Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine they are property of HBO except for Melanie and company.
Also, thanks so much for everyone who's following the story and has written such awesome and encouraging reviews. Thank you so much.
Day Two
I didn't realize just how much my run in with the suicidal vampire had affected me until I'd come home, headed straight for the bathroom only to find my cutting razor completely MIA. Apparently, I'd dropped it on the roof during my angry soliloquy, so I contented myself by curling up on the couch in a sweatpants and a tank top with a pint of Belgian chocolate Haagen Dazs ice cream and re-runs of Sex in the City while my black cat, Anubis, curled up on my lap and his crazy ginger counterpart, Mufasa, watched from the opposite end of the couch. There I'd stayed for much of the day drifting in and out of a fitful sleep, wondering in my moments of delirium when I could expect the side affects of my terminal leukemia to begin rearing it's ugly head again.
Over the last few months, I'd put up with the throwing up from the chemo (my thick, black curls had remained stubbornly rooted in my scalp, not that I'm complaining) and the uncomfortable feeling like my insides had been burned raw by the radiation. I'd been groggy and tired, fighting the side effects of medication after medication with each and every surgery I'd been given in the hopes of saving me. It seems, looking back, that the treatment had put more stress on my body than the cancer. At least before I'd only gotten weak, unexplainable bruises, and the occasional throwing up of blood; I find myself, oddly looking forward to going back to those days, which, I suppose, is a true testament to how fucked up I really am and brings meaning to the term 'a rock and a hard place'. I just wondered where death fit in to my acceptance of side effects. Was it with the rock or the hard place?
Joey Garnett smiles at me when I enter Sound Bites, the music store that I've worked at since I escaped from my mother's grasp and begun my young adult life. Joey is the co-owner along with his sister Gina, a one-year-old vampire who apparently left running the business up to Joey when she'd gone to live in Tennessee with the vampire who'd turned her. Both him and Gina look like they stepped straight out of a Motley Crue video, covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings. Joey had a baby face decorated with a nose ring, angel bite piercings, and a bar through his eyebrow while he'd dyed his short hair deep black and spiked it up mercilessly. Despite looking like he could kick ass, he's possibly the sweetest person I've ever met and plays base guitar in a band called Cryptic.
"Hey, Lane, how's it hanging?" Joey asks as I walk into the store.
I shrug, "Good enough, I guess." I stow my duffel bag containing my clothes for Hotel Camilla under the counter as I tie my wayward curls up into a high ponytail, blowing a stray strand out of my eyes. Sound Bites has a ridiculously relaxed dress code; I wear practically the same thing to work everyday: skinny jeans, Converse, and a baggy tank top with a bitchy phrase on it. My phrase of the day just happens to be: Come to the Dark Side, We Have Cookies.
"Bad night?" Joey asks sympathetically.
"Bad morning," I correct. "I met a suicidal, 2000 year old vamp."
Joey raises an eyebrow curiously, "Really? Did he kill himself?"
"I don't know," I roll my eyes at his morbid fascination. "I didn't exactly want to stay and watch him burst into flames or whatever." I bite my tongue before I finish with 'since I'm going to die soon too'. Joey is one of the few people that knows about my cancer; what he doesn't know is how bad it is, which is something I never intend to tell him.
"Ajax will freak when he hears this."
I snort, "No doubt. Ajax is a freak."
Ajax is a seventy-five-year-old rocker vamp that plays rhythm guitar in Cryptic. He's also, coincidentally, Joey's roommate and Gina's vampire brother, oddly enough. As much as I love Ajax, it's hard not to be creeped out around him, of his two obsessions there's music (not so creepy, right?) but then there's his weird obsession with death in all its forms, a hobby that the show 1000 ways to die only enforces.
"I hear you, chica," a familiar voice comments, and I whirl around to see Javier Rodriguez saunter in the room with his boyfriend, Tristan, in tow. I smile a Javier who walks behind the register and kisses my cheek affectionately. I know both men well; Javi has been one of my closest friends since I started working at Sound Bites, and we'd been picking up shifts together ever since. His white-collar, clean cut boyfriend, Tristan, on the other hand has been my best friend far longer; we've known each other nearly two years since we'd train at the same dance school since I'd moved to Texas with my mother, then went on to be in the same dance company. We'd been partners that had done amazing work together, according to our peers and instructors, but we'd parted ways when I'd quit company. At first, I'd tried to avoid him but stopped when he'd popped up at work, forcing me to talk to him. That kind of brotherly love and devotion's hard to ignore. "Why are we talking about the blood sucker?" Javier had nothing personal against vampires, he just didn't believe in political correctness; in fact, Javi and Ajax had founded Cryptic in the back of the store where the small performance area was set up during a local screamo concert.
