Date: Sat, 24 Jul 2010 19:55:20 -0700 (PDT) From: Nate House Subject: Abandoned Blood Greetings once again. This is a story about a woman and her vampire, but it's not a vampire story. It's not a love story, but it is a story about love, and the power it has to heal, and to destroy. It contains explicit sexual acts between females, among other people. It contains scenes of graphic violence and rape. If you are not of legal age to read this type of story, or if this isn't your cup of tea then please leave now. Though inspired by true events, all characters and events herein are entirely of my own imagination and any resemblance to any actual person, or actual event is entirely coincidental; I'll leave it to you to decide what's fact and what's fiction. Comments, questions, concerns, and criticism are greatly appreciated. Enjoy. ******************** A Brief Prologue In all my years I've never heard a tale quite like mine. It's so incredulous that most people refuse to believe it. I've been called a liar. I've been called insane, but the best one had to be when I was laughed at. Yeah, he fucking laughed at what I told him, then walked away wishing me luck on my stand-up. I hate unbelieving assholes, even if I can see where they're coming from -- I used to be one of them. It's easy to react that way when they hear a story like this. It's what psychologists call "programed responses". They can't help it. It's something that humans do when faced with situations they don't understand or fear. They enter a state of denial at the possibility of the truth of my words, or shun the storyteller; they play it off with some well rehearsed rhetoric, some even add the motion of crossing themselves while telling me to find Jesus. Nice. Abraham Van Helsing said it best in just three words: "Vampires do exist." With that simple sentence he sent the world into hysteria. Like every other topic, there are people at both ends of the spectrum; the story you hear varies by who you talk to. There are those who either refuse to believe they exist and call a fictional character a liar. And in that vein, the people who see vampires as creatures of evil -- the ones I mentioned earlier -- tell you to vanquish your demons and get right with God. Take a walk further down the road and you meet people with the exact opposite viewpoint. They fully believe in vampires. Some even want to be one -- some of those even believe that they are. For those out there who want to get "turned", I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's not as easy as it the movies make it out to be. I thank Hollywood for keeping most of the world ignorant to the true nature of the vampire. While some of the culture Hollywood producers have nailed on the head, the overall message they try to push couldn't be farther from the truth. I'm not ashamed to say that I was once a member of the ignorant world -- we all were at one point -- because that would do my former self a disservice. That would be counter intuitive to the life I now live. And that is the worst sin a vampire can commit. Having said that, I must tell you now that I am not a vampire. I am a mere Watcher. They are the ones who see to their vampire's well being. I provide her with blood, energy, emotional support, and yes, on occasion, sex. The act of blood-sharing or aura feeding is very sexual in nature. Much like intercourse, a vampire feeding is very intimate, there's no way around it. The nature, or more accurately, condition, of the vampire is not unlike alcoholism or drug addiction. Most actually want to stop, but they simply can't. Enter the Watchers. We are bound to our vampire much like any other relationship, just at a much deeper level than words can possibly explain. We care for our vampire like we would care for our children. And they in turn protect us from becoming a walking buffet for renegade vampires. I've seen that happen; it isn't pretty. When talking to people, they naturally ask me about things Hollywood has drilled into their heads. Things like the hierarchy of vampires. There is no actual established system, but there are those who command more respect than others. There are the ones who take on the role of mentor (commonly known as Elders) to the younger ones who recently found out that they are "infected". You have to remember that all of them were once human, and as such, subject to human fallacies. When the condition manifests, it sends the brain into a frenzy of needs and desires they don't understand nor know how to cope with. Now take that and add to it the fact that this happens around puberty. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how conflicted they become. And once their parents kick them out of their house for confessing this -- it happens more often than you think -- they seek answers from any one who would help them. We can only hope the right one answers their S.O.S. because a teen runaway, coping with the pressures of puberty and abandonment, now they also must face these newly found desires and needs they have no clue how to safely satisfy. We can only hope a renegade vampire isn't the first one they meet. This is where the story of me and my vampire, Nadia, begins. But before I start, I must be of a mind to tell you that I write this for neither fame or fortune. The notoriety I may or may not receive means nothing. I'm writing this only to impart upon you the truth. I'm writing this so that if I die, at least then the one who finds my corpse will understand what transpired in my best and worst of days -- a nice a little suicide note of my life. It's just me, Nadia, and now you, my friend. . . welcome to my fucking life. ******************** Chapter One It was the usual suspects gathering in the Stanley-Andrews Center of the university. A mix crowd of students filed in, whoever has this hour off from class. A few hotties showing off what they've got -- not that I mind; a group of dark clothed goth wannabes hanging around the pool tables not far from my bench; a rather large group of techies gathering near the window. We used this as the commons area of the campus. Some people going into the coffee shop for a pick-me-up in between classes, others just trying to have fun. Me? I was sitting on a bench trying get ahead on my reading. Sixteenth Century World History isn't the most exciting reading, but it still had to be done. I looked up at the sound of a pool game starting. Travis, my most loyal and "out there" friend, was talking trash to his sister Tiffany. These two are the worst twins in recorded history. Near-identical DNA, similar fashion sense, and tastes in women, but polar opposites everywhere else. Listening to them talk, I had to wonder how they ever