My Vampire Companion

An intense fire coursed through my veins as a scream involuntarily escaped my mouth. I writhed in pain on the rough, uneven ground of the forest, pleading for help in a futile attempt to be saved from this t*****e. I was burning. It was as if someone had set me ablaze after wrapping me in polyester and was now watching the show from the sidelines, enjoying my burning with a wicked smile on their face. A loud scream tore from my mouth as I was once again forced to endure the burning that was currently aimed at destroying me. Every part of my body, every inch of my skin screamed in terror as I felt my body parts on fire, and I lay awake, unable to do anything about it. What had I done to deserve this? I couldn’t remember any incident that would make me eligible for this in life. Sure, I had lied a few times and maybe even spoken rudely to others on rare occasions, but I was sure that didn’t justify this. I had never stolen a dime, or needless to say, killed a human or animal. This was hell on earth, an unimaginable purgatory with no path leading to heaven, and no way left to escape said purgatory. I wanted out. I pleaded for an exit, for anyone out there who could hear my plea. Death would have been better than this—whatever I was going through now. I clenched my eyes tighter as my hands gripped the short blades of grass around me in a futile attempt to relieve the pain. Thoughts of a worried James searching for his teenage daughter who disappeared on her first day in Sin City, and a heartbroken Emma tense with worry when she heard the news flooded my mind, making everything even worse than it already was, causing a loud and painful scream to escape from my lips. — Oh God. — I lamented to myself. The thought of James thinking and blaming himself for his daughter leaving him and disappearing, or running away, depending on whether they found my body, was enough to worsen my mood. He was a good father, a bit out of his depth with all of parenthood and how to do—what to do, but then again, Emma was no better. She was probably worse than James when it came to being a mother. Of course, she loved me and cared for me, but unfortunately, love didn’t pay the bills, nor did it pay for the ballet or art classes I had to stop taking because we could no longer afford them. Don’t get me wrong. I loved Emma, but somewhere deep down, I was glad to be away from her. She had no idea how to be a mother, or an adult responsible for one. She spent her entire paycheck on a pair of shoes or a fancy designer bag she spotted for just two minutes during her short walk back home from the elementary school where she worked as a teacher in the early days of the month, ignoring the fact that we needed that money to pay for groceries and other basic necessities. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, though. That would never cross her mind. When my maternal grandmother was alive and took Emma and me in after James and Emma’s divorce, it was she who took care of me. She used to joke that Emma took after her father (my late grandfather), and he was just as much of an i***t as Emma. I learned so much from my grandmother in the few years she lived, including how to prepare full meals at the age of eight and how to write a check and keep track of deadlines. She knew that after her, Emma and the household would become indirectly my responsibility—something I had no choice but to accept. I loved my mother, and so what if she was a little scatterbrained. James was different. He was an adult and knew how to behave like one. He was responsible and knew how to manage his finances and earnings. He had also lived more or less alone for nearly two decades of his life (he moved out of his parents' house at eighteen and had been married for only a year and a half when Emma left him, taking me with her). Sure, he couldn’t cook or clean, but he never expected me to do all those chores. He was just as happy to eat at the diner or order pizza every night for dinner, screw health. In fact, I was looking forward to living with him. I wanted to experience the independence that I knew living with James would provide me. This was my only chance to finally live a little for myself, and now this was happening. It wasn’t fair. My complaint, however, came out in the form of incoherent mumblings of nonsense. The burning inside me increased with each passing moment. Where the hell was I? And more importantly, what the hell was happening to me? Why was I in so much pain? I was sure of one thing, though. It was entirely his fault. It was all Bruce Crapper’s fault. He was the problem. I had known that since the first time I saw him in the cafeteria this morning, but still, I trusted him enough to take me here, and look what happened.