by Amanda Long
Glancing through the slits of the blinds covering the living room window, he noticed the sun had nearly set. “Sunset is almost over. I should be going.”
“I've upset you, haven't I?” She blurted nervously. Afraid she had misread him, that her words had alienated him, she desperately tried to smooth over her mistake. “That wasn't my intent; I was merely trying to point out a problem so many of us have. It’s human nature to feel abandoned when we suffer a loss...”
He cut her off before she could continue preaching a message he wasn't ready to hear. “I'm not upset. There is truth in your words and they have given me much to consider.” He rose from the couch, mind racing, fueled by her allegations and his own excuses. “Goodbye, Megan.”
“Goodbye.” She responded weakly. “You're coming back, right?” She asked anxiously.
“Of course, as soon as I can,” he reassured her. “My salvation will take far more than one visit.”
She smiled, watching him leave her apartment, already anxious for his return.
He left Megan more confused than before, which seemed to be the norm. He wanted to believe she could save him, but if that salvation required him to regain his faith in a higher power...well, he wasn't sure that was a price he was willing to pay.
Chapter 13
Goodbye
Dorian crept into the mansion, hoping to avoid Thomas, at least until he had more time to recuperate both physically and mentally. He cursed under his breath when he saw fire light filtering out from the study, knowing how unlikely it would be to pass by undetected. Gritting his teeth, he prepared for the inevitable as he walked past the open doors of his sanctuary.
“Dorian,” Thomas called out softly as his friend's form darkened the door.
He hesitated just outside, contemplating continuing his journey up to his room. Knowing how pointless that would be, he reluctantly entered the study. “Hello.”
“Wow, you look like shit,” Thomas sputtered, spitting out his last sip of Scotch.
“Thanks,” Dorian grumbled, leaning against the door for support, the ill effects of his withdrawal still prevalent.
“Just calling it like I see it,” Thomas sneered. “So what have you been doing for two days that has you looking like you've been assaulted. I was tempted to send out an APB and by how you look, I wish I had.”
“Good on,” Dorian huffed, ignoring the question of his whereabouts.
“I have plenty more,” Thomas laughed.
“Not now, please,” Dorian pleaded as he pulled himself off the door. “I'm going to my room to relax,” He muttered as he turned to exit the study.
“Not so fast!” Thomas shouted, rising from his chair, ready to give chase if necessary. When Dorian turned back to him, he continued, his wicked smile stretching across his mouth. “I've waited two days for our rematch. Now go get cleaned up. The sight of you like that is depressing me. Meet me in the dojo in thirty.”
Dorian locked his bedroom door. Although pointless, the act always made him feel he had some semblance of privacy. He wished this simple barrier would allow him the solitude of his room. However, he knew if he were more than a few minutes late for the fight, Thomas would come retrieve his tardy friend, destroying the physical representation of his illusion in the process. Better to simply face the music and get the fight over with; he could return later, free to ponder his situation.
The hot water slid over his body, soothing his aching muscles, and lessening the tension held within them. The healing water had him once again contemplating stalling until forcibly removed by an agitated Thomas. Unable to willfully give Thomas more ammunition to tease him – his wet naked body – he reluctantly removed himself from the shower, dressed in his gi, and proceeded to the dojo.
The sight witnessed when he entered the dojo caused his already low spirits to plummet. Streaks of black and brown darted across the padded floor. He knew what they represented, but his mind refused to accept how abruptly and drastically the changes had occurred. Before his shock took over completely, the streaks melded into a wickedly grinning Thomas.
“Finally, I thought I was going to have to come get you.”
“I'm barely five minutes late.”
I am so screwed. How could the effects reverse so fast?
“Besides, it took longer for me to get presentable than you allotted.”
“True, you did look almost as terrible as when I first discovered you.” Thomas glared at him curiously when he remained silent. “Did you not hear my insult?”
Did human blood make that big a difference in my abilities?
