You really wanna know? -- PG-13 - Champagne Challenge #125
Posted: Tue Jan 11, 2011 11:04 pm
Title: You really wanna know?
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: I really hestitated to post this little first person narration after reading Lilly's wonderful 'Hunger' and Lucy's equally fabulous 'Starting Fresh'. They both have such wonderful insights and fantastic phrasing and for some reason this challenge has resulted in a lot of first person narratives. Anyway, this has been hanging around in my miscellaneous file for some time, the product of my curiosity about who these girls actually were, where did they come from, why did they do this? - and was meant to be the beginning of a short multi fic - its theme fits this months challenge so here it is. I'm working on my actual response to this challenge so there will be another one to come. My response to last month's challenge 'The Cold' also touches on some of my concerns about the freshie condition. Kind regards, Luxe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You really wanna know?
Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were a child, an invisible Harvey, or a friendly monster under the bed who made you feel safe those nights you couldn’t sleep?
I did. Only mine was a vampire named Jimmy and he was real.
I met Jimmy and found out about the dead who walk amongst us all on the same eventful evening. Saturday, April 5th 2002. I remember it specifically because it was exactly three days after I’d managed to turn thirteen, learn how to juggle baseballs and regain consciousness despite a black eye, two broken ribs and a fractured leg all in a matter of a few short hours.
The juggling and the black eye weren’t completely mutually exclusive if you accepted the fact that breaking every bottle of hooch in the house deserved a beating. Okay, maybe it wasn’t strictly juggling, but if anyone else asks that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I didn’t know it at the time, but Jimmy was one of the attending nurses who hovered over me when the ambulance brought me in and by all account, he took an immediate shine to me. I can see how that could happen. I've been told more than once that unconsciousness becomes me. It was only later on that he told me it was because of my blood and not my charming personality. Luckily for me, my ego’s stronger than my tibia.
Already having too much harsh reality in my life, I was disinclined to put any credence in the notion of the ‘supernatural’, so not surprisingly I didn’t cotton on to the fact that Jimmy was a vampire right away. The penny only dropped the night I caught him doing a fancy layback over my hospital bed with a syringeful of my precious blood in his hairy, white hand.
It happened like this:
I’m never at my best when someone wakes me up in the middle of the night so hospital was hell for me, only the first circle compared to home, but even so. Every night one of those blood suckers - that’s nurses not vampires, don’t jump ahead of the story - would come in to take a sample of my blood, and the sting of the needle would wake me every time. I think the doctors suspected what was at home waiting for me, so I’d been in there a while and being the smart little cookie I am, it didn’t take me long to realise that it was the same nurse taking the same sample of my blood at the same time every night. The nights he was rostered off, I slept like a baby. The nights he was rostered on – shazzam - the sharp, sting of metal woke me every time. Not hard to see a pattern, right?
“What are you, some kind of vampire?” I grouched, as four centimetres of my blood was drawn up into the syringe.
I expected the usual there-there patronising tones the nurses used on kids my age, the dumb schmucks, but instead was surprised when he looked up almost guiltily and stepped back. I would have laughed but a rib might have punctured my lung. The look on his face was exactly the same one my kid brother had when I caught him shoving Mom’s latest boyfriend’s porn mags under his bed. Like I’d believe he was only confiscating them from my ten year old sister!
So that’s how I met Jimmy. He wasn’t too smart, ol’Jimmy. He admitted it straight away. I didn’t believe it at first, of course. Made him drink the blood in front of me. Took another few nights to coax the fangs out of him. Sweet guy, he didn’t want to scare me. As if a pair of fangs could scare me after what I’ve seen. I didn’t expect the silver eyes though. They were just downright creepy. I still don’t have the hang of them even now.
Did you catch that I said ‘even now’?
Fast forward six years and you have me: a gorgeous, naïve, nineteen-year-old fresh-faced small town girl about to get off a bus at the corner of Sunset and Vine at midnight. And what is a gorgeous-naïve-nineteen-year-old-fresh-faced-small-town girl supposed to do when she gets off an L.A. bus at midnight, pray tell? I'm glad you asked.
The answer is: head straight for a vampire, of course.
And no, that’s not a pejorative term for one of those small-time agents or Hollywood producer (cough - porn king - ) types. I mean a real vampire, the cape-wearing, artery-seeking, virgin loving, blood sucking fiend type, haven't you been listening? Oh, and did I say I was naïve? I lied. I do that sometimes. Well, maybe I do that a lot. It’s an issue of pride, okay. But I’m not lying about this. Why would I? I had a ten-year plan and a cashed up vampire was part of it.