survived those first nine months. Their parents agree. I just sat there listening to them talk shit to each other about who's better at pool, who's better at beer pong, and, my favorite, who's better with women. Forget history, I had to watch this. "This shot's going in," Travis declared, lining up his shot. "My balls can feel it." He hit the cue; no one can convince him that he sucks at pool. "I don't think I'm stroking my stick right. Speaking of which, Tiff, how long has it been since you stroked some wood?" I laughed, Tiffany jabbed him with her "wood". "Grow up!" She bent over to line up her shot. "What? I thought you said you knew how to handle your balls." That earned him another jab to the gut. Leaving him on the floor gasping for air, she hit the cue ball. I heard the ball clank against it's target, then Tiffany lined up her shot again. I love watching Travis get taken down by his baby sister -- if only by six minutes. It's one of my favorite pass-times. Four shots later was when Travis got another turn. I think Tiffany missed her eight-ball shot on purpose. "Now, let me show you how it's done, lil' sis." I don't think the fact that all the stripes were missing from the table entered his brain. He lined up his shot, hit the cue, and missed horribly. "Take a note: that's how NOT to do it." Tiffany rolled her eyes as she chalked her cue stick. "That's right, work the shaft. Get it nice and --" once again he found himself on the floor with no air. I put my books into my bag and got up. I watched my first love line up her shot, but actually I was looking at her sweet ass. Those tight black jeans hugging those cheeks, running down her legs. . . She looked down at her brother. "Off the five, two cushions, and into the far left corner," Tiff called her shot. Without looking at the table, she hit the cue, and the black ball followed the path she called. The third clank of the eight landing in the pocket told Travis that he just lost. Lifting a corner of her mouth, Tiffany told him, "And that IS how you do it." She flashed him her beautiful teeth, and naturally, didn't help him up. They didn't see me walking up to the table. "Best two out of three?" he challenged, hunching over the table. I stood with my arms crossed behind him, and countered with, "Guys against girls?" Travis spun around and lifted me into the air and spun. "Candy Cane!" We twirled around so many times I swore I was gonna puke. "How's my favorite dyke?" "Good," I answered, slapping him in the arm. "Is your ass okay from that kicking it just took?" "It's nothing a little rub down won't cure," he answered rubbing his right cheek. "Whatcha been up to the last couple of weeks?" "Fuckin' sluts and breakin' hearts," he answered with a smile. That always has been his version of "Not much, thanks for asking," for some reason. I could only shake my head and smile. That's Travis, my most loyal friend and favorite troll. He may be the most crude, perverted, random, sarcastic son-of-a-bitch I know, but I just can't help but love him. Plus it doesn't hurt that he can take the whole Nikki Sixx goth motif and make it ooze sexy. "Hey Tiffany," I said as an excuse to inch away from him. She has never liked his use of the D-word, and it showed on her face now. She kissed me on my cheek and glared at her brother. "Travis, you know we prefer the term carpet munchers." She drawled out each word as she got me a stick. He cocked an eyebrow, a skill I've always envied. "I though the term was: little people," he feigned confusion, drawling those last two words. "I mean, I know how little chicks can look when they're down there." Tiffany handed me my cue, accidentally hitting him in the head in the process. He rubbed his skull and asked, "Who's the other guy? I don't think Candy Cane is willing to go both ways." I stifled a giggle. "Nope, queer as a three dollar bill," I shot back looking over the crowd. I spotted an attractive blond trying politely to get away from my second favorite troll. "How about Henry?" "Henry!" Tiffany called out. They both looked at us; his face asked "what?", her face said "thank you". "Get your ass over here, play some doubles with us." He nodded and handed his victim a slip of paper. I watched her walk down the hall and make a quick detour at the nearest trash can. Poor Henry thought I was smiling at him. The two guys exchanged some bro-handshake-wrist-grab-thing that them look even dorkier. When Henry turned to give me a hug, I was laughing out loud. He put me down and went for Tiffany, but was met with his cue stick going into is gut. What is with her and hitting people? "What's the game," Henry asked chalking his stick. "We'll just stick with eight-ball," I answered getting the rack. "I don't have time to school you losers in anything else." Travis smirked. "Oh, I love it when you say eight-ball. Whisper it to me." Tiffany rolled her eyes, Henry put his quarters into the table. Giving him my best shy little girl look, I motioned for him to come to me. Slowly, I lifted my lips into a sultry smile. I had to stand on my tip-toes to reach his ear. I exhaled softly into his earlobe making his whole body blush. "GROW UP!" I shouted. Henry banged his head on the table, which only made Tiffany laugh even harder. I think Travis got the message. "Ouch," he uttered rubbing his ear, his eyes wide from the shock. "So who breaks?" Henry asked through clenched teeth, rubbing the back of his head. "I think guys should break since Tiff and Charlie here haven't stopped breaking my balls yet." Tiffany and I both shrugged. "Fair enough," she said, moving a lock of her enviably long, straight dark hair behind her ear. That was the first thing that attracted me to her in the first place. Her hair. When we were kids I spent hours brushing or styling it. It just sucks that we didn't work out. She looked at me, and I quickly nodded in agreement. "First in calls." I finished racking, trying to avoid eye contact with my partner. Every time we play pool together I always have those flashbacks of how she taught me to play. And then what else the table is used for. Oh yeah, I love this game. Henry looked absolute lining up his shot. He actually looked like a pro. Travis was still messing with his ear. A small group of people started gathering around our table. I guess me shouting into his ear said "Watch the lesbians put a smack-down on the perverts". I noticed a few of our mutual friends among the faces in the front row. As I looked them over more carefully, a couple of them began to stand out. My eyes were locked on one in particular. She wore dark eye shadow and dark red lipstick, which stood in sharp contrast to her naturally pale face. Her hair, black as pitch -- darker