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PG-18 Wine and Red Roses


Your Self Doubt Lingers
Samuel sat at home, the rainy day causing him to stay inside. Well, it’s not like he was going outside anytime soon. The smell of the rain sent him into a state of peace and relaxation, so, he sat with a book a blanket, and a comfy recliner in sit and relax in. He took in a deep breath, the smell of the burning pinewood filling his nose, accompanied by the scent of the wet cobblestone roads and damp rich soil. This was what he called a memorable moment. The fire popped and crackled as he read, the flickering light from the fire casting a shadow over his book.

‘Cesar drew his gleaming sword from its sheath that sat on his hip, facing the monstrous dragon before him. Its breath wreaked of death and his fallen men, its heat would have peeled the skin off any normal person, but this was no normal being that stood before the dragon. The dragons long scaly body wound around the cave it resided in, its scales either drenched in the blood of the fallen or writhing in excitement for its next meal. Large red-scaled tipped with gold surrounded the small man in front of its large face, grinning widely to show off his teeth. Cesar took in a deep breath, and took a step forward, sword raised-‘

He stopped reading as he got a tingling sensation that sent a chill through his body. He let out a loud groan, setting his book aside and standing with inhuman stealth and swiftness. His body twitched as he took in a shaky breath. He was hungry. Fangs pulsing for the blood of his ex-people, he knew he needed to feed or he would be screwed. In the blink of an eye, he was at the front door, hand on the handle which would lead him into the rainy, damp weather where he would find his next meal. ‘C’mon just go’, his fangs seemed to say, their pulses growing stronger and more compelling, ‘It’ll be over in a few minutes’. He shook his head, trying furiously to fight this feeling that overcame him. His inhuman part of him that took control, made him a monster that killed the people he cared about, no matter how hard he tried to fight it.

Stepping out the front door, he let himself go, letting go of his humanity are the monster inside him took in a deep breath, searching for his next meal. Soon, he found the scent of someone nearby, the smell of alcohol strong on the man’s breath. He could hear his labored breathing as the stumbled around town. A freakish smile spread across his face, and he was off, striding toward his next victim. This would be the fifth casualty this week. His was getting worse, and if he didn’t learn to control himself, he would either be discovered or everyone would end up dead. He couldn’t let either of those happen.

The strong smell of alcohol grew almost toxic as he neared his target, and he was almost compelled to turn around and find someone else, but he’d lost control of himself already, and no matter how hard he tried, his monster had his heart in a tight hold, making escape impossible. He was in a trap of monstrosity and rejection, maybe sprinkled in with a little hurt and loneliness.

He heard incoherent mumbling down an alley, so, he stood, and realized he’s found his poorly unaware victim. He turned the corner and found a man leaning against the wall, nursing on an empty bottle as he rambled to himself about being alone and hated by his family. Sam tilted his head, something about this man seemed familiar. “John?” The man turned to him, surprised. Even drunk, he could recognize his brother anywhere, his long, lanky arms, big brown eyes that matched his own, and a scar over his eyebrow that separated him from everyone else. . He blinked back tears as he rushed toward him, throwing him against the wall, “I’m so sorry,” he choked back tears, barely able to speak, and began drain his poor brother of every drop of blood he had in him.
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Can we pretend airplanes are shooting stars?
Community Volunteer
The streets had cleared of people a couple minutes, ago, along with the start of the rain. It was pouring by now, huge droplets falling out of the sky and hitting the ground so hard they bounced back, much to Ovidiu’s delight. The young man was walking down the street with a shawarma in hand, phone blasting Bon Jovi’s “Always” in his pocket. His raincoat had been neatly folded over one arm, leaving him to walk in the rain wearing nothing but a closely fitted black tank top and jeans ripped at the knees.

For the first time in months he was truly, and completely happy. What more could he want out of life? It was raining so hard one might think the gods were trying to wipe out humanity, his favourite music was playing, and he was eating the best food in town. Hell, not even the walk home could ruin his good mood. Plus, on top of the above list, he hadn’t thought about Noah in days!

He rounded a corner starting to hum along with John Bon Jovi, his hand fidgeting with the necklace Noah had given him. It was a nice necklace, in all honesty. A blue stone which his ex had drilled a hole in and shoved a small chain through. It had been hanging around his neck for months, and playing with it had become a habit. He was very nearly home, as the familiar tightening in his chest told him, when he heard the soft crying. It was hard over the music and the thundering of water all around him, the sound very nearly lost in the noise of it all. But Ovidiu’s head snapped to the side anyway.

