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This week has been a fucking blur.   Don’t even know what day it is.   I haven’t left the house, haven’t been to school, haven’t eaten.   That last is hardly surprising though.   I’ve gone to ground –  laying low and keeping quiet, hoping the local population isn’t the only thing I’ll be seeing die down after the last few days.   I swear – I’d even hold my breath if I had any.   It all got far too fucking close for comfort this time.

 

Woke up after the night of mayhem with Py, dizzy and sick with the aftereffects of prolonged blood lust still pumping in my veins.   House was really silent.   Head was really heavy.   And someone was bloody banging on the front door.    Sheeee-it.

Dragged my sorry ass upright, and stumbled into the hall.   Open the door a crack and wince as the sunlight tries to rush in.   Focus blood-shot eyes (yeah, yeah – fucking funny coming from me, I know), and there’s this skinny girl staring at me.

Oh, man.   It’s Jenna.

You know.    Pam’s little troll of a daughter who has some disturbing kind of tween crush on me, and hangs around more than I’m comfortable with?   Of course that pasty mournful face inthe red hoodie is just what I want to see right now.

“Hi, Jonathon.”   She bites her nails and looks up from under her hair.   I stifle the snarl, and then hold myself up by the door frame as nausea rips around in my innards again.

“What, Jenna?   What?”

“Um, Mom, like, said to tell you that she’s, like, not feeling well, which like, is why she didn’t come in earlier.   But like, she said if she feels better after dinner, she can, like, come over and do Eddie’s laundry for him like, while he’s, like, at work?”

(I recently ‘gave’ Eddie a security guard job.   Got the idea during a meal the other week, and stripped the corpse at the boom gate of its uniform.   Gives him a plausible reason to ‘sleep’ all day, and gets him ‘out of the house’ when even his fictional presence in my space starts getting fucking oppressive.)

 

Concentrate, Jonathon.   What did the little she-gnome say?   Fuck – hang on.   I think about the after-party remnants that might still be around the house.   Holy shit.   I instinctively pull the door closed a bit more, and improvise rapidly.

“Oh, yep – you know, Jenna, um, I kinda – look, we’re all good here today, okay?   You just tell your mom not to worry about coming in – I’m sure us guys can clean up after ourselves for a bit.   You just, um – tell her to get better soon, yeah?   But take her time, all right – no hurry, no hurry…”

I’ve gotta get rid of her quick before I puke the remains of that final result of the late-night attack of the munchies all over her scuffed sneakers.   I breathe deep, and try to smile.   She hesitates.

“Okay.   Like – yeah.   Um, I’ll, like, tell mom, but I reckon she’ll be fine and, like, back in tomorrow, yeah?   Um – are you, like, okay?   Like, you look, like, kind of bad.”

“Oh, yep.   Totally.   Just had – a big night, you know?   Just between us, right?   Had a bit too much fun, and feeling a bit under the weather now, you see…”

Her eyes widen conspiratorially.   I fight the retching urge heaving about in my torso.

“… so, yeah.   Thanks, Jenna – yep, thanks.   But I’d better go, huh?   Tell your mum to take her of herself, and it’s all good, yeah?

I show my teeth ingratiatingly, and go to shut the door, breathing loudly and thanking the fucking powers that be for giving me a break – if Pam had come in her usual time, and there’d been our particular brand of post-party shit everywhere, all hell could have broken loose, and…

“Jonathon?”

Oh, fuck.   What now?

Jenna has stopped with the nails, and is now gnawing down the side of her thumb.

“Um.   Jonathon?   You’ve, like, got something on your face.”

What?   A sneer?   A grimace of frustration?   A look of impending projectile vomit?

“Um, like – like, all round your mouth, there?   You should like, maybe, like wash your face, or something…”

I put my hand to my mouth as she slouches off down the path, and realise just exactly what I’ve still got, darkly dried and smeared lavishly across the corners of my mouth.   And on my hands and crusted under my nails.   And making weird blotches down my black t-shirt.   Oh, fuck.   Oh, fuck.   Jenna better be stupid enough to think no more of it, or else I’m going have to sort her out pretty fast.   I can’t believe I answered the door like that…

And that was only the beginning.   Because then the phone rings.

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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2 Comments

  1. So u haven,t decided do u breath or not ? Any way i like this using of licencia poetica for situations.let,s not be to meticulous(not sure how to write it).But ..in that case of inaccuracy ,can be possibility,that u are just human , like us .I catch uuu.
    Yep ,but it can be also possibility of impossibility together with that >u cath me .
    And what m i doing actually ? Talking a night with some vampire?


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