Tristan leans over the counter and gives me a hug, whispering in my ear, "What did the doctor say?"
I pause, wishing he hadn't asked, but pull back and force a smile. "Oh...you know, same old, same old," I lie dismissively, and Tristan frowns but doesn't push.
"Because Lanie, here, met a vamp."
Javi snorts, "Because I'm sure that never happens working a vampire hotel and all."
I punch Javi lightly in the stomach, "Don't be an ass, Javi. This particular vamp was a scarring experience."
"Why? Did he try to break your chastity belt?"
"He killed himself," I say flatly.
Javi's jovial expression falters, "You're shitting me."
"No, I'm not." I reply in a monotone voice.
"That's fucked up," Tristan says. "What did you do?"
"Yelled at him," I admit, flushing when they all look at me incredulously.
"Dios mio, Melanie," Javier says, using my full name since he's so appalled.
Tristan shakes his head, "What were you thinking, Lanie? When a man's at the end of his rope to the point where he's ready to pop himself off, we don't try to talk him down from the ledge by screaming at him and ranting about what a moron he is."
"I didn't rant about what a moron he was!" I snap hotly while Tristan gives me and 'are you serious' look. I sigh, looking away, "It was just...implied." They groan in unison, "What? I don't have a high opinion for suicidal people."
"Since when did you even care?" Joey asks.
I shrug and look down at my fingers, "Since I saw one basically tell everyone he cares about that he didn't give a shit about their feelings as long as he felt peaceful."
"Melanie Rose Hawthorne, that does not give you the right to tell a suicidal being that he's a moron," Tristan chastises.
"And, Tristan Timothy Patrick, his exasperation of life doesn't give him the right to end his. That's not right, Tris. I've had to fight every minute just to have one more day; what right does he had to take that away?" I ask him quietly, looking into his eyes pleadingly. And Tristan bows his head, lifting my hand to kiss the back of it tenderly, obviously understanding my meaning even if he didn't agree with my actions. That's why I love Tris like a brother.
Joey clears his throat, "Why are we still talking about this? Did you really get a new tat?"
I laugh at his blatant attempt to change the subject. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
"Very much, yes," Joey comments.
Tristan scoffs, "Where have you been. She's had the damn thing for weeks."
"Well, let's see it then, Lanie. I wanna see where those paychecks I sign are going."
I grin as I look between my three close friends wondering what I'd do without them. They may not be able to be there for me the way I needed them to be, half because they're so immature and half because I don't really trust anyone enough to open up that much, but they always could find a way to make me laugh, even on my first week of chemo when I'd been confined to a hospital bed clutching a wastebin to my chest. Sometimes, you just have to laugh so you don't cry.
Tattoos weren't an obsession or a hobby for me, more like documentation, a diary of sorts of important bits and pieces of my life. The first I'd ever gotten had been a giant cross on my back, the same cross that had hung in my grandmother's house for most of her life. The second is lyrics to my favorite song by Pierce the Veil with lyrics that speak to something inside of me that fights for life every damn day. The third had been a pair on my feet, a koi fish on one foot and a dragon on the other symbolizing my transformation from a child to an adult. The fourth had been a tiny cancer zodiac sign on my finger to always remind me of that part of my life. The newest is a grim reaper on my wrist. I'd gotten it nearly a week ago when I'd been sure my cancer had gone to always be reminded that I'd beaten death. Now, all it serves as is a reminder that death is waiting for me, not exactly a pleasant sentiment.
"Interesting...?" Javi begins, unsure.
"I was thinking unsettling," Tristan remarks offhandedly, not peering at the tattoo like Joey and Javier.
"Well I think it's bitchin', Lanie."
I roll my eyes at Joey but smile, "That's so bitchin', Joey, that you think it's bitchin'."
"You mocking me, girl?" Joey asks while I giggle, shaking my head.
Tristan rolls his eyes at our antics, "I've got to go to practice. Later, Joey, Javi," he says, leaning over to give his boyfriend a peck before turning to me. "Lanie, me and you drinks tonight?"
"No can do. I'm working Hotel Camilla again." I confess.
"Call me when?"