He hadn’t really fully processed what was going on before he was pulling the young boy off the other dude. “Bro, what the fuck,” he demanded, voice dying in his throat as he fully registered what had happened. He took in the boy’s bloodstained lips and fangs, his entire body tensing up instantly. An instinct older than time told him to run. To get the fuck away from the creature before him, because there was no way he’d win in a fight. “Oh fuck…” He was paralyzed, torn between trying to carry the dying man away from the vampire, to smack said vampire over the head and hope for the best, or to just make a run for it. One thing at a time. First, Mr. Dying.

He’d known something was fucked about his city, what, with all the dead people turning up and everything. But he hadn’t put two and two together until then. The cops had said the victim’s body had been drained of blood... He chose the stupid thing to do. High on adrenaline he pushed Mc. Dead away from Mr. MacDying.“Okay, hold the fuck up,” Ovidiu snapped, hoping his fear would pass as anger. He moved to block the drunken man from the vamp, pulling a pistol out from his back pocket. It was one of the reasons he’d been so happy before. He’d been coming back home with the permit for the damn thing, and he wasn’t afraid to use it. But for some unknown reason, his hands were still shaking violently. “Chill for a sec, will ya bud?” As he spoke, he crouched beside the dying guy, pressing his coat against his throat and keeping pressure on it. “Hold that there,” he ordered Mr.Bleedsalot, hoping he wasn’t unconscious. Without getting up, he turned towards the vampire. “Okay. So. What the fuck, bro?”

He was casually pointing the pistol in the vamp’s direction, hoping it would keep him at bay. “You know, most people drink coffee when they’re thirsty…”

Ovidiu wasn’t sure how exactly to proceed. On one hand, the dude was a murder. On the other hand, he wasn’t one by choice. “Are you good?” he asked, a tremor in his voice. “Was that enough blood for ya? Also, I swear to god, make one move in our direction and I’ll put a bullet through your head.”


Protein Powder is Deliciousness
Sam hadn’t even noticed the other man until he was being pulled away from his brother. He turned to him, blinded by hungry and tears that flooded his eyes. The last bit on the human side of him was screaming, telling him something was wrong, something was going to happen. He breathed erratically, driven by the demon inside of him that furiously clawed at his very being, begging for the last drop of his brother’s blood to be split. Not only did the monster need the blood of poor unsuspecting people, but it needed the death of the victim. He shook his head, trying to get these racing thoughts straight, trying desperately to find a solution to the problem that faced him.

The smell of the metallic blood on the nearby wall and floor was strong, John was lying limply in a puddle of his blood, and this new person was interrupting his feeding. Not only was his brother’s throat bleeding uncontrollably, but his head was bleeding from the impact with the wall as well. He watched as the man in front of him walked to his brother, and gave him his jacket to at least try and stop the bleeding. But John didn’t respond. Sam blinked, the last bit of human feeling inside him pleaded for his brother to respond. But, alas, he didn’t. So, he turned his attention back to the man in front of him. It was only after he turned his back to him, crouched in front of his brother he stepped forward.

He couldn’t let him live. Neither of them, but with John bleeding out, he didn’t need to worry about that much longer. ‘No, this isn’t me, stop, STOP’ Then, the other man yelled at him to ‘hold up’ he tilted his head slightly. Why was he handling this in such a calm manner? He didn’t like it, what did he have to stop hi- speak of the devil he’s got a gun. That stopped Sam dead in his tracks, a shiver of fear running through his entire body, freezing him and making his legs heavy as lead. Then, the man began to run his mouth, telling him to stay away, and how ‘people drink coffee when they’re thirsty’. “I can’t let you live,” he said, his voice shaky and uncertain.

Blinded nearly completely by the need for blood, he hadn’t recognized the brave man in front of him. His actions sure and swift, he moved with inhuman stealth disarming the other man. Well, he was going to, until a familiar scent filled his nose. One that reminded him of a friend. He blinked, looking at the other man’s face, “Ovidiu?” Taking the handgun from his friend in one smooth motion.

