Blood Like Ambrosia

All I could smell was a mix of fruit, coconut, and…marshmallow? It was only for a split second, like she was simply passing by, but the scent stayed in my nostrils for days. I’m not sure what she looked like nor do I really care. I just wanted her. Her neck in my hand and my tongue licking up her blood from the bite like a dog. I know, it sounds despicable. How could someone want to see another person like that? It’s almost perverted. That much, I’m aware of. I’m afraid I cannot give you any solace that I am a “good guy.” I was never a good guy. Being turned didn’t change that. 

For days, I tried to find her. I hoped she would come through that busy street again, running away from…something. Perhaps someone. I could smell her blood, meaning that she was wounded. I’d be lying if I said I cared why at that moment. I was going off of pure instinct. I gave up after a couple of weeks. I had to give up on that fantasy. 

Or so I thought. I was walking to my favorite coffee shop, taking the more sketchy route. Usually, around these parts, this path has decent victims of my fangs: homeless, prostitutes, gangsters, drug dealers, and sometimes, those who are lost. I never suck them dry and always wipe their memories. I don’t particularly enjoy feeding to kill, but that doesn’t mean I don’t milk them for all they’re worth. 

There’s this empty warehouse I pass by that was once used for package storage, but was quickly abandoned after the reputation of this area of the city declined. The nectar-like smell hit my nostrils once more and my head whipped towards its direction: the warehouse. Odd, since it hasn’t been used in decades. I prowled towards the ajar door, following my nose and the lust clouding my brain. Slipping through the crack, I saw a trail of blood leading to the back of the metal cage. Naturally, I followed it. Where it led to was the object of my desire.

A young woman, probably in her mid-20s, was tied to a wooden chair, gagged, handcuffed, and covered in bruises, scratches, and very unflattering rags that barely covered anything. What overpowered my desire was the giant slash across her abdomen and three matching ones on her back. This was what I smelled? I have seen some brutal and horrifying things in my unfortunately very long lifetime and I have been the proprietor of some. I have almost no doubt that she had pissed off some well-known gang. For some reason, I felt a certain kind of…pity towards her situation. I walked closer, careful not to wake up from her unconscious state. Her blood stained the knives and whips nearby that the perpetrators haphazardly left around. Quite dumb of them, considering they were gangsters. Perhaps they are not as well-known as I first believed. 

I took one of the knives, first licking off the fresh blood dripping down the side, and cut the ropes tying her to the chair. Her head lolled to the side, causing her hair to move in a way that revealed her face. I shall be brutally honest this time: she was plain, but in a beautiful way. There was a beauty mark under her left eye and her lips were full, but there were bruises covering both eyes that made them swollen shut. I used a bobby pin that held my hair back to unlock her cuffs. She slumped forward, causing me to rush to catch her. I heard the back entrance’s door creak and cursed whichever god is out there. Now I’m involved. I speed out of the warehouse and envision the doors of the nearest hospital’s ER. Poof, I’m there and no witnesses of my teleportation. Always a plus. I rush inside and yell some meaningless excuse about where I found her. A nurse tells me to place her in Room 4, to which I do. Then, a swarm of doctors and nurses surround her, yelling medical jargon that I don’t understand. I never was interested in taking the medical route after being turned, regardless of how easily accessible blood would be. 

I expected myself to leave it at that. I added to the handful of good deeds I’ve done. That was it. It should’ve been it. But no, it was not. I was going to go home, take a shower, change, have something light to eat, and go to work. I unfortunately found myself staying in the waiting room to hear of her outcome after my meal. I was informed that she had suffered great blood loss, which I could’ve told them just by looking at her and of course, the missing ambrosia-esque scent from her body, but that she will live. And then another unexpected thing happened: I felt relief. Why was that? For someone I don’t even know? I chalked it up to the fact that I could then gain access to her blood somehow. I was allowed to see her in the ICU, though I didn’t want to stay long. 

I did. 

She had woken up and though she was groggy and her voice sounded like she smoked for most of her life, she thanked me. Her eyes were glossy, but I told her a lame joke about how that shine is just because I was a knight in shining armor. She laughed, then coughed, then groaned. I told her not to do that, but all I wanted her to do was laugh for a couple more seconds. 

I tried to shake the thoughts of her out of my mind but I couldn’t. I had dreams of people who looked like her, or at least similar. I knew what that meant. I watched her heal and go through rehab. She struggled many times and wanted to give up. She yelled at me and asked for me to go away so many times. I never did. She wondered why I even saved her or how I knew where she was. I gave her the same excuse I made up when I dropped her off in the ER. I never answered the former question. 

Slowly, the color returned to her face and her bruises faded. Though the cuts on her arms and legs left light scars, the ones across her stomach and back stayed as a horrible reminder of what she went through. She told me how she got them. I was even more repulsed than before. She had declined one of the member’s advances, but of course she didn’t know that at first. He took it personally and ordered a kill mark, as if she was a piece of meat to be solely his and if he can’t have her, no one can. Fury burned in my veins. I wanted to drain every one of them. She touched my hand and those impulses disappeared. Well, mostly. She said not to hurt them. I didn’t listen. I fed on their blood until they were so close to the brink of death, one little suck would’ve done it. I resisted though. Somehow. 