“What? Yeah. Ha-ha.” Dorian's mind was torn between paying attention to Thomas and panicking over how expeditiously the enhancements provided by ingesting human blood had worn off.
“Well, I’m already warmed up,” Thomas smirked, twirling his staff like a drum major, “and since I'm such a gentleman, I'll give you a chance to do the same.”
“Thanks,” Dorian retorted as he loitered toward the racks of weapons, not anxious to endure the inevitable physical and mental beat down. Selecting the identical twin of the staff being twirled so effortlessly by Thomas, he shuffled to the center of the padded dojo floor, barely able to maintain his grip on the specially made staff. What once felt like an oversized toothpick in his grasp, now felt like a ton of bricks. Knowing that warming up with a captive audience would reveal his weaken state sooner than later, he faked confidence. He postured himself in the cockiest position he could contrive, something reminiscent of the hero on the cover of one of the more adolescent books filling Thomas' study. Holding the staff erect in one hand, the other at his hip, he boasted, “Nah, there isn't any need for me to warm up.” He winked for added effect. “Last time we sparred, I almost redecorated the dojo with your brain matter. This time I will succeed and your servants shall request triple pay for the job of scraping you off the floor.”
Laying it on a little thick.
Dorian's bravado ignited an unexpected response in Thomas. Surprised, he glanced down at his throbbing groin. This physical arousal produced by Dorian had him questioning his motives behind the teasing he subjected his companion to while on his binge. Was there something more meaningful to it, than just the utter joy he experienced by making Dorian squirm? Shaking the thoughts from his mind as being no more than a lingering effect of his intoxication, he lashed back at his brash friend. “Oh, well then, by all means, let's see what you've got.”
Gripping the staff with both hands, Dorian had no choice but to take the defensive, which would hopefully buy him more time. Thomas stood ready, expecting him to attack first.
Seconds passed with no movement. Finally, tired of waiting, Thomas struck, bringing his staff down hard against Dorian's left bicep. His blood burst from his veins and rushed toward the surface of his skin, only to reverse course almost immediately. Gritting his teeth to prevent the moan of pain from escaping, Dorian reset himself, prepared to drag out the beating as long as possible. Unable to match Thomas' speed, a sweep across the floor knocked him on his back. Staring up at the ceiling, waiting for the berating, he was surprised when he saw Thomas' outstretched hand.
“We can consider that your warm up,” Thomas suggested in an uncharacteristically kind tone.
“Okay,” Dorian replied suspiciously, accepting his offered hand.
Once he was steady on his feet, Thomas questioned, “Ready?” After receiving an acknowledging nod, he attacked again, although holding back slightly. Once again, he landed all his blows without any resistance. “Where's the furious defeat you promised?” Thomas chided as he gazed down at him.
“What's the point?” Dorian snapped, rising from his supine position, this time without assistance. “I'm a vampire. Why on earth do I need to practice fighting with a staff? I am more than a match for the 'less evolved'.”
Thomas chuckled, “After that pathetic display, I'm not so sure.”
Dorian flung the staff, which to his disdain landed only a few feet away. Letting
his frustration fuel his anger, he spat out his words, “You introduced this whole charade on the premise I might meet unfriendly vampires. Well, in the expansive time I've dwelt in your mansion, I've yet to meet ANY vampires, much less ones more unfriendly than you.”
Stung by his words, Thomas responded in kind, “Unfriendly? You think I'm unfriendly? You have no fucking idea!”
“Of course I do, Thomas. Since you rescued me from the woods, you've done nothing but harass and ridicule me.”
Thomas clutched his chest as if his words had physically wounded him. “Ouch! Harass and ridicule – such harsh words. Teasing and pestering would be more appropriate terms. Besides, it's not my fault you lack a sense of humor,” he added with a laugh.
Dorian ignored Thomas' attempt to downplay his treatment. “If I had known the main reason for my rescue was to provide you with entertainment, I would have remained in the forest.”
