How Not to Vampire - Season 1

15. Enemies Make the Best Friends

Pro-tip for Vampires #12: Advice from vampires will probably kill you.

If you think that showing up on the doorstep of the place where you died three days before is no big deal, I suggest that you try it for yourself sometime. I had already been caught off guard by the sweat that suddenly appeared on my forehead and the boiling sensation in my stomach. The urge to turn and walk away, because this was clearly not a good idea, had almost taken over, but I had persisted and knocked. The sight of Robert's stupid fucking handsome face as he opened the door was what pushed me over the edge, if I can be completely honest with you. Maybe it was the purple fucking cardigan that did it, I dunno.

Whatever it was, I gave into the surge of hatred and righteous fury that swelled up inside, and I punched that motherfucker right in his perfect fucking nose.

"Fuck!" Robert screamed as he staggered back into the house, blood streaming from his broken nose.

I stormed into the house, leaving an extremely confused-looking Claude behind. He had his mouth open as if he had been about to say something when I punched Robert, so he had kinda been left hanging.

"Bet you didn't expect to see me again motherfucker!" I yelled at the retreating Robert who left a trail of blood droplets in his path. I took another swing, but he saw this one coming and staggered out of range.

"You're supposed to be dead!" Robert protested as he backed into the living room, putting a couch between us. I flashed on a memory of shadowy figures fucking like crazy in that same room, which was immediately followed by the thought that this was one room where a blacklight should never ever be used. There was a blonde woman in a very stylish white suit,  sprawled facedown on the couch in a classic "I'm fucking drunk so don't fuck with me" pose. Robert ignored her so I chose to as well.

"Because you killed me!" I accused.

Claude stopped at my side and blinked rapidly as he tried to play catch up. "Wait, he did?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Robert asked, appearing almost as clueless as Claude, but with a side of righteous indignation.

"I only just remembered! You killed me, you asshole!"

"Nope, nope, nope! I was trying to save your dumb ass!" Robert yelled back.

I hesitated, doubt and fragmented memories clouding my conviction. "But I remember—"

"You were so fucking high, you fell off the goddamn table and somehow stabbed yourself in the neck with a scalpel," Robert explained, head and shoulder drooping as if he was too tired for this bullshit. "By the time Louise and I got back, you had just about completely bled out. There was nothing I could do for you."

Okay, I know you're asking yourself, almost literally 'what the fuck? Why doesn't Bob remember how he died when he so eloquently described the details of his death earlier.' Here is where I remind you that this story is told in hindsight. In the few seconds that it took between Robert opening the door and me seeing his face, my imagination had worked overtime to fill in the huge blank in my memory of that night and had made some stunning leaps of logic that were obviously and fatally wrong, leading to a seriously fucked up situation. This isn't a murder mystery: it's a comedy of errors.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

Claude had examined the room around us, which looked quite different with the lights on. The large living room was immaculately designed and looked almost exactly like an Ikea display, down to the little knick-knacks that looked like nobody had ever touched them. However, there was something off about the room and Claude had figured it out while I was busy pointing the finger at the wrong murderer.