After six long months of rehab, she was allowed to go home. She looked almost…scared when she heard that. I offered her my home. She teased me, asking if I was asking her to move in with her. I tried to deny it and I think I did a pretty good job. Then I cursed myself for the offer. I knew exactly what was happening because I’ve seen it played out a multitude of times, but only once in my own life. Living together would be dangerous, considering how close her scent would be, how strong and sweet it’d smell. I’ve resisted this long, what’s a few months? That’s what I told myself.

It was three months into living together when I was ambushed by my own kind. They were higher in the hierarchy than me and much more powerful, so of course, they overpowered me. I was threatened to give her up or there will be consequences. What consequences? What’s going to happen to her? Those were the thoughts that I had. I didn’t care about myself, I could only think about her. They saw that. They used it against me. I was blackmailed: drain her, or someone else will. I wouldn’t know when or by who. It could be tomorrow, or it could be years from now. I couldn’t live not knowing when she would die. So, I chose the former. I had to be the one to drain her. It wouldn’t feel like dying. I can make it feel good, like riding a high. She wouldn’t know she’s dying. That’s the least I can do for her. They temporarily branded me as a precaution to make sure I’d do it. Then, they threw me back to my home where I was greeted with a scream of surprise followed by her worried face. 

With her eyebrows scrunched together and her lips pulled in a frown, I broke. I pulled her lips to my own. She was surprised at first, then melted into the kiss. I felt her tongue run over my fangs and it took everything in me not to jump at her. I pulled away to dispel the desire. The image of my tongue licking the bite wound flashed through my mind for the first time since first smelling her blood. She looked at me confused. I had to tell her. Before she dies, I have to tell her. So I did. There wasn’t anything in the deal that said otherwise. 

She just looked at me sadly, but she understood what must be done. That made me angry. How could she understand? Why did she? Doesn’t she know that I hate that I have to do this? Doesn’t she know that this is the part of the story where we find a way to bypass this stupid deal? Maybe we watched too many rom-coms, but I was desperate. There had to be another way. I could tell in her eyes that she accepted her fate. They shone, but the corners of her lips were upturned slightly. I turned away. Why did she understand? Until it dawned on me. She knew. She knew what I was. How? 

She could tell when I realized what she knew. She explained that she knew from his sorry excuse for how he found her. There was no way she could’ve ended up in the alleyway, based on the way her assailants were treating her. Plus, the news covered their deaths that occurred coincidently after she told him. Her memory is muddled, but she vaguely remembered the speed at which they moved to get out of that warehouse. She connected the dots. 

I looked at her, eyes wide. She smiled sadly again, then took my hand and placed it on her heart. She spoke those three words neither of us had the courage to utter. I felt her heart rate speed up, then she kissed me. She nicked her tongue on the sharp point of one of my fangs and I tasted her sweet blood. I almost lost it. It tasted so good, so familiar, like ambrosia for the gods. It took everything in me to pull away once again. She shook her head, smiled that sad smile. I felt my eyes water. I thought I wouldn’t have to do this again. I thought I could block off my heart and put walls high enough that no one could jump them. Her blood tasted like my first love’s. That is why I was attracted to her smell when she ran past me. It wasn’t until I actually tasted it that it clicked. When I was turned, she was the first victim. My desires as a newborn made me drain her. Once the high wore off, I realized what I had done. That’s why I swore off completely draining people. 

But her. Her blood. God, it was everything. I needed it. Craved it. Lust overtook me. I became a monster once again. I kissed her deep, tasting the faint blood from the cut on her tongue. I needed more. I traveled down her neck. My fangs extended. Then, I bit. She didn’t resist. Not even a little bit. I sucked her blood and then I couldn’t stop. My mind wanted to, my heart was telling me to stop, but my body had its own thoughts. It wouldn’t stop. Eventually, I had enough blood for one bite and I tore my fangs out of her neck. She looked at me, a little fatigued, then turned her head the other way, exposing the other side of her neck. My body acted before I could even think. With my fangs buried deep in her neck, I drank her blood. When she was close to being drained, she tried to fight. It’s very human, to fight for life. My hand moved to her neck to pin her down. She struggled, then…she didn’t. I released her and licked the excess blood from the wound. 

My wish came true. The image that I fantasized about when she ran past me that day became reality. I snapped out of my blood high, the evidence all over her neck and collarbone and for the first time since my turning, I cried. The brand burned into my skin, then slowly disappeared. Seems I’ve done what they wanted me to. It only cost me my second love. 

I am not a good guy. I kill people I love. I drain people of their blood until the brink of death. I am a vampire. That is who I am. 

Who I am…is a monster. 

That is all I’ll ever be.