He now stood in front of him, looking down, pistol in hand, looking down at his crouching friend. Bright teal messy form lack of care, and falling in his eyes in desperate need to be cut. He’d preferred his hair shorter, but since his life was taken and he was turned into a freak he hadn’t even ventured out for a trim. The rain had picked up, drenching him to the bone, though he wasn’t cold. He wasn’t warm either. He hadn’t felt anything other than the hunger than probed his very being into doing its bidding until it came again. He felt the heat from his fire, but he never felt warm or cold, just sat in front of the flickering flames in a half-numb state. His normally deep chestnut eyes were a dark red from feeding. That was a huge tell for him. If his eyes were red, he had just done something related to feeding, or he was thirsty.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke, diverting his eyes from his friend. He put to handgun into his back pocket and took a reluctant step away from him. “This isn’t my fault. I-I didn’t mean to kill him. Or anyone,” his voice was airy, speaking of the hurt he actually felt. Pain gripped his heart, almost stronger than the darkness that took residence there. He shook his head, wiping the blood that lined his lips and was dripping down his chin. Now, question was, what should he do with Ovidiu? Either leave, leaving behind the body of his once-living brother, and somehow convince him later that it was PTSD from seeing his brother be murdered that caused him to think Sam was a vampire, or he do something else.

He made up his mind. He turned, and left, running as fast as he could to get home, silently crying the entire way. When he reached home, he slammed the door shut, and sunk against the door, his legs failing him. There, on the floor, he cried himself a river. He couldn’t stop. His brother was dead, and as far as Sam knew, so was he. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe he was better off dead so he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore. He took a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the door. The smell of the recently burned pine met him, filling his nose and helped calm his nerves. Standing, he pulled the gun out of his pocket and walked into the kitchen, where he found his hidden drawer. Opening it, he placed it in the back and nodded to himself. If people found the drawer –which was hard to believe- then they would have to search for the gun to find it. So his chances of someone finding it were slim.


Can we pretend airplanes are shooting stars?
Community Volunteer
"I can't let you live," the vampire said in a shakily, his blood-red eyes creeping the holly shit out of Ovidiu. The lifeguard adjusted his grip on the gun, pressing down his coat on Mac.Dying's neck and hoping to God and all the was holly the guy was still alive. "Ovidiu?" the creature said in a trembling voice. There was a moment of hesitation, in which Ovidiu looked up, blue-grey eyes going wide, horror printing itself all over his face. Jesus Christ, fuck me with a crowbar. "SAM?" he demanded, shock making it way to easy to disarm him. The lifeguard was left looking at his empty hand, incredulously. Well...this is how I die. For somebody who'd technically been in all of Sam's classes for the past six years or so, Ovidiu didn't know the guy too well. They hung out every now and then, gone to the theaters in a group of friends. But they'd never gotten close. At least, not as close as one would want to be with somebody who had the power to kill you.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, looking away and stuffing the gun in his pocket. For a moment, Ovidiu saw red. His only means of defending himself having been whisked away, as if it was worthless. So the lifeguard did the next best thing. Still crouching by Johnny's side, on hand on the bleeding wound, he sunk his hand in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his switchblade and keys. They were worthless compared to a gun and fangs, but they were also all he had, and he was growing desperate. Fear was a wicked thing. It got control of you, freezing you in place, rendering you useless. And now, it was creeping up his throat, flooding his lungs and brain. He was fighting for breath as he slipped a key between each finger of his left hand, like they taught you in all those ‘Defend yourself’ videos on YouTube. In his right hand, he had the small knife in a white knuckled grip. “Get the fuck away from us,” he hissed, entire body tense, ready to spring. Whether it was away from the man, or at his throat, he didn’t want to find out. The creature was speaking, his words lost in the incoherent jumble which had become Ovidiu’s thoughts. In that moment, all the man could do was watch the vamp’s body, waiting for the smallest movement. He was wound up tighter than a wire, pure adrenaline coursing through his veins, just waiting for the right moment to explode. It never came.