even than Tiffany's -- matched perfectly to her eyes. And mine were glued to them. It's not as if I've never seen a goth before, but she seemed so . . . honest. Suddenly I felt a pang in my groin. My pussy started getting wet. And I couldn't stop it. I heard a sigh escape my lips. She must have heard it too, her lips lifted up into a satisfied smile. I instinctively crossed my legs, trying to reign in my own body. Damn it, my panties were getting drenched. It was like I could feel her fingers inside, teasing my every spot. I bit my lip to keep from crying out. Oh my god, it felt so good. I looked back up at her, wanting her to stop, but also wanting her to make me cum. She blinked slowly, and deliberately. And just as quickly as it started, I felt her fingers leave me and my horniness subsided. Slightly. I could hear a voice in the back of my head telling me to run to the bathroom and finish. Her voice. How the fuck did I know it's her voice? My body flushed again. The heat rising from my groin had my cheeks turning red. I put my head down, trying to hide my embarrassment. I've never been this turned on with no way of release. I'm sure Tiffany could tell what I was feeling -- she's standing not two feet away -- let alone smell the sweet nectar flowing from my pussy, but that's no reason to let everyone else see me like this. I looked back up to the girl playing with me like this. She turned her head, and that brought me back to reality. I looked over our game. How long does it take for someone to line up a shot? Finally, the loud crack of the game starting resonated over my screaming brain. I watched my beautiful rack scatter. Better question: How bad can two guys be at pool? I studied the layout of the table. Third question: Why are my panties so wet? I looked at Tiffany, but she just nodded for me to shoot first. She didn't say anything, but I'm certain that she could see how flushed I was. She knows it well. She couldn't possibly be that oblivious to my near-orgasm just now, but I guess so. Hell, I don't know why I'm so freaking horny. Trying not to look too conspicuous I moved to the table. I guess it's a good thing she let me go first, otherwise I might not get to play. I found my shot, the two ball, and sank it easily. Then went the four and three in a cool split shot. Then the six. Then the seven. And over the applause of my new fans, the one ball went fell into the far side pocket. The guys could only stare as I ran the table. Even Tiffany was shocked. We spent our entire childhood playing this game -- Travis always quick to point out that healways let us win -- so at some level, they shouldn't have been so surprised. "Eight ball, triple-cushion back to near left corner," I announced. Henry made a noise at my audacious shot. But as the black ball rolled in my well aimed path, he left his mouth open, only this time nothing came out. My fans appreciated the shot, and they let all four of us know it. Tiffany got up and gave me a huge kiss on the cheek. She hasn't kissed my lips since before we graduated high school. She lifted my hand into the air like I'd just won a prize fight or something. Jarring me forward, she made us take a bow to our fans. The guys got off their asses and somehow managed to be good sports. "I think a little celebration is in order," Travis said with his arm around my shoulder. "We need to buy these ladies a drink. What do you say, Henry?" "Sounds good." "Whoa, whoa, boys," I said slipping out from under him. "I'm not going out drinking with you two. I know how you get when you're drunk and I refuse to put up with it." "Oh, get off it, Charlie," Henry pleaded. "And on top of that," I continued, not giving him any mind, "I'm not twenty-one, so I can't even get in to any place around here. Except for maybe the Were-House." Tiffany wrapped her arm around my waist, getting her face close to mine. "Let me worry about that," she said in that mischievous tone as she led me away from the guys. We stopped near the vending machines next to the bathrooms, about twenty feet from our table. My former lover whispered in my ear, "You've got enough to worry about, Miss I'm-Gonna-Cum-Right-Now." My whole body flushed. So she did know! And stayed quiet? That's definitely not the Tiffany I know. I covered my mouth to stifle a gasp. Tiffany just winked at me. She did her little catwalk dance into the bathroom with that damn grin on her face. I followed her in with a quick step. "What are you talking about?" I asked trying to keep my voice down. "What am I talking about?" she repeated, leaning over the edge of the counter. "I'm talking about all that juice that's staining the front of your pants." She hopped up on the sink. I got a little closer, if a little redder, so she wouldn't have to talk so loud. "Fucking-A Charlie, you're so wet your leaking down your leg." I crossed my arms and scrunched my face. "So?" "So? So I haven't seen you so turned on in your life." She scooted a little closer to me. "What happened to you out there?" I couldn't help but hear the jealousy in her voice. Even though we broke up a while ago, she often gets this way if I tell her about anyone else I've slept with. While it does feel good to be wanted like that, it still gets me angry all the same. "I don't know," I answered looking away. "So your pussy just spontaneously erupted?" "No," I shot back, still looking away. I moved around as I began to explain. "I just don't know what happened. We were just standing there, waiting forever for Henry to line up his shot. I looked over the crowd for some of our friends. I saw Cheri and Luke, and a couple others. Then I saw this goth chick. I looked at her eyes, you know what a sucker I am for a good pair of eyes." "Yes," she drawled out wanting me to continue. "And then she looked away. My panties were dripping wet and Henry finally took his shot." I couldn't look at her the whole time. "I don't remember anything else." Finally I looked up at her. I found neither judgment or understanding. Tiffany just stared at me with those beautiful green eyes of hers. I've never seen her like this. "Are you alright though? I mean, physically speaking, you're not hurt are you?" She hopped down from the sink and put her hands on my still-crossed arms. "Yeah," I breathed. I said what I told her again in my head. I let out a little giggle at how I just sounded. "You know what? I could use that drink." Tiffany smiled. "Sounds like it, but I think you need to change your clothes, Candy Cane." That stupid pet name of theirs always gets me. From Travis it makes me laugh; from Tiffany it makes me blush. I walked out of the bathroom and immediately looked for that goth girl. I tried not to look too conspicuous, but