“Suffering a little teasing isn't nearly as deplorable as crawling through the grime and muck of the forest floor on all fours.”
“A little teasing? Right,” Dorian threw up his hands. “Just forget it, Thomas. I'm done and I don't want to fight with staffs or words. I'm going to my room.”
“How about instead of sulking off to your room, you quit whining, pick up your staff and settle this disagreement the old fashioned way?” Thomas suggested, positioning himself in a ready stance.
“No,” Dorian replied bluntly, turning toward the door.
“I could make you,” Thomas called out to his back.
“You'll have to,” whispered Dorian.
Thomas halted his departure from the dojo by grabbing his arm. “Wait, since you won't finish our duel, at least explain your less than stellar performance.”
“No,” Dorian barked as he attempted to break free of his grip.
“I see.” Thomas sneered, “So you don't feel you owe me an explanation for your backsliding?”
“No, I don't owe you an explanation.”
Thomas tightened his grip around Dorian's arm. “Why you...ungrateful little shit! If not for me, you wouldn't possess an inkling of what you are or could be. I have given you everything you've desired and offered you even more.”
Moving to only an inch away from Thomas face, he spewed his words, his breath hot with anger. “You're mistaken, Thomas. You haven't given me what I've desired, only what you expect. If you would pay attention and stop being blinded by your own significance, you would realize not everyone wants what you want. I certainly don't. I have no desire to be a carbon copy of you.”
Thomas stared at Dorian, his close proximity fueling his conflicting thoughts. He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch him in his insolent mouth or taste his wicked tongue. Taking a step back but not lessening his grip, he replied, “But you are like me, you don't have a choice.”
“You would love for me to believe that,” Dorian spat.
“When will you stop living in denial?” Thomas moaned, shaking his head.
“I don't wish to be lectured, Thomas. Now, please let me go,” he pleaded, tugging to free himself.
“Why? So you can continue to backslide? What the hell, Dorian? Why don't you want to live up to your potential? I can't understand how you could be satisfied with being less,” he questioned, disappointment obvious in his tone.
“I can't understand why it matters so much to you if I reach this so-called potential. If you were truly my friend, you would want me to follow my own path, not drag me down yours, willing or not,” Dorian replied with similar disappointment.
Thomas finally released his grip on him and backed away, fearful that his fluctuating emotions of hurt, rage, and passion would inevitably result in violence. “Your own path? Is that why you've gone back to...animal blood?” He gagged on the words.
“What?” Dorian stammered, faking surprise, knowing his switch had already been discovered by his weakness.
“Don't play dumb Dorian,” he commanded, pacing the dojo to settle himself. “That, at least, is beneath you. I smelled the stench of animal on you from the moment you stepped into the study. Oh, I hoped to be mistaken, but all the signs point to that conclusion.”
“It's none of your business what I choose to consume,” Dorian spat defensively.
Giving up, convinced he had ultimately failed in bringing him into the fold, he spoke the dreaded words. “Fine, Dorian. Since I am such a horrible host and you obviously have no desire to follow in my footsteps, you should leave.”
“That's what I was trying to do when you grabbed me,” he insisted.
“No, Dorian, not the dojo...the mansion...me,” he groaned, the clarification sealing their fate.
Dorian stalked out of the dojo without responding to Thomas' suggestion, knowing he would have to leave eventually, but surprised he had requested it. Once inside his bedroom, he collapsed onto his bed, allowing its cloud like softness to caress his weary body and mind. Words regretfully spewed faded from his thoughts as he drifted into blissful blackness.
*****
Grasping the specially crafted staff firming in his hands, Thomas channeled his frustration into destroying the damned thing. His body trembled with rage when the metal core refused to break. “Fuck!” He screamed, flinging the boomerang across the dojo. A fracture, splitting the window perfectly in two, raced from the point of impact with the staff. Sunlight spilled through the crack, scorching his pale vampire skin. He remained in the light, staring at the blisters multiplying across his forearms, thankful for the mind numbing pain they induced. Finally, when the severity of the burns numbed his arms, he exited the dojo in search of other methods of desensitizing his mind. “I need to kill someone.”
