as much as I could. He instructed me to write a first entry--this entry--as soon as I had some time to myself here in the hospital, and then to write more entries as I saw fit. He also made me promise that I would keep it well hidden. I owed him my life, so I gratefully promised that I would… And so I have kept it thus far… But I just don't understand how he could cure someone who had already seen Death Himself…
My eyes were wide with an unwavering attentiveness. I don't think a nuclear blast could have torn me away from reading the journal. I eagerly flipped the page.
26 Sept 1997. I've been studying this journal for the past two days, and I know what I've become. All the signs that other people wrote about are there. The heat, the sensory improvements, the rapid healing—In fact, it's somewhat amusing watching the nurses' faces as they see how fast I've healed over the previous day.They say it's a miracle… If only they knew… I mean, I'm grateful that I'm not dead, but a vampire vimm? (I guess there's a difference between vampires and vimms, but people just categorize them all the same, since they we are just as 'undead' as the vampires.) There's a lot of secrecy involved in this… this culture(?) Gods, even the terminology is screwing with my head. I tried to contact the EMT that did this to me, but I can't find him. Apparently there are quite a few ambulance service companies in the area, and I don't even remember his name… Daniel… Damien… David… Dirk… D-something??? My head was foggy from the trauma… And it's getting foggy again just thinking about all the shit I have to learn—and fast. I'm going to study the journal more after some rest… I'm just glad I was taken out of school for the semester. The doctors said it would be months before I was ready to go back, and that works for me… I need to prepare myself for the vimm world without the pressures of high school.
1 Oct 1997. The doctor released me to go "finish healing at home" today… Not that there's any healing left! Haha. Okay, I know this isn't supposed to be a private write-about-whatever-you-want kind of journal. I'm supposed to write about ways to help the future readers of it cope with and learn more about what they've just become. My coping strategy is making it fun… with SPORTS! And confusing Mom, but I don't recommend trying that. I've never been so energetic… but I was just reading about a guy from Stockholm in here that stayed outside too long and got heat stroke—in the dead of Winter! Apparently there's some credibility to the legends, though it is exaggerated greatly. One of the writers in this journal was a cell biologist, and he wrote that the toxin in a vimm's bloodstream causes most cells to become stronger and more efficient, but melanin production is greatly slowed, allowing more ultraviolet rays from the sun to get through the skin, and since we don't retain as much water, we dehydrate easier. He mentioned some really sophisticated biological jargon about the chemical makeup of blood too, but I didn't understand it. I'm not that big on science, although it is probably important…
I was suddenly and intensely compelled to "Get away from the book". Somehow, I felt that wherever Jack was, he had caught me placing my nose where it didn't belong. It was a feeling worse than when Mom caught me jerking off for the first time. I was strangled by fear. I slapped the journal shut, returned it to its place on the shelf, and bolted out the bedroom door. In my panic, I failed to take Newton's first law of physics into consideration, especially since neither the floor nor my sandals gave much friction: I slid during the last yard to the elevator door, overcompensated, and got an uncomfortably detailed look at the elevator's 'down' button as my head slammed into it. My maimed body crumpled to the floor, sense returning to me in a wave of pain emanating from my face. I yelled angrily and punched the elevator wall--a normal practice when I piss myself off, though it simply added pain to pain. Dings became increasingly audible from behind the doors, so I began mustering strength to raise myself off the ground. I stood just as the dong sounded. I boarded, pressed "G", and began my 40-ding descent to the lobby.
When the doors parted this time, I spent no time admiring the décor. I whisked out of the elevator, bolted out the front door, and darted across the street, without even waiting for the "walk" signal. I dug out my keys and jammed one into the keyhole of the Mustang. I looked back, paranoid, searching for any sign that I had been followed. Typical Long Beach streets jovially waved back at me. I opened her up, jumped in, and rocketed off toward the gym. I had figured I'd blow off the steam before I blew it off on my customers and co-workers.
---------- 11:00 ----------
As it turned out, the workout just wasn't enough to sweat out all the happenings of the morning or night before. Every fit guy I had seen at the gym just reminded me of Jack, which drained my focus and strength and sent my imagination flying off to fuck-land. One guy who looked very much like Jack snatched my attention one too many times, causing me to fumble a 30-pound weight down onto my right foot. I was pretty sure the entire gym had been staring at me as I yelped and danced around on my left foot. Needless to say, I left early.
Driving in to the Gas USA parking lot, I saw that it was going to be a rough day. Trash littered the lot, the cans were overflowing, and customers looked peeved. I pulled the Mustang around to the back of the building and parked her. I reached into the back seat, grabbed my work shirt, exited the car, and slipped it on over my black shirt. I cringed as a fluff of body odor slid by my nose. Damn, I stink.
As soon as I opened the front door of the gas station, Samantha eyed me down, silently confirming my thoughts about what I was walking in to. She finished with her customer and turned to me as I came behind the service counter, hand on hip. She began to stare.
"What?" I inqured, confused.
She moved her index finger as though she was drawing a circle around my head, then returned her hand to her hip. "What's this?"