is that really possible when you're desperately trying to find something. Tiffany was right. I've never been this turned on in my life and damn it I wanted to know why. I search the cafe and vending machines. Hell I even looked behind them, but there was no sign of her anywhere. How does a chick with that many chains on her jeans and that much make-up on her face just disappear? Then I felt her touch me once again. Fuck me! I bit my lower lip and spun around. No sign of her. Slowly her fingers traced around the inside of my pubis, causing my eyes to roll back and a sigh escape my mouth. I fought off this sudden need to masturbate and left the Center. I never realized before then that it's also impossible to look inconspicuous when you're desperately trying to run away from something. I ran all the way back to my mom's house -- nearly four miles away. It wasn't until I was in my room that I realized I forgot my bag at our table. I stripped out of my soaked clothes. I had to unroll my jeans down my legs and slowly peel my panties from my crotch. They were still waterlogged. Even the bottom part of my T-shirt that was tucked into my jeans was wet. That explains the cold sensation on my stomach. I threw my bra on the top of the pile and wrapped myself in my bathrobe and slippers. I'll wash those when I was done. I stepped out of my room and headed for the shower. Unfortunately I have the displeasure of sharing it with my older brother, Sven. I still have yet to figure out why our parents haven't forced him to find his own place. He has a somewhat steady job; his band gets regular gigs around town. He has a super-hot girlfriend named Sylvia and she is pretty well off, not to mention she ranks in my top five of coolest people I know. She was totally cool about me coming out of the closet, and when I did, she confessed to me that she was bi. We've been close friends ever since. In yet, she still remains an enigma. How does someone that good looking, with such a great personality fall for a lazy-bum-ass bassist/singer like my brother? Sylvia could have any guy, or girl, she wanted. She's two years out of college and is already the regional director of the Watkins Financial Group. The girl has brains, money and looks, and Sven is the one who catches her eye? Pa-lease. The only thing I could come up with is that she has a thing for bad boy lookalikes. "Hey sis!" he shouted as he stepped out of his room, making me jump ten feet in the air. Our rooms are across from each other by virtue of the small hallway and we share a wall with the bathroom, so, if we were so inclined, we could stand in the doorways and have a staring contest. No thanks. Not with this creepy douche bag. He sniffed the air and made a face. "What the hell is that awful smell?" "It's called knowing how to get a woman off, and last time I spoke to Sylvia you could use a lesson," I fired back. He's always giving me shit about being gay, even though he's told me several times that he's cool with it. He leaned in closer and sniffed again. "When did you take a job at a fish factory?" My jaw hit the floor right before my hand hit his face. I thought he was an ass and told him as much. "Not. Cool!" "Get off on it," he gestured and headed for his room. Once he got there, he paused and turned around. "Oh wait, you did that already." "Shut up!" I threw my slipper at him. He just laughed and ducked behind his door. I entered the bathroom and had to yell at him again. I swear he is the most disgusting guy I know. "And flush the fucking toilet next time!" ******************** That shower felt amazing. The hot water beating on my shoulders melted away all of the tension of the day. From Travis's unyielding remarks -- love him anyway -- to what happened at the pool table to my uber-douche brother. I used my favorite lilac-scented shampoo. For some reason, the scent of fresh cut flowers makes everything better. I was sitting on my bed putting on my socks when I heard the front door open. I opted for my Five Finger Death Punch tank-top and black jeans. Tiffany told me that it makes me look kinda slutty, but I think she says that just because she can't have me anymore. So she tells me to cover myself up so no one else can either. A nice sentiment, but just as equally annoying. If I want to be called a slut I'll just talk to my brother. I heard a couple of muffled voices. One was my dad's, the other one belong to Sylvia. I put my shoes on and headed downstairs. They were sitting on the couch having a conversation about Sven moving out. Sweet. I'm not the only one who thinks he should. But the mighty mom said he could stay here for as long as he needed, and that was the final word on that. "Sylvia!" I exclaimed, coming into the room. "How have you been?" She stood up and gave me a hug. She looked into my dark shadowed eyes for a brief, calculating moment. I could see the wheels in her head spinning. We were more than good friends, we were more like sisters. "Going out to celebrate tonight?" "How did. . .? Yeah, actually." "What's the occasion?" "This afternoon my ex and I kicked the crap out of her brother at doubles pool," I said proudly. "They guys are taking us out to celebrate their loss. But I think they're using it just as an excuse to party." My dad made a noise behind me. Crap. I forgot he was standing there. "Don't worry dad, I won't let them get too plastered," I reassured him. I don't think he bought it though. He excused himself and went outside. "So, where is my cave troll?" Sylvia asked, already looking at his door. "It's upstairs, doing what -- I have no idea. Quite frankly, I'd rather not know." Just then the whole house shook from him cranking his amp up too high. Don't get me wrong, the guy can play a bass and he can sing, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to give him any shit about it. I just hope he doesn't find my stash of his band's albums under my bed. Cringing I said, "Sounds like they have a show tonight." Sylvia was beaming. She let out a breathy, "Yeah, he certainly does." Once the riff ended, she told me, "They're playing at the Were-House tonight. You guys should come out there." I frowned. "Maybe." Inside, I told myself I'd try to talk them into it. "Is that what brings you here? You taking him out there?" Having said that out loud, I just then realized that it's nearly eighty degrees outside and my brother's girlfriend is wearing a denim trench coat. She saw my curious expression at that and smiled. Either she's got something really sexy underneath, or nothing at all. I've known her for a long time; I can tell. Sylvia just leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek. That told me all I needed to know, and then