"Sure Tris," I smile at his persistence, shaking my head. "Have fun at practice!"
"Have fun at work! Try not to harass any suicidal vamps tonight!"
I shake my head, "No promises." Tristan laughs before taking off down the street, and I turn back to Javi and Joey who both look amused. I roll my eyes at them and shake my head, "Don't you all have some work to be doing?" They laugh at me as I lean against the counter and bury my nose in Last Sacrifice, a vampire book that I'd loved before the Great Revelation, and that I'm determined to love now.
Sounds Bites is a lucrative music store, but it's certainly unconventional. Most customers sit around and listen to music or talk bands, reading in the aisles or writing in the back, buying only when they have to leave. I spend half my time finishing the book and half playing the electric guitar I've had my eye on for a while but never had the money to buy. A guitar that I now have no need or intention of buying since I really have no one in my family I'd be willing to leave it to after my death with the exception of my niece and nephew, though they can't play any instrument at all with the exception of the drums (if banging on pots and pans counts as 'playing an instrument'). Javi and Joey flit around the story, talking music and selling products in between writing and a little impromptu band partial band practice. I simply man the cash register and stock the shelves, two mindless jobs I don't mind doing.
My job at the Hotel Camilla is a whole other ball game. Between ending my shift at Sounds Bites and starting 'day shift' (for vampires, mind you), I change from my comfortable clothes into the ugly polyester uniform that all the maids at the Hotel Camilla wear. I guess it's not as bad of a uniform as it could be, but it's certainly uncomfortable and an eyesore, but I always break the dress code and wear my converse instead of the black 'shoes' we're supposed to wear. I grab a large coffee on my way, hoping it's enough to get me through the entire shift since I've gotten a grand total of maybe eight hours sleep the whole week given my busy schedule, and a slice of a crumb cake that qualifies as a dinner for me.
Janice, my favorite coworker, waves to me as I waltz into the employee room while twisting my hair up into a bun. She's my partner in crime during work since she talks even less about her personal life than I do and enjoys keeping her mind occupied on our mindless tasks by playing games or making up scenarios about the people whose rooms we're cleaning (she wants to be a novelist someday). The best part about Janice, though, is that she know everybody and knows all the gossip.
"There's a telepath in the hotel," she says by way of introduction.
I pause and look over my shoulder at her, "Really?"
"For reals; actually, I hear there's two."
"I don't believe that," I shake my head doubtfully. I mean, vampires are one thing but telepaths? Let alone two are just a little too far out of my comfort zone.
"Believe it," Janice comments, "because I heard from Bernice who works in the kitchen who heard it from Jack-you know the guy at the front desk-that one of the telepaths is Barry."
"The bellboy?" I ask in shock before really thinking it over. "Wouldn't surprise me," I say after a few minutes.
"I know. And it would totally explain how he managed to answer Peter that yes he had brought the bags up to room 210 and no they hadn't arrived with a pink Chanel duffel bag before the words even left that man's mouth. He's a weird dude," Janice comments knowingly, and I laugh as we both maneuver our cart out into the hallway where vampires and humans come and go at an alarming rate.
The hotel's always fairly busy but I've never seen so many people in it, especially moving about at such a rapid pace. Why are they all still here? Basically vampires stay at hotel Camilla during the day so they can visit their friends in Dallas-which appears to be some kind of on-the-rise vampire haven-during the day. It makes no sense people are still wandering around this time of day. I look at Janice as we knock on the first door before entering the room when we receive no reply. "Any reason there are so many vamps milling about?"
Janice looks shocked, "You didn't hear?"
"Hear what?" I ask, confused.
"Jesus, girl, you need to get out more. Read the paper, watch the news, something." I give her a dark look, and she laughs before continuing. "Apparently that crazy reverend from that psycho church/cult working out of Dallas-"
"-Steve Newlin and the Fellowship of the Sun," I cut in giving her a pointed look, which she ignores.
"Yeah, anyway, he sent some kind of crazy suicide bomber to blow up some vamp's house. Some people died, and a bunch of vamps came here because it's safe and has better security, I guess." Janice shrugs before shaking her head, "Those people are all kinds of coo-coo bananas."
I laugh and shake my head, "Weren't you raised in the Fellowship?"
"Hey now," Janice cuts in shaking her head, "I wasn't raised in the Fellowship. I was raised in Reverend Newlin senior's church before the Great Revelation. You know, back before he got eaten by a bunch of vamps and the whole congregation went nutty."