I had no idea what she was talking about. Raising my brow, I shook my head. "What's what?"
"It looks like you really pissed someone off. Imagine that." She grinned, obviously picturing me under assault.
I reached up and touched my forehead, making it throb and reminding me of my morning mishap. It was very tender, probably swollen. Shit. "Uh... I don't know," I lied.
Not wanting to talk about it, I ducked into the management office, desperately hoping Sam would find something better to do than nag me. As soon as my ass contacted the worn office chair, I saw her poke her head through the office doorway.
Before she could open her mouth, I snapped at her, without even glancing away from the computer. "Samantha, I know for a fact you have better things to do than to come in here and press me for crap that was never any of your business to begin with. If you don't have any customers at the counter, get out of this office and round up the trash that I passed on my way in. Once that's done, clean and stock the soda station. If you don't want more work to do, at least make yourself look busy, which can't be done standing in my doorway. I'll come find you if and when I need something from you. Git."
As quickly and silently as she had appeared, Sam vanished. My patience had worn thin long before walking in the door, and I was having serious issues keeping my temper in check. If I hadn't have been the store manager, I had the feeling I was going to wind up doing or saying something to someone that would have gotten me fired. Luckily, I was able to bury myself in paperwork for the majority of my shift with limited interruption.
Fifteen minutes before my shift's end, I heard tires squeal, followed by angry panic from the service counter. I looked at the security camera feed, only to find a dark-colored Civic speeding off the lot. I rolled my eyes and ran my fingers over my buzzed head, knowing full well that this was going to ruin my chances of getting to leave on time.
---------- 21:00 ----------
After dealing with my district manager over the drive-off, distraction after distraction kept me from leaving. I finally tore myself away from the building nearly four hours later than expected. I grumbled quietly to myself during the entire drive back to my apartment.
I dragged myself through my apartment door, praying that nothing else went wrong. The door slammed behind me as I dropped my keys in the change bowl. I kicked off my sandals by the door and shuffled toward my bedroom, but before I even passed the computer, my phone began vibrating. I sighed, dreading whom it might be, and dug it out of my cargo pocket; it was Tits. Yeah, she might make things better... I answered the call.
"Hey, babe. How are ya?"
Andrea's perky voice promptly greeted me. "Jeeeeeeez, Kaedan! Where in Nova Scotia have you been? I called you like ten times today! Even my ex responds after the fifth!" She giggled. "No, really, I don't call him. He's a douche. But seriously, are you okay? How was work? OH MY GAWD I have to tell you something first! I was shopping today and my heel snapped! In the middle of Gucci! It was sooooo hil-ari-ous! That's what I get for buying cheap. Anyways. Mmhmm, your go."
I couldn't help but smile while imagining the irony of her hobbling around on a broken high heel in a high-end fashion store. "Way to go, Andy. I could use a video of that right now. I had the shittiest day... Do you think you can come over tonight? I'll watch whatever you want to watch. Promise."
She paused a moment, chewing her lips while humming through the speaker, then returned. "I want to! I do! But I have my finals tomorrow. I'm sorry, Kee-kee! What's wrong? Maybe if you, like, talk it over with me, you'll feel all better! I talk to my girl friends, like, ALL the TIME. It makes me feel better! Mmhmm?"
I hesitated, picking and choosing which parts of the day I could recount. God, I want to tell her the whole story, but no fucking way! I'm not getting the 'Stang keyed up! "Just work. I had another drive-off, this time right before my shift was over… You remember how the last one ruined my day. My boss is a dick." Suddenly, the word 'dick' had become unholy. I shuddered, smile shaking off and shattering on the floor.
"Uhh… huhhhh... There's more?" She asked rhetorically, the raised eyebrow audible. She went silent, forcing me to respond in some way.
"No, seriously, babe. Work was murder." I winced again. What is the freaking deal? Every word I come up with reminds me of vampires, which reminds me of messing around with Jack!
"I'm still listening." I could hear my imagined tapping of her foot.
I had to come up with something believable, and fast. Tits may be ditzy, but she is the most dangerous kind of ditzy: an intelligent ditz that knows how to …womanize a man. By that, I mean she can turn a typical man, emotions all walled up, into a gushing fountain of information, affection, gossip, and even tears. She had worked her magic on me flawlessly before, but I can't afford to be mesmerized this time. At this point in time, I wasn't sure whose wrath was worrying me into secrecy more, Andy's or Jack's.
"Kaedan James! Answer me! Tell me you are NOT standing me up on our date tomorrow! I bought the cutest dress at Macy's and just you wait until you smell this a-maz-ing perfume!"
I stifled a snicker. I cannot believe she just used my middle name like my mother. "No, it's still on. You know I wouldn't do that to you, Andrea Reneé." Naturally, I injected a childish banter into her name.
She gasped. "O. M. G. You did NOT! It's so on. It's on like Donkey Kong!" She laughed. "I miss you! I wish I was there to, like, beat out whatever it is that's eating your ass. I can't wait for tomorrow night! But seriously, I need to study some more before bed. Mmkay?"