some. She walked up the stairs looking more like a predator on the prowl than a doting girlfriend. I'm completely cool with a woman taking care of her needs, but I'd rather not think of her doing it with my brother. Gross. I'm glad I didn't have long to ponder the thought. Travis and Tiffany came rolling into the driveway and honked the horn. My mom and dad waved. I ran upstairs to get my bag. I'll finish dolling myself up once we get to where ever it is we're going. If I had my way, we were going to the Were-House. When I came out of my room, my suspicions were justified. My guess about why Sylvia was over here at this hour was correct. Again, gross. The Were-House is the place to be for people like me and my friends. It's name should pretty much sum it up. It's the quintessential nightclub for the underground goth scene in this town. They have great heavy metal bands on the ticket every night, my brother's included. They have a zero drug tolerance policy, which makes me feel better. I was there one night when they caught someone selling coke. The bouncers dragged him out by his neck and vanished for about five minutes. Last I heard, that guy is now selling his crap from a wheelchair. Plus I know the head of security, we have the same Creative Writing class. Smart guy and he takes care of us whenever we go there. When compiling a list of friends, among other things, make sure to have "favorite bar bouncer" on it. That's not to say I go out often. Far from it. My class schedule and my job at the gas station keeps me pretty busy. Between that and putting up with my still-wanting-to-accept- their-lesbian-daughter parents and still looking for "Ms. Right" I don't have time for hanging out. But when all of us do get to go out, my preferred place to go is the Were-House. Ivan keeps making the joke about how I can at least meet "Ms. Right Now" if I get out more often; like as if it's any of his business. I just want to find myself a girl who can not only take care of herself, but can also depend on me for help. A girl who knows who she is and accepts that, and not just "experimenting", or "testing the waters". No, my dream girl is someone who is strong, independent, but isn't afraid to lean on me for support. To my knowledge, no such girl exists. "Hey guys," I said when I got in the car. Tiffany gave me a that look of disapproval. "And girl," I amended. "What's the plan?" Travis looked at me through the rear-view mirror and said, "I was thinking about going to the Were-House tonight. What do y'all think?" My eyes widened. "I'm down. Tiff?" "Whatever," she exhaled, rolling her eyes. What the hell is her problem? I looked to the seat next to Travis. "Henry?" "That's cool!" At least he sounds excited that the four of us are finally getting a night out together. "Isn't your brother's band playing there tonight? What's their name? Kerberus?" "Uh-huh," I nodded, wondering why Tiffany was just staring out the window. "Don't forget, guys are buyin'." Travis let out a huff. "This is going to be a long night." He put the car into gear and headed out. I waved at my parents as we passed them. They waved back while mouthing the words "seat belt". We just pull onto College Street and my tummy started to growl. Travis and Henry hadn't shut up the whole way here, and, more interestingly, Tiffany hasn't said more than two words. It's so unlike her to be like this, even when I have a new girl on my arm. Yeah, she's protective and easily gets jealous, but she's never silent. That's what had me so worried. She didn't even speak up to pick on Henry about his latest female misadventure. The dork gave her gold and she didn't say squat. After another heartbeat of this I finally asked her, "What's your problem tonight, Tiff?" She just turned her head to me, gave me a hurt look, and then turned back. "Tiffany damn it, talk to me." "What's their to say?" she said to her window. I took that as a starting place. "Well, we could start with what's got you so down." She let out a long breath, fogging up the glass. "You know how I get whenever you talk about your sex life," she said, refusing to look at me. I heard the pain in her voice and put my hand on her shoulder. I could hear her smile at the touch. "It just hurts, okay? Can we please just leave it at that?" "I'm down," Travis said quickly. "This is supposed to be a GOOD night, so loosen up a little." Tiffany shot him a dirty look, and when I let out a little giggle, she turned those ravenous eyes on me. What could I say, I agreed with the troll for once. "Besides once we get some booze in you, you won't even care who's head is between your legs." We nearly swerved off the road when Tiffany's foot hit the back of her brother's seat. I would have laughed right along side of Henry, but I was too busy freaking out. "Knock it off! Both of you!" "Yes mother," Travis mocked. Tiffany and I rolled our eyes. I glance out my window when Travis made a right turn. Madison Avenue. The Were-House was right in front of us. Finally. Another two minutes in this car and I'm sure one of us would have died. Travis pulled the car up next to the door. As we filed out of the car, Tiffany slipped me my fake I.D. We were among the first ones here, but we kind of expected that; not too many people go here for dinner as well, but I think their red wine braised steak is amazing. Expensive, but worth every penny. The Were-House has been a staple of our town for a long time, though it's always been shunned by the "church-going community". Those people drive me freaking nuts. They've tried to get the place shut down several times. And for so no other reason than we wear pentagrams instead of crosses. This is more of a home to most of our crowd than the places they live -- the same place those protesters DON'T spend their time. I've seen kids as young as thirteen come in here and say things like, "My parents hate me," or, "No one understands me," etc. It's times like those that make me glad I have understanding parents. We had a good spot to scope out the arrivals as they came in the place. Our booth is on the upper floor; I've always loved the seats here. The soft crushed velvet. The way they mold to each person's body. Hell you can't even feel the person next to you move. The guys sat on the inside of the booth, letting the girls sit on the outside. We'd just placed our orders when someone much larger than our usual waiter came to the table. The lighting in this place is always kept to a minimum, obviously, which made it hard to discern who this monstrosity of a human being was. That is until he spoke. "I'm going to need to see some I.D. please." Marcus the bouncer. The small lamp over the table did little to actually light anything