Musings of a High School Vampire: October 30

I’ve told you before.

We don’t usually go for the vampiric vendetta.

We just don’t care enough.  

Anyone will do.   Revenge is a dish best served with simmering anger and hate, and that’s not something we’re likely to ever cook up when it’s only a casual dinner party.

It’s all just too much effort.

But removing someone who’s become an inconvenience – that’s a snack attack waiting to happen.

 

And Brix is an easy menu option – not an obvious target as he bullies plenty of people, so only he and I know the subtle difference as to how much I actually get under his skin (literally, last weekend).   He doesn’t know about that, but he suspects something – and he’s realised I am on this earth to piss him off (sometimes without even intending).   What’s worse, he knows how alike we must be if I’m able to do that.   Hell – I’m always ready to add insult to injury.   Shadow selves make us fucking uneasy, and in this case, Brix is pretty sure this universe isn’t big enough for the two of us.

He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

I do.

 

So I went to pay a little visit.   And unexpectedly got to watch Brix’s little domestic melodrama playing out.  

I’m standing quietly at the window, and he’s there, watching tv.   In comes this glamorous woman with a tower of auburn curls, clutching a silk kimono closed.

I know what you’re thinking, right?   My first thought too.   But fuck no – turns out under the facelifts and body tucks and fashion technology, this is Brix’s mom.   And she’s tripping on something – for real.   Stumbling in, she launches into this fucking tirade at her son, most of which doesn’t make sense, and sways between violent tears that make the mascara run, violent momentary mood swings from ferocity to self-pity, and acts of violence against Brix.

Solid wall he is, the dude wards off her hands where possible, tries to help her keep the slipping kimono on, and attempts occasional words of remonstrance or reassurance.

It’s fucking brilliant.

A few moments of raw, ruthless human pain.   And for my nemesis, no less.   Wild emotions are good viewing at the best of times because they’re so bloody alien and fucked-up.   Can’t even imagine getting that worked up about anything.   And someone drugged-out is even less comprehensible, albeit more fascinating (though not good eating…)   It’s bloody pure and puerile entertainment.

 

Shit.   Come on.   I don’t know if this ‘explains anything’ about Brix.   Who gives a fuck if it does?   Fact still remains, he’s an inconvenience I’m ready to dispose of.   Save your tears and sympathy for someone who doesn’t give me grief everytime he sees me.   Meanwhile, I was enjoying the freak show, and would be adding to the evening’s drama when an appropriate moment presented itself.   Hell – she might even get the blame for it, and she’s so drug-fucked she probably won’t even know she didn’t do it…   Perfect.

So he wrestles her into a chair, sobbing and incoherant, and grasping at him.   Repulsed, he looks away – and out the window.

Straight into my eyes.

 

Now that’s an awkward development.

 

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