"That's an accusation, not a fact," I say.
Janice rolls her eyes, "Keep it up, missy, you're starting to sound like Nan Flanagan."
I scowl, "God forbide." I choke out while Janice grins and stifles laughter; my eyes widen just thinking about it, "That...woman is a piece of fucking work." I tell Janice as we pull the cart out into the hallway. "I mean, she's so prime and proper on tv, but there's just something about her that screams 'I'm a scary ass bitch that can-and will-tear your throat out'. Let me tell you, Janice, I would not want to find myself alone with Nan Flanagan in a dark alley. She could tear out my throat in seconds then sell to the public that I was a threat to her life...and they'd believe her!"
Janice shakes her head, "Don't you think that's a little bit extreme?"
"No," I say seriously. "I don't."
"That seems fairly judgmental," I hear from behind me, and Janice freezes, her back straightening and her face becoming bone white.
Aw shit, only I could be caught bad mouthing a famous vampire in a vampire hotel during work. Please, please, please, don't get me fired. I plaster on a fake smile and whirl around to see the boy from the roof standing behind me in yet another white cotton outfit. I do wonder if he buys them in bulk. Still, I feel a sense of relief looking at him alive. Who knew my little pep talk had worked? Certainly not me. I'm still too angry at his behavior, though to care about decorum, and I cross my arms over my chest and raise an eyebrow at him, "Seriously? You're going to lecture me about being too judgmental Mr. Vampires-Don't-Belong-Here."
"How long had you been up on the roof?" He asks curiously.
"Longer than you," I snap.
"You're so angry about what happened."
"Is there a question in there?"
"It's simply an observation."
"Great, can I get back to work now?"
"Lanie," Janice hisses at me, and I sigh, shooting her a leave-it-alone look.
"You work here," it's not a question.
I roll my eyes, "Obviously. Do you want something?"
"Patience," he says to me, and I narrow my eyes at him.
"Alors putain gênant," I say to myself in French while amusement flickers in the back of his eyes.
"I apologize," he says sincerely, "for annoying you and holding up your work."
"Yet you're still here," I note.
He nods, "You are très intéressant."
I frown at his use at French, but I'm not surprised. When you live for almost 2000 years, I'm sure having a grasp of languages is pretty damn common. It's not like you don't have the time to learn. "Why, because I'm the only one who can call you on your bullshit?"
"Because your so passionate about living, and yet you seem to have no consideration for your own life."
"Excuse me?" I snap at him, appalled, "Who do you think you are, because if I remember correctly you tried to kill yourself. How are you seriously going to stand there and tell me I have no consideration for my own life?"
The boy opened his hand to reveal the razor blade I'd lost this morning, and my eyes fix on it while I reach for it automatically. The boy closes his fist and pulls the razor out of my reach. "You are willing to spill your own blood for so little cause, but you're so unwilling to let me meet the sun."
"You don't know the first thing about me," I hiss at him angrily.
"You don't know anything about me," he says in reply, his tone clearly holds a challenge. It's more than obvious what he's saying: I don't know anything about him yet still felt the need to call him out about his impending suicide attempt but yet he can't berate me about cutting myself? No, they're two totally different things in my opinion.
"It's just blood," I whisper. "It's just a little cut, that's all. It makes me feel...better." Maybe not, but it does help me get my mind off of the other problems in life that hurt me.
"Blood, to a vampire, is life. Blood is sacred," the boy tells me, and I remain silent. "I'll let you get back to work, Lanie," but this conversation isn't over. The words aren't spoken but they don't need to be, his intentions are clear.
"My name is Melanie," I say with attitude, crossing my arms over my chest, "only my friends call me Lanie."
The boy smiles slightly, "A bientot, Melanie. Je suis Godric." And on that note, he is gone, and I'm in trouble.
And there you have it, chapter two. If you speak fluent french and mine is wrong, I apologize, but I got most of it off Google translator. Also, in case I didn't mention it in the first chapter, Melanie also speaks Haitian Creole (also found on Google). I'll be putting pictures of the cats up on my profile because I based them off of my cats (and I love to show them off to the world). And if there's any issues with the present tense verb usage please let me know and forgive me, on thing I love about the site is that it's a great way to practice and improve writing style, and I really wanted to try to write a story with present tense usage, which is something I never do. Anyway, the next chapter might be up later today. I'm on a roll! Thank you very much. Any questions, comments, concern you know how to reach me :)
