Depression was quick in rearing its ugly head, and I didn't fight it. To tell you the truth, I was a little too busy just dealing with the burns on my face and hands to notice. The pain was immense, especially from my head, which Claude later told me had actually caught on fire.

My eternal thanks to the inventor of the fire-extinguisher and Claude's ability to not completely panic even in the most fucked up of situations and use said fire-extinguisher with skill and a good aim. It's not every day that you watch your best friend spontaneously combust from being in the sunlight. Okay, so maybe 'spontaneously combust' is a little too strong a description and a little more than inaccurate, but I must point out that my hair did catch on fire, and when a man's hair is on fire, are you actually going to argue the finer points of actual spontaneous combustion? Didn't think so.

I had managed to fumble my way to the kitchen sink, and with Claude's assistance, had soaked whatever towels I had. After carefully cleaning the remains of the fire extinguisher foam off (ow ow, pain, motherfucker that hurt), I had pressed the towels to my seared and swelling flesh. My hands weren't so bad, just red and cracked and raw and only just beginning to swell. It was my face that felt like it was on fire, and the last thing I wanted to see was what damage had been done.

Claude left me lying on the couch while he went to get some burn ointment, which he happened to have in his fantastically well-stocked car. I just lay there, wet towels on my poor skin.

I had been lucky to have been wearing my jacket at the time, and quickly ruled out any sunbathing in the future. At least that was one of the myths about vampires that stood up to the testing, and now I hoped that the myth about the quick healing was true.

"Remind me never to do that again." I managed to say when Claude returned.

"Never do that again." He handed me a handful of pills. "Vicodin. Take them all."

I popped the pills into my mouth without arguing.

"How bad does it look?"

"You don't wanna know."

"I'm asking aren't I?"

"Yeah, but I figure if you really wanted to know, you'd be asking me for a mirror instead of for my expert opinion."

"This fucking hurts man."

"That doctor did warn you."

Have you ever tried to apply burn ointment to yourself, while the hand you're using to apply said ointment, also happens to be burned? Try it sometime. It's self-fuckery at it's best. Claude could only watch me fumble and swear at myself so long before he took the ointment from me and slathered it onto my face.

"Hold still and let's just get this over with."

"If you weren't you, I'd almost kiss you, but my lips are burned too."

"Easy solution. No talking and definitely no kissing."

Claude put the rest of the ointment onto my face in relative silence and did my hands. I just lay back and waited for my depression to come creeping over me. My skin was itching like crazy like there were ants under the surface, and they had all decided to not like me anymore, but the Vicodin was already kicking in. Claude was saying something to me, and I could barely see his lips moving.

Sleep claimed me and for a while, I was able to rest and not think about anything at all.

I had the most fucked up dreams that day. I don't even remember what they were, but I remember waking up thinking about how fucked up they had been. What also got me was the fact that I didn't hurt anymore.

Of course, I told myself that it was the Vicodin doing its job, but it wasn't until I stood over the toilet pissing my heart out, that I realized I could use my hands. The swelling had gone down, and as I flexed my hand, the skin was no longer cracked. It itched a little, like from a well-formed scab, but that was all.

I had to look. So I spent the next five minutes taking off the bandages that Claude had wrapped my hands and head in, feeling way too much like a plastic surgery patient. I took them off carefully, just in case they needed to go back on, but after seeing my first hand exposed, I no longer had any doubt. I still looked like a lobster, but now the burned skin was peeling off in huge flakes where it had cracked, revealing completely new healed skin underneath. I wasted no time in ripping the rest of the bandages off, especially those on my face. I was relieved that my face was intact, just bearing the appearance of a bad sunburn, and I had to resist the urge to pick at the loose skin. My hair was quite another story. It was still burned, of course, and stunk the way that only burned hair can. I was going to have to shave it or cut it in order to get rid of the damaged bits. Apart from that, I looked like I could have just spent way too long in the sun.

I heard someone entering through the front door and turned, wondering if Claude had taken my keys, but then remembered that doors weren't the type of thing that got in Claude's way.

"Dude tell me that's you," I called out.

"Yeah it's me," Claude replied. "How are you feeling?"

I still itched, so I guess the healing process wasn't completed yet, but holy fucking shit! From burn victim to sunburn victim in eight hours. Wow.

"A little meh," I said, which was the understatement of the year, but I was being cautious and didn't want to jinx myself too much.

"You were on fire yesterday and now all I can get out of you is 'meh'?"

I walked out into the living room and for the first time noticed exactly why the whole place was feeling so dark. It had been bugging me in a low-grade way, the feeling that something was a little bit off, but I had been unable to see it until I was looking right at it.

Claude had been busy while I was sleeping and had duct-taped black trash bags over all of my windows, living room, kitchen and bedroom included.

"You did all of this? The windows?" I asked, stunned.

Claude shrugged and continued unpacking the crate of groceries he had gone out for. He produced an apple and bit into it.

"Can't have you bursting into flames on me buddy," he said.

"Or turning into ashes."

"Ashes wouldn't be good, but I don't think you're in any danger of that, not unless you kept burning and even then, you'd have to burn for a very long time."

I flexed my hand and winced a little at the residual itch. "I'm a vampire," I whispered. "Either that or Weapon X."

Claude wasn't convinced.

"Let me see the claws then."

I flexed my fists and adamantium claws completely failed to rip their way out of my hands, no matter how hard I wished.

"So vampire?" Claude grinned at me.

"Vampire it is," I took a moment to breathe it in and live with it. "Wow. I'm a motherfucking vampire."

I had to say it. I had to hear me say it. That was a point that I would later bring to bear in the Vampires Anonymous meetings because it was quite possibly the most relevant, and the only way I could come to terms with what I had become. I was a vampire, simple as that, and there was no turning back.

I looked up at Claude, an idea forming in my head.

"I wonder what else I can do."

***************

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