It was Jimmy, of course, who told me about all the other vampires, the ones who live amongst us – I hope you could tell the creepy way I said that – and how hard it was for them to make a ‘living’ as it were. He also told me something very interesting, almost like a vampire fairytale for girls like me. He said girls could make do selling blood to vampires, that if they were smart, they could even get somewhere nice to live, nice clothes, jewellery and a car as well as getting cold, hard cash for the stuff.
The even more interesting thing he told me was about my blood. I have a rare blood type. I knew that part already of course. I overheard them telling my mother when I came out of surgery. They had to give me the universal type because they didn’t have any of my brand in stock. The thing was, Jimmy said the stuff tasted great – like that really old wine that stuffy, rich guys like to drink. Jimmy said he’d never tasted anything like it and he came over all vamp-like just thinking about it. Maybe I would have been a little afraid of him then if he hadn’t already been my friend.
So there I was, Sunset and Vine, duffel bag in hand. My name wasn’t Dorothy and I didn’t come from Kansas, but I was setting off on my own yellow brick road in search of a Ruby city, looking for The Vampire. Metaphor a little too stretched? Ok. Whatever.
It took me a couple of weeks of going to bars every night, asking some not so subtle questions, you know, showing a little neck before one of the bartenders gave me the heads up and suggested a little out of the way place called, believe it or not, Ruby’s. Guess the metaphor wasn’t stretched too far after all, was it wise guy? I tell you, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about vamps since then, it’s that they all love a twee in-joke.
Anyway that’s how I heard his name. Kostan. Josef Kostan. The local big Kahuna.
In time I was to experience luxury the like of which I never could have imagined and see horrors that’d make your hair frizz on a bone dry day. And Josef? ...The Big K? ...J-Daddy -? He’d kill me if he ever heard me call him that in public... the old guy was going to become a little more and a little less than a friend to me, but back then, I was simply going to bleed the bastard dry of every cent I could get and then some. Guess you don’t have to have fangs to be a vampire, right?
Anyway, so that’s it. The Hollywood type ain’t just reel, Virginia, and they’re out there, waiting for girls just like you and me every single day. Was that a little shiver?
Ha! Sleep tight, my pretty, sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
A/N: I really hestitated to post this little first person narration after reading Lilly's wonderful 'Hunger' and Lucy's equally fabulous 'Starting Fresh'. They both have such wonderful insights and fantastic phrasing and for some reason this challenge has resulted in a lot of first person narratives. Anyway, this has been hanging around in my miscellaneous file for some time, the product of my curiosity about who these girls actually were, where did they come from, why did they do this? - and was meant to be the beginning of a short multi fic - its theme fits this months challenge so here it is. I'm working on my actual response to this challenge so there will be another one to come. My response to last month's challenge 'The Cold' also touches on some of my concerns about the freshie condition. Kind regards, Luxe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
You really wanna know?
Did you ever have an imaginary friend when you were a child, an invisible Harvey, or a friendly monster under the bed who made you feel safe those nights you couldn’t sleep?
I did. Only mine was a vampire named Jimmy and he was real.
I met Jimmy and found out about the dead who walk amongst us all on the same eventful evening. Saturday, April 5th 2002. I remember it specifically because it was exactly three days after I’d managed to turn thirteen, learn how to juggle baseballs and regain consciousness despite a black eye, two broken ribs and a fractured leg all in a matter of a few short hours.
The juggling and the black eye weren’t completely mutually exclusive if you accepted the fact that breaking every bottle of hooch in the house deserved a beating. Okay, maybe it wasn’t strictly juggling, but if anyone else asks that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I didn’t know it at the time, but Jimmy was one of the attending nurses who hovered over me when the ambulance brought me in and by all account, he took an immediate shine to me. I can see how that could happen. I've been told more than once that unconsciousness becomes me. It was only later on that he told me it was because of my blood and not my charming personality. Luckily for me, my ego’s stronger than my tibia.
Already having too much harsh reality in my life, I was disinclined to put any credence in the notion of the ‘supernatural’, so not surprisingly I didn’t cotton on to the fact that Jimmy was a vampire right away. The penny only dropped the night I caught him doing a fancy layback over my hospital bed with a syringeful of my precious blood in his hairy, white hand.