up. Travis went to reach into his wallet. Tiffany cocked an eyebrow at him -- damn it I wish I could do that. Travis came up with his middle finger lifted. "Sir, I'm going to ask you to put your finger down," Henry mocked. I kicked him under the table. "How's it been Marcus?" I asked trying to apologize. "It's been alright, but seriously I'm going to need to mark you hands," he said. It wasn't a request, but a lot friendlier than most other clubs. We all presented our I.D.s and left hands. Marcus went around the table and marked everyone. When he got to me, he gave me a very disapproving look, but put the circle on my hand anyway. Connections are great. "A'ight, y'all enjoy yourselves," the bouncer said as he left. We all waved and said our goodbyes. Soon enough our usual server, Larry, was a our table with out usual drinks in-hand. A pina colada for Tiffany, a Sam Adams Light for Travis, a rum-and-coke for Henry, and for me, well I'm a bad girl and started sipping my Sex On The Beach. It's just a sexy name for a drink. Ever since Tiffany made me one on my eighteenth birthday, I've been hooked. ******************** It wasn't too long for things to really get started. We all just finished our dinners and second round of drinks. Well, I was on my second round, the guys were on their fourth or fifth by now. I really wasn't keeping count for anyone but myself and my overly protective ex. She was on number six, and that was enough for me to worry. Tiffany really doesn't get this drunk unless something big was on her mind. In fact I hadn't seen her get like this since our breakup, which didn't make that night any better. Although her being wasted out of her mind numbed her to the slap I gave her face after she said those painful words. And left her wondering why I was pissed at her the following week. We decided to stay friends in the end -- obviously -- and look out for each other. It was that thought that made me put my glass down and get her from the ever growing mosh pit. Yeah, that's easier said than done. As miffed as I might have been, weaving though that many bodies throwing around is no simple task. I don't know how many times I've been knocked on my ass in these things; it takes a special set of skills and years of practice to navigate through a drunken horde of metal heads to find one of their own. Unsurprisingly, my target was at the front of the pit with drink in-hand. The noise from the talentless band on stage forced me to literally pull on her ear to get her attention. Even in her smashed state she read the word "bathroom" as it appeared on my lips. Tiffany gave a look of both anger and sheepishness, the same look a teen gives their parents when they interrupt a really important phone call because it was dinner time and their favorite dish was on the table. We had just eaten dinner and it was time to talk. Inch by agonizing inch I escorted my ex through the crowded club, careful to not let go of her hand. I did that once before, took me nearly ten minutes to find her again. I locked the door behind us once I made sure we were alone. When I looked at her, though, after traveling through that room, she somehow managed to finish her drink and get another one and suck up more than half of it. That made seven on the night already, which was the same level of hell I was going to unleash on her. "What the fuck is your problem today!" I screamed, slamming my hand on the counter. She just shrugged her shoulders, continued sipping on her not-so-new strawberry margarita, and avoided looking me in the eye. And that's what pisses me of more than anything. "TIFFANY, GODDAMNIT! Answer me!" What came out of her mouth wasn't an answer, just a mass of slurred words and drunken giggling. I didn't make a move to help her up when she fell over. I didn't hand her a towel to clean the red drink from her new shirt. Through her inane giggling I heard, "I made a mess." I just rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. Tiffany, seeing me standing like that went from laughing at the sink to crying at the broken glass next to her. "Larry's going to be mad at me. I broke his cup." Then she looked up to my face. "Am I in trouble? Why is my Candy Cane upset?" I let out a huff. I hate this part. "You know damn well why I'm upset." "Please don't yell at me. I've had a very bad day." That was a new one. Maybe if I got her talking I just might not have to use my pimp hand. "Really? What happened today?" I said keeping my tone angry. "Candy Cane, my girlfriend left me again," she said crying, completely unaware to whom she was speaking. Tiffany averted her eyes to the stall door and bit the palm of her hand. "Why does Charlie always leave? What's wrong with me?" "A huge quantity of alcohol at the moment. No one wants someone who drinks their problems away." I knelt down to her level. I refused to touch her. She needed for me to be harsh right now. "Now get up and let's go." I got up and turned to the door. I stopped messing with the lock when I heard my former lover get up. The sound of a stall door crashing open followed by the unmistakable sound of her stomach trying to get sober up had my full attention. I sighed and went over to her. I held her hair back as she continued to vomit. The stench hit me immediately, making me turn my head away. I hate it when Tiffany drinks like this, and I didn't want to offer her any kind comfort, but this would be the exception. I know I don't want my hair to fall into that mess. She finished and started patting the walls for a towel, still looking down. As much as she needed to get back on her own feet, I helped her get up. Tiffany flushed the toilet in a motion I don't think was planned, but I wasn't going to complain. We walked out of the stall together. Tiffany lost any semblance of color to her face, something she noticed in the mirror. I let go of her shoulder so she could wash her face a little before we went back to the guys. I don't know if it was the water running, or if it was the toilet flushing, but when I turned my head away from my best friend I saw a vaguely familiar face -- a very pale and heavily mascaraed face -- watching us. Watching me. Her eyes were focused on me, her mouth was slightly ajar like she was impressed by my simple T-shirt and jeans even though she was dressed like she was going to the Vampire's Ball, but the stare lacked any discomfort. In fact, I found it quite flattering that this chick thought enough to gawk at me the way she did. She looked into my eyes. I felt her gaze capture me from the inside out; my skin was tingling from the marvelous sensation of someone breathing on my neck. A soft moan escaped my lips, my head started to loll. In that same instant my