It's funny: I really didn't want to get into the whole "how I became a vampire" thing since it's always the first thing everybody wants to know. Personally, I think the whole situation with the vampire support group is a hell of a lot more interesting. I mention the support group and about Stanley and Benjamin and Frankie, and people actually get interested, you know? It's me introducing an aspect of being a vampire that they'd never considered. It seems to make it more real... or maybe to them, more like a story they could sit down and listen to, so I guess it's not really real to them?

Argh, too many thoughts running through my brain to process here.

Look: my point is that I never wanted to tell the story of how I became a vampire and especially how I got kicked out of HTDK and became persona non-grata in vampire society. That shit is just plain embarrassing, and it's not a story that I can remain dispassionate about. That shit is my life. I made a lot of bad choices, many more bad than good and I can freely admit to it, you know? But it still hurts on a deep level to look at myself in the mirror like this and go into detail about exactly how I fucked up.

Besides, the whole addiction thing is seriously fucked up and not funny at all, so if it's all the same to you, I'm going to skip past some of the most embarrassing bits. You really don't want to hear about a sad, lonely vampire suddenly realizing how much he had fucked himself, do you?

Oh, you do?

Seriously?

Goddamit.

***

Sobriety!

Have I mentioned how much sobriety sucks? Well, it does! It was back in my life with the kind of vengeance usually reserved for laying waste to entire cities, and it wasn't taking any prisoners. It made me look at my reality in a completely different light and all of a sudden I had a lot of questions. I mean, like a shit ton of questions. The type of questions you don't ask when you're deep in the shit because you're just accepting your bliss and going with it, but for the marginally curious mind, these were questions that just had to be asked.

"How does the whole blood thing work anyway?" I asked.

Of course, there was no answer coming forth since I was on the toilet, and Claude definitely wasn't around to ask. If anyone had been around to talk to, they certainly wouldn't haven't been in the bathroom for me to ask since I definitely can't take a shit while someone is in the same room. When using public bathrooms, I usually have to close my eyes and pretend--

What? You were the one who wanted all of the dirty details here.

I actually do some of my best thinking while taking a nice leisurely shit, in private, with no one watching or judging me, so you know: deal with it. Taking a shit is the most vulnerable act that any of us can ever take. We have no defense against attack unless some of the more brazen have learned how to weaponize their shit, and that lack of defense tends to open up the mind in ways that it wouldn't usually be. Abstract thought is not just possible, but happening right there, exciting and alive. Taking a shower or a bath is similar, but taking a shit is where magical thinking occurs. It wouldn't surprise me if Archimedes hadn't been actually taking a bath before he ran out into the streets yelling "Eureka," but instead had been taking a shit. The bath story was just a cover, because last I checked, shit displaces water in the exact same way that dipping a toe into the bathwater does.

There was no Eureka moment for me, just the realization that I was asking a question out loud to an empty house and in effect talking to myself. A reminder that I had most definitely pissed off Claude to the point where he had no words to say to me. That was something I had never accomplished before, and it was a weird feeling.

Me: The blood is a drug.

I sat there waiting for a response to my text message, wondering if one was coming and desperately hoping he wouldn't just pick up the phone to call me. I hate talking on the phone while on the toilet. I'm always afraid of the other person hearing the echo of the room and figuring out where I was and then from that, assuming I was taking a shit (which I was) and getting grossed out because they now had a mental picture of me taking a shit while talking to them. The last thing you need is a mental picture of your friends taking a shit, especially since no shit is the same and there is the tendency for random loud farts and various bodily noises; they never look at you the same way after that.

My phone lit up as Claude responded.

Claude: So you've been stoned off your ass for the past 4 days? When you call your mom, please don't mention that.

Me: How do you know I haven't called her yet?

Claude: Dude, please. Have you met YOU? Call your mom.

Well, at least he was still talking to me. Didn't matter if it was going to be yelling or whatever. Talking was much better than silence.

Me: I'll call her. Just a lot to process. Need to borrow your brain later.

Claude: When you say blood... have you been sucking blood from people? Real actual people?

Me: Yeah. But I haven't had to kill anyone yet if that's what you're worried about.

Claude: What do you mean "yet"?

Me: Oops. Haven't killed anyone at all?

Claude: You're stalling. Call your mom. I'll text you later, and we can talk about this whole blood/drug situation. I'll pick you up from work.

Work? Holy shit!

The reality that I probably didn't have a job anymore was what really jolted me out of the headiness of the past four days. The phone had gone from the simple, welcoming message of "Your Phone is Now Ready to Use," to 56 voicemail messages displayed in the home menu and 144 new emails when I had turned it on. I had ignored the pounding heart in my chest that had been inspired by the avalanche of messages from people looking for me and had just texted Claude directly without reading anything. Nobody had the time for that kind of guilt, amirite? Yeah... no.

Yes, there was a fair bit of freaking the fuck out as I scrolled through my emails and saw way too many messages from my boss ("Are you dead or sick?") or from Sammy ("where the fuck are you?" and "Re: Re: Dude WTF?"). Then, of course, there was the huge glut of unanswered text messages that finally made me want to throw the phone down in the toilet. Instead, I flushed and went to find something to eat, heart pounding, hands shaking, headache incoming.

