How Not to Vampire - Season 1

5. Sic Transit Gloria

Pro-Tip for Humans #34: True friends are the ones digging you out of that crater you just dug for yourself.

Just so you know, I kinda-sorta chickened out on the whole damn thing. Like big time.

I was doing this weird half-walk that was more like a hesitant run, each step in time with the Foo Fighters blasting in my ears, taking me back down the block, closer to Jaime. The thing that I hadn't considered was that these were three very long blocks, and by the time I reached the end of the first block, the music had already changed. It was the music change that did it for me, going from the hopeful and triumphant sounds of Everlong, and moving to the mocking and sarcastic lyrics of My Own Worst Enemy. My steps became less sure, doubt raising its ugly head and punching me squarely in the nuts as I asked myself what the fuck was I actually doing? All of the bravado I had previously possessed spontaneously said "fuck it" and stumbled away to get drunk with my pride.

By the time I reached the end of the block and taken refuge from the sudden wind that the universe had whipped up just to fuck with me, I had fumbled my phone out and called the one person who could tell me how much of an idiot I was being and save me from myself.

"That's a bit dramatic even for you, don't you think?" Louise said.

"Well, of course, it's dramatic," I muttered, eyeing the clutch of commuters neatly queued at the bus stop. "I'm in crisis here, Louise. That's why I called you."

Louise was my female best friend. Yes, Claude was my main best friend, but while he and I could talk about the fine details and philosophy of Olympic Curling, even if we had no interest in it, and we could even pick up in the middle of conversations after going months without seeing each other, we never actually talked about anything of substance. He knew how to be there for me when there was a problem, but we never discussed the actual problem. That was where Louise came in. Claude could tell me I was a dumbass, Louise was the one who listened to me whine and told me why I was a dumbass. And she did it with a British accent, which made my dumbassery so much more obvious.

Louise was also the one who had introduced me to Jaime. She hadn't meant to, but it was just one of those things that happened. Kinda like how true love can never be denied or something like that. Like fate or whatever.

"Go home, Bob," Louise sighed, in that very British way she had. Even her sigh had an accent.

Jaime chose that moment to walk around the corner, her familiar mop of curls bouncing as she made her way to the bakery, and my heart stopped, an idiot smile spreading across my face as I drank in the euphoria that always came from seeing her.

The telltale white cord leading to her ears indicated that she was listening to her music, maybe even the same song I was listening to. All of my worries seemed to fade as I looked at her, admiring her effortless grace. Watching from a distance, I could properly appreciate how goddamn perfect my ex-girlfriend was.

I never really described Jaime before, so here goes: she was about five-foot-six with the kind of lean muscle lots of girls only wished for and that she made a point of going to the gym regularly to attain. Remember that whole army stint that I mentioned earlier? She had kept up her workout and training routine in the four years since she had left the army, so it was that kind of muscle. She was half-white, half-black, with the kind of indefinable beauty that a lot of people just ended up labelling as exotic, mostly because of the impossibly thick lustrous curls that framed her face. She was dressed in a cautious combination of jeans and wool-coat that probably hid a sweater underneath because like most Torontonians, she knew how to dress in layers, never trusting the weather not to completely fuck her over.