But then he left. Sam just took off running, leaving a trail of blood and sobs behind him, and most importantly, the dying man. The knife clattered on the wet stone right after the creature was out of sight, relief washing over Ovidiu like a wave. He was alive. For a couple seconds, that was all he could think about, repeating it over and over in his head like a mantra. I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, he chanted silently, leaning against the wall of the alley, lightheaded. A small giggle escaped him, and it slowly grew louder, bouncing off the stone walls around him. He looked absolutely insane, his hand covered in blood from Mac.Dying, hair sticking to his neck and water pouring down on him, making his clothes cling to his skin. Speaking of Mac.Dying, he’d gone quiet. Ovidiu managed to drag himself up and over the man, checking for a pulse. A couple agonizing seconds passed in which the lifeguard struggled to feel a heartbeat, panic bubbling up in his chest. He was fumbling for his phone as soon as he found it, however, reflexively dialing 9-1-1. “Nine-one-one, what’s you emergency,” the young woman on the other end of the line said. “Hi,” Ovidiu breathed, his voice shaking. “So…I…” it was only then that he realized he had no idea what to say. Someone was attacked by a vampire, he imagined himself telling her. He then imagined her laughing and closing the phone in his face, because that was exactly what a sane person would do. “I…there’s a man. He’s bleeding a lot. A big dog must have jumped at his throat…” He then proceeded to give the woman their address as he wrapped his jacket around the guy’s neck more securely. Not enough to choke him, but tight enough not to fall off. Every now and then, he would glance over his shoulder, throwing the knife at a shadow at some point, almost certain Mr. Dead was going to be back. Finally, the ambulance arrived and Mac.Dying was carted away.

After Ovidiu was reassured the guy was going to be alright, his first impulse was to go home and sleep. Think about the mess with a clear head, eat something, change out of the wet clothes. The rain had washed the blood off the street, making the entire horrific event seem like a dream. A bad memory, which he could repress, like he had the death of his brother.

The only reminder of the crying vampire was his missing gun. He felt it like a phantom limb, the place at the small off his back where he’d grown used to tucking it missing the familiar weight. And along with it, Mr. Dead had taken away his only chance at a normal life. That little bitch. Rage came at him hard, unexpected and hot, sneaking its way into his temples and brain. I’m going to fuck you up, you son of a bitch. Tonight, he’d been supposed to put an end to it. For months, he’d been dreaming. He’d walk in, and sit down at the table, as he usually did. Make himself some tea, and wait for Mr. Constantin to get drunk. His father would corner him or his mother, as he usually did. Mr. Push him up against a counter, hand going to his throat, knee parting his thighs, his breath stinking of cheap liquor, as usual.

But tonight, it was supposed to be different. Ovidiu would pull the gun out, pressing it to his gut, hissing at him to get away. And when the guy didn’t get away, because they both knew he wouldn’t, Ovidiu would put a bullet through his stomach, and one through his head for good measure. And then, he’d be able to plead self defense. Mr. Constantin would be dead. Him and his mother would be safe at last. But now, that dream was gone.

He didn’t know what angered him more. That the gun was gone, or that his clothes were wet. And covered in blood. And he’d dropped his shawarma somewhere. That was what he was focusing on, blocking out how someone had nearly died in his arms.

The lifeguard was wondering around aimlessly, cold to his bones, starting to shiver, dreading the thought of going home looking like he did. Just a bit longer, he promised himself desperately, taking the long way. No doubt the old man would be drunk by now. His mother would have locked herself in their bedroom, praying to god he wouldn’t try to come in. Mr. Constantin was a strong man. He’d be able to get into the room, lock or no lock. They both knew from experience. And if Ovidiu wasn’t around to distract him? His mother was fair game. The lifeguard knew this. If he was a good person, he’d be rushing home, eager to greet his father. He wouldn’t be lurking around outside, trying to figure out how to walk in with the knowledge that this could all have been over.

He paused in front of the door to his block, keys in hand, willing himself inside. Come on. Go. The longer you wait out here, the longer she’ll be alone with him. But he couldn’t. Not tonight. Not ever again. He should have been dead by now. He pulled out his bloodstained phone and texted his mother an apology. Told her he would be late for dinner. I’d rather face a bloodthirsty vampire than my father…that’s a nice turn of events.

It took him a bit of time tracking the guy. Texted a whole bunch of people from his school and after about an hour and a half, finally got his address. Which was how he ended up pounding on the vampire’s door so hard splinters pricked his fist, drawing blood. “Give me my gun back, you little shit,” he shouted, nearly breaking down the door. He had his knife in one hand just in case Mr. Dead got any ideas, and a heavy brick in his pocket for the same reason. Was he insane? Yes. He was. “You have ten seconds to open the door, Sam!”