Still wincing from her choice of words, I absently nodded, then realized she can't hear that. "Yeah, can't wait to eat your a—uh, eat AT your... uh... mmm... I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight..." I faceplanted into my words.
"Wow. Kaedan. Seriously. It coulda been cute if you had tried harder to cover it up. Or made it sexy. Or better yet, hadn't said it in the first place. You're a freaking horndog. I'm hanging up."
And she was not lying; the line instantly went dead. "FUCK!" I yelled at the top of my lungs, heaving my phone into my pillow. I kicked the wooden bed post, maiming one of the few body parts that wasn't already throbbing. I collapsed onto the bed face up. "Just fucking shoot me now! SHIT!"
My phone buzzed once, signaling its receipt of a text message. Unwilling to put up with any more bullshit, I swiped my hand across the bed, sending the pillow and phone flying into the corner of the room. I stared at the popcorn ceiling, silently daring it to fall on me and make my night. When it I realized that it had no intention of falling, I huffed and slid off of the bed. A relaxing hot shower sounded like a really good idea.
As soon as I flipped on the bathroom light, I noticed the huge bruise on my forehead staring back at me through the mirror. I had figured there would be something, but my entire brow was purple. I rubbed it tenderly, wondering why nobody at work had mentioned it, and how I was going to explain it to Tits the following evening. I undressed and examined my blemished body in the mirror for anything else out of the ordinary, but came out clean, save for my own self-mutilations from the day. Relieved, I started the shower, hopped in, and closed the glass door. The water soothed my sore, aching muscles and throbbing wounds. I felt my stress lather up along with the body wash, run off of my body, and disappear down the drain. I probably scrubbed my chest for a solid two minutes, desperately hoping vampires didn't have any toxins in their cum. I wasn't even positive if Jack had cleaned me up at all, let alone washed my chest... I simply couldn't remember what happened after spewing Long Island all over his floor and coffee table. At least my asshole wasn't sore...
I waltzed out of the bathroom fifteen or twenty minutes later, feeling rejuvenated. I had lost all track of time, and I really didn't want to find it until the sun was back. I tossed my towel in with the laundry, flipped off the bathroom light, returned to the bedroom. As I grabbed my pillow off of the floor, my phone landed face up in front of me, display lit with 1 NEW MSG from Jack M. What the hell... How did he get my number? Wait, how does my phone know who... aaaayee am such a moron. I was only passed out for oh, say, a few HOURS!
Self-loathing once again, I snatched up the phone and opened the message.
I know... and I apologize for taking your number without your consent, but I need a way to keep in contact with anyone that has full access to Plateau... And I
My phone was a piece of shit. Any message longer than 160 characters is chopped into pieces. On top of that, my service provider frequently delivers messages to my phone several hours after it was sent. I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. I see his point of view, though he went about it the wrong way. I guess he wasn't a bad dude... And hotter than fire... And those fangs... So cute, devilish, dark, sexy... And flat wrong, all at the same time... Geez, I'm seriously thinking about this?
I facepalmed, noticing as I looked down through my fingers at my naked body that I was halfway hard. I boggled at my dick. Nice. Not only am I thinking about hanging with him again after the stunt I pulled, I'm getting my rocks off thinking about it! I'm in deep shit...
expect us to mess around every time you come over. Send me a text, give me a call, or drop by any time.
As I mentally pieced the messages together, I felt my face redden with rage, boner deflating rapidly. That motherfucker. I stared at the screen for a solid minute, reading through it again, my blood boiling. I chucked the phone at the far wall with my full strength, sending plastic fragments flying across the room. I rested my forehead in my left hand, seething. Just when I was starting to like him... I collapsed backward onto the bed and closed my eyes, attempting to calm myself down, but failing miserably.
After a moment of 'meditation', I stormed across the room and flipped off the overhead light. In a brief glance at the pile of mangled electronics and plastic that was once my phone, I saw that the screen was still lit. Scoffing, I scooped the remainder of the phone off the floor. Apparently the phone's system had survived the impact, though the screen's liquid crystal display was now very colorful and difficult to read. The damaged screen announced that I had received yet another message from Jack. I hesitated for a moment, clenching my teeth, then pulled it up.
wanted to be able to get a hold of you for personal reasons... 6 years is a really long time. I'm only asking for your friendship... Please do not think that I
Confused, I attempted to piece together the whole message, quickly realizing that I had busted my phone over nothing. My blood cooled as I read it through.
I know... and I apologize for taking your number without your consent, but I need a way to keep in contact with anyone that has full access to Plateau... And I wanted to be able to get a hold of you for personal reasons... 6 years is a really long time. I'm only asking for your friendship... Please do not think that I expect us to mess around every time you come over. Send me a text, give me a call, or drop by any time.
I exhaled, relieved. A smile crept across my face as I thought about my encounter with Jack's insanely hot naked body. Lost in my thoughts, I absently climbed into bed and plugged my phone into the charger. I rolled onto my right side, imagining that Jack was in bed beside me, meeting my gaze. I stared blankly into the darkness of my bedroom for a moment, then closed my eyes. I was asleep within five minutes.