Diary of a Non-Conformist Vampire Victim

Chapter 2.5 | Survival

I woke up some time later with a sore shoulder, weak knees, and a strong desire to vomit. I did so, in a bucket conveniently close to my bed. I was alive then. Having a nasty parasite of a vampire sucking the life out of me wasn't enough to actually kill me. I shuddered.

On a table beside the bed, Damien had placed a fluffy towel, two tylenol, and a change of clothes. The suggestion (or was it a command?) was obvious, but at the moment I only wanted one thing. I pulled my diary from where I'd abandoned it the first night, dug out a pen from the desk, and I wrote. I wrote about Damien, and the other vampires, about Lily, about being kidnapped, and Magdaline, and the floating castle. I wrote everything, and then I shut it in the book.

It didn't make me feel any better. Somehow Lily's face was still there, even after the book was closed. I snatched up the towel and the clothing, sneered at the Tylenol (he probably touched it without gloves) and opened the unexplored side door in the bedroom which I assumed was the bathroom.

The bathroom, to their credit, was lovely. No stray hairs lying around on the marble countertops, no stains or stink coming from the toilet. I peaked into the shower cautiously, worried I might find a body or something left to drain in the tub, but the shower was sparkling clean, fresh smelling, and devoid of life.

With an approving murmur I stripped off my bloody clothing, and dug around under the counter until I found a bottle of alcohol, and a bottle of peroxide. I doused my wound liberally with both, taking comfort in the alcohol's sting. The pain was reassuring. The pain meant it was doing its job, flushing the wound of bacteria and vampire spit. When I was satisfied with the relative sterility of the wound, I opened the shower curtains and stepped into a heavenly downpour of steaming hot water. It was glorious. The soothing sound of running water, blended with the massage of the jet stream option on the showerhead, helped some of my problems run down the drain and disappear.

At least until Blake jerked the shower curtain open, and exposed my naked body to the world. "Damien has requested your presence," he informed me.

I shrieked, and yanked the shower curtain back into an appropriate position. Drake opened it from the other side. "You forgot to take your Tylenol," he said, his tone as serious as Blake's.

I chucked the soap at his head. "Get out now!" I yelled at the top of my lungs.

I rinsed off as quickly as I could, shut the water off, and snatched the towel from the counter without opening up the curtains. Never, and I mean never, have I gotten dried and dressed that fast. I stomped out of the bathroom, grabbing up the silver-handled brush for a weapon, and went vampire hunting.

The two vampires I wanted most were nowhere to be seen when I kicked the bedroom door open and headed into the hallway. I stormed from room to room, weapon at the ready, and as luck would have it the first vampire I found was Malcum.

He was in the stables, lying on the deceased body of a horse, sucking every last drop of blood from its veins. It's mouth still gaped open in a whinney of terror, but its eyes were glassy. He looked up when I came in, blood staining his mouth. I stared at that blood, my fingers tightening on the handle of the brush. This was the man who'd killed Lilly. Vampire or not, this one above all others deserved to die. In one mighty leap I jumped forward, and sent the brush crashing down on his mouth. A fang, thin and fragile, snapped off and flew into the blood stained hay. Malcum let out a ferocious growl.

He leapt at me, his movements fluid and animal like, and the sheer force of his weight sent me crashing to the ground. His hands pinned my wrists, and a knee on my thigh prevented me from flailing free. He hissed at me, blood spraying from his wound, and to my horror, I could see the gum already beginning to fill in. I pushed against his weight with all of my might, and found to my horror, that strength was precious little. I couldn't move, and I couldn't get away from the one angry fang he had left to his name.

"Stay back or I'll bite your nose off!" I snapped at him ferociously.

His lip rolled all the way back in response, and I bared my own in preperation to make good on the threat. I never got to. A shadow crossed my face, and Malcum was lifted off me and flung across the room. Damien stood between me and Malcum, his teeth bared, a growl raging in his throat. Malcum got to his feet in the blink of an eye, and the two tumbled into an empty stall, snapping at each other and making horrible noises.

For the first time since I came here, I began to understand how very small and helpless I was compared to these great brutes. I crawled backwards until I was out of the stables, and then ran for my life. I slipped a little coming into the hallway, but that didn't stop me. I skidded into the dark room I had been afraid of the first time around, found a huge empty chest, climbed into it, and shut the lid. Honestly, I don't think I would have cared if someone had locked it. I might even have felt abit safer.

I felt something crawl across my ankle, and cracked the lid just long enough to see it was Magdeline hiding in the box with me. It gave me a little bit of comfort, knowing there was someone in this strange world that, if she didn't love me, at least didn't want to cause me harm.

I don't know how long I crouched in the box before Damien found me, but it wasn't nearly long enough. When the lid creaked open and I saw his face, I didn't even scream, I just flung myself over the back of the lid and hid there instead. Damien grabbed me by the back of my shirt and dragged me back into the open.

After the way he'd tackled Malcum, I wasn't ready to take him on in a fight, so I just swung there, the sleeves cutting into the underside of my arms, and waited for the inevitable.

Damien held me at eye level, his arm not even shaking from the effort of holding me up. "How'd you manage to knock out Malcum's tooth?" he asked.

"I hit him with a brush," I said meekly.

If he was angry, he didn't show it. He set me gently down on my feet, a low chuckle deep in his throat. "I'll keep you," he decided warmly. "You'll make a great pet."

I'm not sure if that was meant to be praise or not, but since he didn't leap wildly at my neck with exposed fangs, I took this as an excellent sign.

"You must be hungry. Let's get you something to eat."

Truth be told, he was right. I hadn't eaten since meatloaf some time last evening, and I was starving. I followed behind him to the kitchens, careful not to say anything bad or look in any way like I was planning to hit him with a hairbrush. Trust first. Escape later. Besides, now that he knew about Malcum he would probably see the hairbrush coming.

We went into the kitchens, Damien whistling a merry tune, and I came to a short stop as I took in the condition of a room once again. After everything that had happened to me, I'd forgotten about the kitchen.

Damien turned to see why I'd stopped. A puzzled expression on his face. "What?" he asked, as a glob of gelatinous liquid fell from the ceiling above the stove and landed on the floor. "Aren't you hungry?"