Your Self Doubt Lingers
After hiding the gun in his hidden drawer, he decided to change and sleep the day away. Taking in a deep breath, he walked to his room. There wasn’t a bed anymore, so he filled up his room with books and drawings he’d drawn over his absent months. Why wasn’t there a bed? Well simply because he’d learned that sleep was essential to a vampire’s daily life. He never really got tired, the need for sleep seemed to have been stripped from him. Yet another thing that mocked him about his lack of humanity. He opened his closet and found a new outfit. Not an outfit exactly, but it was something. A pair of sweats and a black hoodie, pair with his ‘I’m being depressed and lazy’ beanie.

Sam changed quickly out of his cold, wet and bloodstained clothes, and into his new ensemble. Wearing clothes like these were becoming usual for him. After a while, he’d just completely given up trying to look at least half-decent. Who was going to visit him anyway? He’d burnt his bridges for a reason, so he no longer needed to worry about surprise visits.

Teal hair falling lazily in his eyes, he walked back downstairs, both mentally and physically strained. He just wanted to make some tea and fall asleep on his chair for good measure. Sure, he didn’t need a bed and didn’t need to sleep, but he did anyway. It was a pastime that he used almost as often as dressing like an angsty teenager. He set water to boil on his stove and got his favorite tea leaves down from their assigned cabinet. His mind raced, thoughts and feelings bouncing around in his head like a Ping-Pong ball. He didn’t want to think, he didn’t even want to feel. Maybe being numb and starving at home would help keep people safe. “No stop that.” He knew better than to think that shit.

The sound of the water screaming through the tea kettle echoed in his head, almost stinging in his mind as he reached to grab the handle. The high pitched noise burned in his mind. Covering his ears, he fell to his knees, trying to block out the hideous sound that relentlessly burned his ears. After a few moments of agonizing pain, he turned off the burner and soon, the sound fizzled down, and he could hear his thoughts again.

He made his tea, and sat in his favorite chair by the fireplace, taking in a deep, calming breath. When he breathed he felt his lungs expand and let it out slowly, feeling his lungs retract. He took a sip of his tea, the minty taste warming him instantly, a smile growing across his face. He pulled out his phone and was surprised to find his phone blowing up. Texts from people he knew well, or people he didn’t, but texts none the less. Texts like He’s coming for you Sam, and You’re a dead man, or What did you do man? He’s pissed. It took him a moment to comprehend who people were talking about. He smelt him before he heard the intensely loud pounding on the door.

“Oh God help me,” he whispered and flinched when Ovidiu started pounding on the door. He hid under his blanket, covering his head as he shuddered in fear. ‘No no, just go answer the door’ he stood and ran to the door. Well, no not TO the floor, more like INTO the door. The wooden door warped from his impact. He stood, taking in a shaky breath and opened the door. “SH!” he grabbed Ovidiu by the collar and pulled him into the house, giving a quick look around outside before slamming the door shut.

“Oh uh- what gun? I-I have no guns here,” he looked around nervously, looking everywhere but Ovidiu. He couldn’t stand looking at him. The smell of blood on his knuckles was practically killing him. He was lucky he’d just eaten or he would be screwed. “Y-you need to calm d-down. You c-could have gotten me in trouble mister.” He probably looked something like a little pouty child, but he was still trying to look serious. Serious wasn’t who he was, but he tried from time to time to look the part. “Want some tea?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking, but he’d seen the knife Ovi had and didn’t want to risk pissing him off further. He slipped past him and walked into the kitchen, making sure to draw no attention to the drawer that was hidden under the counter. “I have, uh-“ he looked through the cupboard where he had his teas stashed and pulled out an armful of different kinds. “Raspberry, strawberry, mixed berry, mint, Ural Gray, Cassa Blanca, chocolate, and a few kinds of chai teas.” He dropped the bags on the counter and smiled at his friend. “OH! I’m so stupid, I have a bunch of cups you can pick from,” striding over to the cupboard, he had to climb up on the counter to reach it, but he opened it, revealing it to Ovidiu. There was a cacophony of colors, sized, and even kinds of cups. Travel mugs, teacups, and actual coffee mugs. Some of them even had quotes and sayings on them.