pussy moistened. The breathing was getting hotter. When I opened my eyes, I found her closer to me with her lips curled upward in a satisfied smile. The sensations on my neck continued, my pussy begged for attention. I parted my legs slightly, but as I did that, all erotic sensations ceased. Except the most important one: I was horny as hell! Frustrated, I looked at her with pleading eyes. Whatever it was that caused me to feel this way, I needed someone to help me finish it. This goth girl, this stranger, slowly raised a hand and touched my arm. The heat from her finger tips alone had all my juices flowing once again. Ever so gently she traced those delectable digits up my arms, stepping closer to me without making a sound. My eyes clamped down. I suddenly realized my situation. I'm no innocent virgin, but I'm also not a whore, in yet here I was wanting nothing more than for this girl to get me off. And for some reason, my mouth watered for a taste of hers. Once she got to my shoulders, she stood behind me and traced her nails over my collar bone, just missing the swell of my breasts. Another moan escaped me.I heard a voice inside my head telling me to make her stop and get the hell out of there, but the juices flowing from my favorite organ demanded that I stay and give her some release. Especially when I felt a firm, soft, wet tongue slide up my neck. I almost came, but she knew what se was doing and wouldn't allow for it. An arm held me by my chest against hers with a force that I couldn't be sure was just her strength. Her other hand suddenly clamped down on the crotch of my jeans. Another wave of bliss blew over me. Her groping became much more primal. Her left hand roughly rubbed my tit through my tank top while her right palm and fingers expertly ground against my pussy. Again, that voice told me that she was raping me, but the need for her to get me off won out. All of my good sense pleaded with my brain to fight this chick off and make my escape. I stood a couple of inches taller so I would at least be able to put up a good fight. But this felt soooo good. I haven't had sex in nearly five months, not even with myself. My head rolled back onto her shoulder and what I said surprised the both of us. "Please. . .stop. . ." She paused momentarily at the sound of my voice. "Stop what?" I heard her say, but no sound escaped her mouth. "This?" And with that, the wonderful molestation resumed. Without thinking I reached back and cupped her head, taking a handful of hair into my grip. I yanked back and she yelped. I don't know how I missed the fact that my jeans had become unbuttoned and unzipped, because as she made that sound -- with her own breath -- her hand slipped into my pants and began their wonderful dance across my mound. I couldn't help but enjoy the new sensation. My grip slackened and her moth opened. She slung her open mouth down upon my shoulder. Her sharp teeth penetrated the first few layers of skin, deep enough to be erotic without making me bleed. I nearly collapsed under the gentle gnawing of my skin. Or was it those fingers in my pants had penetrated me as well? In that moment I didn't care. This girl could do whatever she wanted to me as long as I got to cum. With the strength of rapist, she pulled me into an open stall with her teeth and fingers still inside me. We hit a wall and her fingers instinctively gripped my pussy tighter, not that I minded. She bit harder into my skin and I think she actually broke through, and that was enough to push me over the edge. I came all over her hand. The hot liquid ran down my leg, leaving a trail big enough to stain my jeans. I cried out my orgasm as it swept over me. I don't know how, but this girl surprised me yet again. In one motion, almost too fast for me to see -- or maybe it was because of my monstrous orgasm -- she pulled her teeth out of my shoulder, removed my shirt and had my pants down to my ankles. We twirled around causing me to sit on the thankfully closed toilet. My senses slowly came back to me and I could see her in a full view. And it was a nice view. Her beautiful purple satin ball gown clung to her lovely form in all the right places. Her dark, wavy hair hung just below her shoulders. Her eyes were closed as she licked the fingers she used on me clean, then ran her long tongue over her red stained teeth, savoring the flavor. Instinct took over and I put my hand to where her teeth had worked their magic. I knew that I was bleeding; the moisture there was too thick to be saliva. Horror and disgust didn't even come close to registering in my brain. If anything I wanted more. I've never known that level of ecstasy. So when her eyes lowered to mine, my legs parted as much as they could. I had to have those fingers in me again, dancing on my G-spot, her sensational tongue hitting every nerve just the right way. My dark friend smiled a row of clean white teeth, the sliver of her surgically altered fangs sent a new shiver of excitement through my spine and into my pussy. Her eyes narrowed into the look of lust. "Patience," she said without saying a word, removing my hand from my pussy. I didn't even know it was there. Her fingers replaced mine, but not soon enough. My slit was dripping so much there was a puddle on the seat cover. As she ran her hand over my lower lips she proceeded to suck it all up. I've never seen or heard anything so hot in my life. The soft tips of her fingers had me ready to explode after only a few seconds. Moaning, I squeezed my tits, trying to get that still-building orgasm out of me. Then I felt it. Her slippery long tongue ran up from my ass to my clit, tickling it to the point of agony. Before I could cum again she shoved it deep inside my opening. Now I know why women flock to Gene Simmons. The tip of her tongue was actually massaging my G-spot. I came so hard it splashed her in the face. My body shook as I screamed. I don't know how, but this chick was hitting buttons I didn't even know I had. The pleasure was so intense that I had to throw her off of me to get her to stop. I couldn't take anymore. Panting, I slowly opened my eyes. WIth my cum dripping from her face, she smiled as if she herself just came as hard as she made me. I forced myself to my feet and pulled up my now-sloshing pants and panties. If the puddle on the floor was any indication, maybe she did cum just like I did. I buttoned up my jeans and looked up. Without making a sound, this strange chick stood up and was standing in my face. I back pedaled out of instinct, momentarily forgetting about the toilet. I braced myself against the wall. She sniffed the air between us. All I could smell was sex, but I don't think that was what had her pupils widening. I felt a twinge run through the bite on my neck. It was similar to the feeling I had when I saw her, only more intense. Despite having the best sex of my life -- and now starting to feel used from it -- I was getting horny again. Gaddamnit. . . She reached out and pulled me into her. This wasn't some after sex cuddling, nor was it a forced embrace. I wanted her to hold me, though I couldn't recall why. Something in my head -- or my pussy -- held me close to her, then had me wrapping my arms around her. She cooed, giving a strong exhale. Before I knew it, her mouth clamped down once again on my shoulder. My bleeding shoulder. Her teeth sank into my skin once again. And despite the fact it made me feel like a whore, I loved it. "Get. Off. Of. . . me!" I pleaded, trying to shove her away. But her mouth's grip was relentless. I felt her tongue swirling near the open wounds and it sent shots of pleasure through my whole body. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Please. Get off. . . of. . . ME!" I shoved her out of the stall and fell back onto the toilet once again, completely drained of energy. The girl, who is still nameless, didn't seemed bothered at all. No, that look was one a child gives her parent when they're being yelled at. Looking down, she turned to the sink and proceeded to wash her face off. I decided that was a good idea. . . if my legs would work. I used the handicap rail to pull myself up. I stumbled over to the sink and looked at my reflection. I looked like the time I had the flu and didn't seep for days. I rinsed the sweat from my face and turned in my "friend's" direction. She was tying a hooded cape around her neck, but that wasn't as odd as the grace with which she did it. Her movements had an air of pride. Now I really wanted to know who she was, so I asked. She faced me with a tear running down her face. Why the hell was she crying? "I have many names," she said out loud for the first time, "But you can call me Nadia." Nadia. It fit the eastern european accent. "I'll find you later when I need you again." Huh? Suddenly coming to my senses, I said, "What the fuck does that mean?" But I said it to no one. Before the thought even entered my brain she was gone. The only evidence of her being there was the door closing behind her. "Hey! Wait!" I called out. I started after her, but then remembered that my legs were no more than jello. I slammed my palms on the floor. I looked over and found Tiffany lying on her side. Out cold. Great. How the hell am I supposed to her drunk ass out of here now? And what the hell am I going to tell everyone about the bite mark on my neck.? "Charlie?" Tiffany mumbled. "Where are we?" I looked down at her, and all of my anger went away when I saw the genuine confusion flash on her face. "The little girl's room," I said looking back at the door as if Nadia would come back in. "You ok?" I looked back at her. She rolled her eyes and said, "No. I'm confused." "About what?" "One minute I'm listening to the band play, dancing, having a few drinks, then the next thing I know I'm waking up on this disgusting bathroom floor. And I smell like vomit." She looked around as if trying to remember how she got here. There was no mistaking the horror in her tone. "Did someone slip me some GHB?" I shook my head. "No, but you had about eight freaking drinks." "No I only had two, then I wind up here. Charlie, what the hell happened?" She made to lean on me, but backed off just as quickly. Her exasperated glare replaced the horrified concern. I know that stare all too well and anticipated the next question. "Who fucked you?" Here we go. Typical Tiffany switching everything to being about me just to ignore her own problems. Her drinking problem, namely, so I just stared right back. "What does that have to do with you winding up on the floor?" I didn't give her time to answer. I shot up, making her fall back onto her hands. "How dare you? I look out for you when you get drunk and you go and ask me something like that? Fuck you!" I turned to the door. "Charlie! I'm sorry!" she screamed. "I'm just so confused. I swear I only had two drinks. . . I don't remember anything else. Don't leave me, please!" She finally broke down. I felt a pang of guilt course through me. Maybe I wasn't being fair; she could have been raped for all she new. And I sorta was. I turned back around to see my strong, independent former girlfriend crying her eyes out. I picked her up and got her out of this goddamn bathroom. ********************* "We're leaving!" I announce to the guys when we finally found them. My brother's band was playing a cover -- and doing a damn fine job -- of Five Finger Death Punch's "Walk Away". How befitting, I thought shaking my head. "WHY!" Travis yelled over the music. Naturally he pick the loudest part of the room to mosh. How he threw around like that and not spill his drink is beyond me. "Cuz I want to! Tiffany just woke up and needs to be home!" And I just want to get as far away from this place as possible. I readjusted Tiffany on my arm for the umpteenth time since we left the bathroom. I think by now she was starting to believe that she'd consumed that much alcohol. Travis made like a maniacal gopher in search of Henry. He said something and pointed to the bar. The three of us were going the wrong way on the one way street. Henry was hitting on the bartender when we got back there. When she saw us she flashed that same smile I saw on the cute blond from earlier today. Poor Henry. Travis tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to pay the tab. "We'll wait for you in the car," he said, barely audible over my brother's band. I helped Tiffany into her seat and fastened her belt. Tears streaks lined her face, smeared her mascara. She looked like she just got her ass kicked, but, well in a way, she kicked her own ass. Her head lolled around the head rest until she managed to get her sight somewhat focused on me. "Charlie, I swear," she stammered, slurring her words, "I only had two." "I know. You keep saying that," I said a little more harshly than I intended. Hey, it was a weird night for me too. "But trust me, you had more than your usual." Deciding she was strapped in well enough, I closed her door and went around to my side. I sat down and instantly buckled my belt. I caught a glimpse of Henry coming out of the club/restaurant. Travis started the car, muffling what Tiffany mumbled but I heard it plain as day. My blood to ice. "I heard her voice in my head again." Tiffany's eyes rolled in her head. . . "Nadia's." I managed to keep my mouth shut, but I couldn't help but stare. Our eyes locked; this was going to be a very interesting ride home. To be continued. . .