It happened like this:
I’m never at my best when someone wakes me up in the middle of the night so hospital was hell for me, only the first circle compared to home, but even so. Every night one of those blood suckers - that’s nurses not vampires, don’t jump ahead of the story - would come in to take a sample of my blood, and the sting of the needle would wake me every time. I think the doctors suspected what was at home waiting for me, so I’d been in there a while and being the smart little cookie I am, it didn’t take me long to realise that it was the same nurse taking the same sample of my blood at the same time every night. The nights he was rostered off, I slept like a baby. The nights he was rostered on – shazzam - the sharp, sting of metal woke me every time. Not hard to see a pattern, right?
“What are you, some kind of vampire?” I grouched, as four centimetres of my blood was drawn up into the syringe.
I expected the usual there-there patronising tones the nurses used on kids my age, the dumb schmucks, but instead was surprised when he looked up almost guiltily and stepped back. I would have laughed but a rib might have punctured my lung. The look on his face was exactly the same one my kid brother had when I caught him shoving Mom’s latest boyfriend’s porn mags under his bed. Like I’d believe he was only confiscating them from my ten year old sister!
So that’s how I met Jimmy. He wasn’t too smart, ol’Jimmy. He admitted it straight away. I didn’t believe it at first, of course. Made him drink the blood in front of me. Took another few nights to coax the fangs out of him. Sweet guy, he didn’t want to scare me. As if a pair of fangs could scare me after what I’ve seen. I didn’t expect the silver eyes though. They were just downright creepy. I still don’t have the hang of them even now.
Did you catch that I said ‘even now’?
Fast forward six years and you have me: a gorgeous, naïve, nineteen-year-old fresh-faced small town girl about to get off a bus at the corner of Sunset and Vine at midnight. And what is a gorgeous-naïve-nineteen-year-old-fresh-faced-small-town girl supposed to do when she gets off an L.A. bus at midnight, pray tell? I'm glad you asked.
The answer is: head straight for a vampire, of course.
And no, that’s not a pejorative term for one of those small-time agents or Hollywood producer (cough - porn king - ) types. I mean a real vampire, the cape-wearing, artery-seeking, virgin loving, blood sucking fiend type, haven't you been listening? Oh, and did I say I was naïve? I lied. I do that sometimes. Well, maybe I do that a lot. It’s an issue of pride, okay. But I’m not lying about this. Why would I? I had a ten-year plan and a cashed up vampire was part of it.
It was Jimmy, of course, who told me about all the other vampires, the ones who live amongst us – I hope you could tell the creepy way I said that – and how hard it was for them to make a ‘living’ as it were. He also told me something very interesting, almost like a vampire fairytale for girls like me. He said girls could make do selling blood to vampires, that if they were smart, they could even get somewhere nice to live, nice clothes, jewellery and a car as well as getting cold, hard cash for the stuff.
The even more interesting thing he told me was about my blood. I have a rare blood type. I knew that part already of course. I overheard them telling my mother when I came out of surgery. They had to give me the universal type because they didn’t have any of my brand in stock. The thing was, Jimmy said the stuff tasted great – like that really old wine that stuffy, rich guys like to drink. Jimmy said he’d never tasted anything like it and he came over all vamp-like just thinking about it. Maybe I would have been a little afraid of him then if he hadn’t already been my friend.
So there I was, Sunset and Vine, duffel bag in hand. My name wasn’t Dorothy and I didn’t come from Kansas, but I was setting off on my own yellow brick road in search of a Ruby city, looking for The Vampire. Metaphor a little too stretched? Ok. Whatever.
It took me a couple of weeks of going to bars every night, asking some not so subtle questions, you know, showing a little neck before one of the bartenders gave me the heads up and suggested a little out of the way place called, believe it or not, Ruby’s. Guess the metaphor wasn’t stretched too far after all, was it wise guy? I tell you, if there’s one thing I’ve learned about vamps since then, it’s that they all love a twee in-joke.
Anyway that’s how I heard his name. Kostan. Josef Kostan. The local big Kahuna.
In time I was to experience luxury the like of which I never could have imagined and see horrors that’d make your hair frizz on a bone dry day. And Josef? ...The Big K? ...J-Daddy -? He’d kill me if he ever heard me call him that in public... the old guy was going to become a little more and a little less than a friend to me, but back then, I was simply going to bleed the bastard dry of every cent I could get and then some. Guess you don’t have to have fangs to be a vampire, right?
Anyway, so that’s it. The Hollywood type ain’t just reel, Virginia, and they’re out there, waiting for girls just like you and me every single day. Was that a little shiver?
Ha! Sleep tight, my pretty, sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~