He used to collect them as a kid, and he kept one of the reindeer ones he’d gotten as a kid. It was all brown, had two painted on eyes, and two antlers. Looking at him made him smile, and he didn’t usually use it.

“Listen. You can’t come banging on my door, demanding a gun I have no idea about and expect not to get in trouble. But- you see, I’m in a sticky spot. You’re still in the bloodstained clothes from earlier. So, if you don’t tell people, I won’t call the cops on you.” He sat up on the couch, waiting for the water to boil. He kicked his legs lazily, waiting for Ovi’s reaction. Based on his face, he wasn’t happy, but Samuel was proud of himself for standing up to him. Not that it was standing up to him, more like telling him how it is. He wasn’t sure where this sudden strength came from, or maybe not strength but pride? No, what’s the word he’s looking for? “Damn it what’s that word?” He tried to figure it out, but soon remembered he wasn’t alone. “Sorry, it’s uh- it’s been what? Six months? Six months since I cut myself off from the world? Something like that.”

He took in a deep breath and smiled at Ovidiu. “What have I missed? I’m sorry for not texting for anything. I haven’t been texting anyone else. So i-it’s not like I’ve been ignoring just you, per se, but other people.” Damn it, he usually stuttered when he gets nervous. It was a huge tell, and if you knew him well enough, he was almost always nervous. Either being around other people, or being in a situation he didn’t like, or talking to people he didn’t know, or having friends demand guns from his that he stole and refused to admit. Either way, he hated it when he stutters.


Can we pretend airplanes are shooting stars?
Community Volunteer
The vampire paid him no mind, instead going in a monologue about all the types of tea he had. Normally, Ovidiu would have nodded along sagely, a lil bored but not saying anything out of respect for the other man. Today? “Yeah, I get it,” he growled, walking over to where the boy was and pulling a knife out of one of the drawers. He went up behind him, gently pressing the tip in his ribs. “Now,” he murmured softly, a murderous look in his eyes. “I don’t care about the tea. I don’t care about you being a freak. And I don’t care about the fact you have sharp teeth. So you’re either going to give back my property, or I’ll tell the people at the hospital what really happened. And trust me, the street cameras have all the footage they need to get you into some test tube in a forgotten lab in area 51.”

He pushed the knife in just deep enough to draw blood, a crazed look in his eyes. Crimson liquid spilled down the vampire’s shirt. Not nearly enough, but he was already dead. “Do you think anyone will miss you?” Ovidiu hissed in his ear, breath hot on the boy’s neck as he slowly dragged the knife up his skin. “If I kill you right here…do you think anyone will care? Think anyone will come to your funeral?” His voice had taken on a low growl, and there was something in it which made people listen very carefully; hypnotized them, almost. “You really think anyone will mourn you, Sam? What a joke. You burned all your bridges, boy…”

One of his hands had gone on the boy’s throat. Not chocking him just yet, but holding him, nails digging into his skin lightly. “Whatcha gonna do?” he teased, the knife having made its way up to his chest now, a bloody line following. “You could kill me. We both know you can.” He was pressing up against the man, having pushed him into one of the counters, his entire body flat on Sam’s back. “Did you know you should never trap an animal, then threaten it?” as he spoke, his hand tightened on the boy’s throat, applying pressure to the sides of his windpipe. Just enough to scare him, not enough to hurt him. “Because, see, what happens is, said animal gets desperate. And you get a situation like this.”

Yes, he had just compared himself with an animal. But after years of being held down and being called ‘pet’ by his father, he really considered himself nothing more. He was just there to stand between his father and mother at that point. To keep her safe. Yes. That was why he was here. And damn it, if he couldn’t keep her out of harm’s way, he had no reason to live. He was trapped, truly and effectively. His father was waiting at home, and his only means of defense had been taken away. If he simply avoided home? His mother would pay the price.

But…and this slowly came to him…he was acting no better than his father. There he was, pinning somebody down with a knife to their stomach, trying to force them to break. He dropped the knife on the counter with a curse so detailed it would have put English teachers to shame, a look of horror in his pale blue and honey brown eyes. “I’m sorry,” he breathed taking a step back. “Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry.” Stumbling back from the vampire, he fumbled with the doorknob, seconds stretching out before him as he struggled to get the door open, feeling faint. What the fuck is wrong with you? He slipped out into the hallway, barely holding himself on his feet, his throat closing up and tears starting to pour down his face uncontrollably. The man let out a choked gasp, finding his way out of the building by touch rather than sight, but only making it a few hundred meters away before he collapsed.