Welcome to Life 2.0, where you don't get to vanish for days at a time with no consequences, especially in this constantly connected world where everyone is telling everyone else what they had for lunch and how everyone should feel moral outrage because of some stupid meme they found on the internet that a little bit of research would have revealed was 100% false.

So I did what anybody else would do in the instance of freaking the fuck out. I avoided facing the situation, spent about an hour brainstorming on stupid plans to save my ass and come up with a convincing enough lie that would explain where I had been and how it was completely not my fault. And then I went back to sleep so I wouldn't have to think any more.

Pretty standard right? I didn't even bother reading the emails or messages because even just thinking about them filled me with nothing but panic, and I really didn't need that. You know what I did instead? Select All and Delete. It was that simple, and it gave me such relief that I wondered why I hadn't done that sooner.

Don't judge me. I can feel you judging me, so just don't, okay?

I woke up an hour before the sun went down enough for me to go out, but once it reached that point, I was out of the house in a hurry, a vampire on the hunt. Yes it was on the hunt for my old job back, but I was hunting dammit, so don't ruin this for me.

***

"No."

Imagine the stupid look on my face as my Boss very clearly and unequivocally gave me the answer I was not looking for, and all before I could even open my mouth to ask the obviously stupid question. He had been fixing a display by the door when I had hustled in, the biggest shit eating smile I could muster plastered across my face. I had a whole speech prepared and even had my phone in my hand to show proof of how fucked up my entire situation was.

"But I've got a great story this time!" I protested, and his eyebrow had gone up at that.

"Seriously? You've got a great story? You've been fucking gone for over a week, no calls, no email, even fucking Sammy has no fucking clue where you've fucked off to, and you come in here with a story? What are you? High?"

"When you put it like that--"

The Boss scratched his scruffy cheeks as some fresh-faced pimply guy brought over a couple of new boxes. He was dressed in the official Staff T-shirt and was actually wearing an apron, so I guessed he was a completely new hire, probably on the endless rotation of ever-changing daytime staff. I had never bothered learning any of their names or faces since they were usually gone so quickly, but I was pretty sure I had never seen this kid before.

"Bob, I don't not like you, but you done fucked up. I hired somebody to replace you five days ago. I got a business to run, and you fucked up the rotation."

"What if I told you that I got shot by the neighbourhood drug dealer and things just got really weird after that?"

"Why would you even tell me anything that stupid? Do I look fucking stupid to you?"

I looked down at the short man that the Boss was and really wanted to tell him how much he looked like a bad Danny DeVito knockoff, but then considered how much I needed the job.

"I really need this job. I mean really. This is a seriously fucked up time for me--"

"Goddamit Bob. I'm trying to be the nice guy here, at least as nice as I can be. I don't give a shit about what you got going on, or how bad things are for you. All those considerations went out the door when you fucked off a week ago and didn't do the job I hired you to do. You coulda asked for time off while you still worked here. Would you have gotten it? All depends on what we coulda worked out, I mean I'm a reasonable guy, you know?"

The new guy was giving me a weird look, almost pitying, and I wanted to hit him really fucking hard. He must have sensed it, and looked away instead, busying himself with using the pricing gun on the new merchandise from the boxes. The boss turned away from me, and I reached out to him, desperate that he at least listen to the eloquent speech that I had prepared which had somehow failed to register anywhere in my brain. I managed to grab his shoulder, and he turned, scowl already on his face, his thick hairy arms already coming up, ready to defend himself and administer the ass-kicking he really wanted to give me.

I don't know what happened next, but I found myself looking the Boss deep in the eye, and for a moment, it was like I made a connection with him, could see how much he was really going to regret kicking my ass in the alley behind the store, but that it needed to be done because I was obviously not taking a hint and he promised himself not to enjoy it too much but God it would feel so good to just let go and kick someone's ass--

There was a brief moment that reminded me somewhat of looking down the barrel of my drug dealer's gun

(bang!)

but I was already speaking before I knew what I was going to say.

"Give me another chance. I'm not a bad guy, and at least I've never stolen from you. I need this job as much as you need someone like me to do it, so just think again. Give me another chance."

I blinked then, unsure that I wanted to be holding eye contact with the Boss or anyone else for that long and for a long moment wondered if the Boss was going to kick my ass. He blinked and then gave me a half-smile.

"I'm going to give you another chance Bob."

Holy shit! Seriously? Had I just Jedi mind-tricked him or something?

"But I'm docking you a week's pay and putting you back on probation, so don't fuck it up."

So much for the Jedi-mind trick.

"So just to be absolutely clear, I still have a job?"

"Want me to fire you now, shit-for-brains?"

The new guy was looking at me like I was some kind of wizard. I shrugged and grinned at him as I headed towards the back of the store, not wanting to push my luck.

"And put on a goddamn apron!" the Boss yelled at my retreating back.

I considered giving him the middle finger, but that might have been a step too far. However, I didn't wear the goddamn apron. Only the new guys ever wore the goddamn apron.

******** AUTHOR'S NOTE **********

The book is now AVAILABLE in Hardcover, Paperback and Ebooks. It's going to live here free on Wattpad, but if you love the story and want to support your awesome author (me), grab a copy from one of the lovely retailers below. Who knows: maybe it can become a bestseller with the help of you lovely WattPadders

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Check out the website: http://www.bobthevampire.com