How Not to Vampire - Season 1

10. The Beautiful People

Pro-Tip for Humans #78: Never trust a man that says "trust me." Trust me on this.

I tried not to scream every time Louise drove her Honda over a bump or into a pothole, but she wasn't making it easy. She winced and apologized as she went over each bump and I hissed or yelped in response, but apologies were no help for the throbbing pain in my shoulder and neck. The neighbourhood she had driven us into apparently employed an overzealous road-planner, and that psychopath decided the best idea in the world was to install traffic-bumps every fifty-feet.. Then again, it was a moderately-wealthy neighbourhood so it shared that counter-intuitive characteristic with all wealthy neighbourhoods I'd ever driven through: fantastically shitty roads.

Bump!

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

Bump!

"Motherfuck!"

"So sorry!"

Bump!

"Rasshole!" I yelled as spasms of pain coursed through my shoulder, forcing out my favourite Bajan cussword, which I had learned from my Dad many years ago. Dad was an expert cusser and I was an apt pupil, soaking them all up to use at the appropriate time. There's nothing like a Bajan cussword to really communicate just how fucked up everything is. A time like this one.

My shirt was sticky with blood all the way down my back and creeping into my underwear. I was sure it had soaked through the lining of my coat, and there was a moment of regret since that had been my favorite (and only) wool-coat. I had bled steadily since we left the bar and I was sure that wasn't normal.

Lights from the dashboard illuminated Louise's furrowed brow and slightly panicky eyes. "Here we are," she announced, parking the car in front of one of the older houses in the neighbourhood. "We'll get you fixed up in no time at all, but you have to promise to behave, okay?"

"You promised me heroin," I groaned.

"Vicodin, Bob," Louise disagreed, "and only if you were not showing any improvement."

"No, it was definitely heroin."

Louise held up her phone to show a text message from Claude.

Claude: NO ILLEGAL DRUGS FOR BOB!

Dammit Claude.

"Nice try, buddy." Louise rolled her eyes, retrieved two pills from her pocket, and deposited them into my hand. She reached into the back for something, and I made the pills disappear into my mouth, paused to gather enough saliva and swallowed.

"I had water you know," Louise admonished, holding the bottle of water she had been searching for. She glanced at the house and then back at me. "Look, my friend can be a bit of a dick, but he'll help. Please promise to behave?"

"Me behaving starting... now," I said and winced. Even talking was painful, but hopefully the Vicodin would kick in soon. The heroin I had gotten from Brandi wasn't helping as much I had hoped. I knew from experience that a proper hit should have had me feeling the pain but really not giving a shit. Good sex but bad drugs.

I somehow managed to exit the car, moving carefully as if I had injured my back, since that was the only movement that seemed to work. Louise watched, ready to lend a hand, but I gave her my best fake grin and waved off her help.

Walking stiffly, I followed Louise down the short driveway to the Victorian-style mansion with the well-kept garden, aware of a distant sound of a house party coming from somewhere. There was a garage at the end of the driveway, a newer and obvious add-on, in front of which a number of cars were parked, including a Black BMW with dark tinted windows, stylishly cool. It spoke volumes about the owner, saying that he was coolly efficient, confident and just rich enough to think that he was ten-times better than you, and that he didn't obsess over cars. If you were richer than he was, then it wouldn't faze him one way or the other, dammit. He probably walked around the house in a cardigan or something equally as metrosexual.