He used the wall of a random building for support, letting himself slide down it as violent sobs wreaked his body, reducing him into a trembling pack of nerves within seconds. I’m just like him, he thought, Just like him, just like him, just like him, just like him. Oh god…he was struggling to breathe by that point, his vision having blurred with tears. I’ll kill him, then myself, he vowed silently.
Summary of what's inside the spoiler if you don't want to read it- Ovidiu threatened Sam with a knife, realized he was acting like his father, set the knife down, ran out of the house crying like a little bitch and collapsed in an alley.

It took him way too long to calm down. By then, the rain which had started up again had washed away the blood on his hands. Sam’s blood, he thought, a wave of nausea passing him over, so strong he nearly threw up. Slowly, his knees nearly giving in, he used the wall to pull himself up, his nails digging into the stone. The old brown bricks which made up the wall were so old bits and pieces of them came apart under his hands, chips of them remaining under his nails. He looked pathetic. Wet and shivering like a little bitch, his eyes so red one would have guessed he’d been smoking weed for hours, the man couldn’t even stand by himself.

His hands were trembling as he pulled his cracked phone out of the pocket of his soaked jeans, turning it on to see three missed calls from his mother. And a voicemail. The man clicked on it feeling sick to his stomach, already bracing for the contents. He wasn’t surprised to hear his mother’s sobbing please for him to come home. To protect her. To get his father away from her. As usual. In that moment, he hated her. Hated how bloody weak she was, and her constant refusal to call the police. He hated how easily she yielded to his father, going limp under his hands instantly, putting a hand in her mouth to drown out whimpers and cries. The message was from ten minutes before. Mr. Constantin was probably still outside the door, hollering for her to come out. To play with him. It was a sick reference from when they were kids, and he’d show up at her house with a basketball, asking if she wanted to go outside and play.

Hurry up. Hurry up before the bottle kicks in, Ovidiu thought, taking off in a run towards his house. It wasn’t far. Fifteen-minute walk. He could do this. Could make it in five. Feet hitting the wet pavement like a storm, impact shuddering through his entire body, he pushed himself, sliding on the concrete and nearly getting run over by a huge black and white truck, head having filled with fog as he nearly broke the door upon shouldering it open. His father was indeed outside his mother’s bedroom, pulling on the doorknob and screaming at her. “Hey dad,” he breathed, pulling his wet, bloodstained shirt over his head and tossing it in a heap near the door. His hand was still wrapped around his keys, the jagged pieces of metal coming out from between his fingers. “How you doing?”

His old man’s bloodshot eyes turned towards him, and then noticed the shirt which Ovidiu had ditched on the floor. “Does this house look like your laundry bin, boy?” he demanded, striding towards him and pushing his back against the door, hand gripping his throat the way Ovidiu’s hand had held Sam just minutes before. “Sure,” Ovidiu gasped, his entire body going rigid with fear, as it usually did when he felt how hard his father was for him. A wave of nausea ran him up and down, a lot stronger than before once he tapped the hand with his keys against his father’s equipment. “Let me go,” he said, letting out a scream when the man grabbed his hand, twisting it so hard it almost broke. “You dare defy me?” Mr. Constantin whispered, his breath floating on Ovidiu’s face and stinking of cheap booze. “Yes,” Ovidiu breathed with tears at the corners of his eyes once more, whimpering when his father twisted his hand a little more. “Fuck you.”

It was safe to say what followed was neither pleasant, nor fun.

The next morning found Ovidiu slumped against the door, dried blood on his face from a split lip and dark handprints around his thighs and in other places we won’t mention. He let out a soft moan, trying and failing to make it to his feet. Thankfully, his mother was by his side immediately, brushing his hair out of his face and murmuring kind words, a wet cloth cleaning away the blood and…other things. “I’m-m sorry,” he gasped out, “I-I should have b-been home earlier.”

“It’s okay,” she murmured. His poor, fragile mother with the frame so thin you could practically see her fall apart in front of you. “It’s alright. You came, that’s all that matters…”