Unable to yet venture out of the mansion, He went into the study to await nightfall. Dispensing with a glass, He chugged back a bottle of Scotch while watching the savage flames in the fireplace devour the wooden logs. “Everything has its place; why can't Dorian see that?”
Not wishing to give more thought to his lost friend, he grabbed another bottle and a pack of cigarettes and headed into the night to engage in his favorite distraction
*****
Dorian jolted out of bed, awakened by the bang of a slammed door. Glancing out the window, he saw the taillights of Thomas' car barreling down the driveway and into the night. Sitting on the side of his bed, he tried to formulate a plan. He wanted to be long gone before Thomas returned. Focusing, he thought of what he would need to survive on his own: Clothes, transportation, and money.
With this short list of necessities in mind, he jumped into action. Utilizing the pillowcases from his bed, he stuffed two with the finely crafted clothes removed from his closet. Another, he filled with multiple pairs of imported leather shoes. The last pillowcase, he carried into Thomas' room, intent on filling it with money.
He examined the code panel of the safe, hidden behind a painting of what he assumed to be Thomas' mother. Not having the foggiest idea what the password might be, he searched for another method of extracting the horde of cash the metal box hopefully contained. No handle, and a door seemed far too thin for his fingers; this left him with only one option. Tossing aside the now useless pillowcase, he scanned the room in search of a tool for Plan B. Removing the shade from the bedside lamp, he used the base to smash through the paneling surrounding the safe. Finally, free from its encasing, he removed the safe, justifying the theft by assuming the contents inside were stolen from Thomas' numerous victims.
He loaded his haul into the silver sports car, gifted to him as repentance for Thomas' attempted vehicular manslaughter. Standing, keys in hand, ready to leave, a sudden intense sadness washed over him. Endearing another forced abandonment seemed unfair even if this time, it was mutual.
For all his faults, Thomas was still the second person he'd ever become close too, the first since changing. Those two facts alone granted him an important place in Dorian's journey. He regretted their last conversation, although he had meant what he had said; had he not been so angry,
he would have chosen less hurtful words. Thomas wasn't all bad. For a fleeting second, he thought of sticking around to say a proper goodbye.
No. It's better to rip the bandage off.
A smile graced his solemn face as that thought reminded him of Megan.
Since choosing Megan, my separation from Thomas became inevitable. Besides, do I want to be around when he discovers the gaping hole in his bedroom wall I made stealing his safe? Nah! Still if I am truly dedicated to becoming the man Megan believes I can be, the jerk deserves my thanks.
Racing back into his bedroom one last time, he grabbed pen and paper, eager to express his gratitude to his friend.
Dear Thomas,
I want to thank you for rescuing me from the forest and supplying me with
the knowledge of what I am. I will always be eternally grateful for both.
However, I am not satisfied with being what I am, nor with being like you.
And I don’t foresee you ever changing this, no matter how hard you try. So,
my only logical course of action is to chart my own path of discovery to
see if I can find some middle ground between what I was and what I am.
Please don't think you pushed me away with your suggestion or any of
the harsh words spoken in anger during our time in the dojo. I am
equally guilty and deeply sorry. No, this inevitable departure is long
overdue, delayed even, out of fear of being alone. If you are my
friend, I hope you will honor my last request: Do not attempt to find me.
Goodbye, my friend.
Dorian
P.S. Sorry about your bedroom.
*****
Thomas entered the mansion in a mood much improved thanks to a particularly gruesome murder, evidenced by the blood splatters covering the majority of his clothing. Although irked tremendously by Dorian's reluctance to fully evolve, he didn't want him to leave, even if he evolved backwards instead of forwards. He was angry at himself for saying those friendship damning words, 'you should leave'. Why did he always have to let his anger control his mouth?