Parasite Life

by Victoria Dalpe

  “Let’s walk a bit, shall we? It’s a nice night and I feel very warm.” He smiled down at me and in a gentlemanly fashion, offered me his arm. I stood for a beat, unsure, before finally taking it. My heart swelled in my chest, betraying me.

  We walked in silence. The city was interesting enough to steal my focus. I loved all the shuttered storefronts, the beautiful clothes and jewelry on display in the windows. On a cold night like this, the restaurants and bars were brimming, so full that the floors were hidden beneath the press of active bodies. I enjoyed the feel of my arm in his; there was a safety in it. My father’s arm. Hugh, my father.

  A wave of emotion came over me then, and a few stray tears seeped out, nearly freezing to my cheeks before I could wipe them away. I tried to hide it, feign a runny nose, or a cough. But Hugh was shrewd. Although his gait was casual, his eyes were everywhere. He stopped us short, turning me toward him.

  “Are you all right, Jane?” His voice was cool, as if he was obligated to ask. I tried to affect a casual air as I broke contact and stepped away.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just felt really overcome. I liked that too much. I like how I feel too much. But I feel so guilty. Is she going to be okay? Will she be in trouble or lose her job? Or maybe go to the police? It just felt like we really took advantage. . . .”

  “Jane, Jane. She’ll be fine, woozy from blood loss, but fine. And she won’t go to the police. She was consenting. More than likely, she’ll just be confused and probably embarrassed. I doubt that she’d even tell her best friend, or her boyfriend. So don’t worry. This is how we get by, especially if you want to give your lover a break. Spread out the love, so one person is not getting all of it.”

  My senses were sharper than they had ever been. I could hear cars blocks away, rats scurrying in alleys, TV sets playing in a hundred apartments. I felt like I could run for miles without tiring. My body was operating at peak performance. But I hated how good I felt, how shameful it all was.

  “I’ve been so hungry my whole life. . . .” My voice trembled and I felt like a fool, a child. The more I tried to clamp the feeling down, the more it pushed up and out, my eyes wet with tears. I jammed my hands in my pockets and started walking, Hugh following close on my heels.

  “If I hadn’t found Mom’s journal, I’d probably have just wasted away and died. Or gone mad and done something terrible. If I hadn’t found you, I would have kept the hope that there was a cure for me. If not a cure, then at least a future that didn’t involve perpetually using and exploiting people. And I hate myself right now, Hugh, more than ever in my life. I hate myself because I like how strong I feel. And I like being with someone like me, who understands.”

  “It’s not all bad, Jane. We play by different rules.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “It’s what we are designed to do.”

  “But you kill them!”

  He shushed me and began moving again, his hand on my lower back guiding me.

  “This is not a philosophical discussion about morality, Hugh. This is real. We destroy real lives,” I said.

  “I’m getting tired of this conversation, Jane, since it seems we’re just going in circles. Here’s the deal: you either get over it and do what your body demands, and live, or you starve yourself and start attacking people, or just waste away. Or you could just kill yourself. As you suggested when we first met.”

  “I’ve lived with very little blood before. I could do it, or maybe stop entirely. I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Do you want to go to jail? To a mental hospital? Or even worse, have them drag you under a microscope and try to figure out what you are?”

  “Maybe that would be better! Maybe then we could find a cure. Or at least an alternative?”

  Hugh swore, and looked at me pityingly. “You don’t think any of us have tried that before you? You don’t think that others have hated what we are forced to do, day in, day out? The problem is, we’re not just biology, we’re not just parasites. We need more than blood. We need the life, the love, the soul—call it what you will. But what keeps us going is not just plasma and red blood cells. It’s them. We need them to love us, to see us.”

  “Are you saying it’s magic more than science?”

  “You should understand more than anyone. You wept because I offered you my arm. You have lived your life more loathed than a stray dog, or a leper on the street. Your own mother hates you, ignores you, and feeds you solely because of the biological lasso you have wrapped around her neck. Sabrina, on the other hand, brings you happiness; her love gives you a reason to go on. Isn’t that a sort of magic?”

  I squirmed under his hard gaze, regretting the traitorous tears, regretting how wretched I was. I just wanted a moment of peace. For the world to stop whirling past, for my fate to feel less foreordained.

  “Yes, fine! You win! And there’s something terrible about that, and pathetic. So let me feel sad, at least for a second, let me grieve for the life I thought I’d have someday. I know you’ve lived this way forever, but I haven’t.”

  Hugh took a few steps, looking into a closed storefront window. “It’s not as bleak as that, I promise.”

  “It’s not? Have you ever had a relationship that you didn’t use your influence on, at least a little? How do you know anyone’s ever really loved you? We can’t have friends, we can’t be a part of anything real. We can’t make anything. Everything we do is an attempt to fill a void. Everything we are is fake. We have nothing of our own. I love Sabrina. It scares the shit out of me to think she might not really love me—not the way she thinks she does.”

  Hugh sighed, eyes still on the shop window. “I wept for Margot like the world had ended when she died. I wanted to die. I went to my father and begged him to kill me because I was too much of a coward to do it myself. So I understand. But life is hard and filled with terrible choices, Jane. Either deal with it or don’t. End of discussion. Come. I will take you back to the apartment. It’s been a long night.”

  I followed him silently. Hugh didn’t have the solution I wanted. I was suddenly exhausted to my core.

  As we silently rode in the cab, all I could focus on was the idea of stealing love, stealing life. Where did Sabrina’s liking of me as a person start, and where did her mindless compulsion to be my victim end? If I didn’t know I was doing it, could I still be at fault for the manipulation? And if that was the case, why didn’t I compel my mother to love me my whole life?

  When we arrived at the dark apartment building, neither of us moved right away. The stillness was unnerving and I thought Hugh was disappointed in me. I cleared my throat as I reached for the car door.

  “Thank you for dinner. You’ve been very generous. And thanks for . . . educating me.” I said most of this through gritted teeth, trying to keep my voice even. Hugh wished me a good night. As I stepped onto the street, he stopped me.

  “If I could do it over again, I would have found a way to leave Margot. Save her. I loved her that much. So when I tell you to leave Sabrina, it is not to be cruel. And I had a nice night with you as well. I will call the apartment or pop by tomorrow morning.”

  I nodded and shut the cab door. The apartment building loomed before me, the only light shining down from the fourth floor, where Sabrina waited up.

  After a while, I went in. The waitress’s blood was still running through me, thrumming with vitality, but my mind was tired. By the time I reached the apartment door I was totally spent.

  I went in and found Sabrina splayed on the sofa, a bag of chips in her lap, her eyes glued to an inane TV show. When she saw me she jumped up, eager for details of my night. Her hair was messy from lying down, one pigtail drastically higher than the other. It made her look like a little girl, despite the makeup and garish T-shirt. I wanted to run to her, hold her, but I couldn’t move, the knowledge that she couldn’t survive me, that she might not even love me at all, kept me rooted to the spot.

  “So?” she asked, anxious but smili
ng.

  “I’m really tired and I don’t feel much like talking now. I’m just going to go to bed. I need to think about a lot of things.” I winced as I said it. I shucked off my coat and shoes at the door.

  Sabrina came to me, her face crinkled in concern. “I’ve been sitting here for hours, waiting for you. You can’t leave it like that. Come on. This is the shit that talk shows were made for—long-lost fathers, family secrets . . . so, spill.”

  I took a breath, my voice low when I did finally speak. “I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t have to tell you everything, especially for entertainment. Goodnight.”

  “Jesus, what is your problem? What happened?”

  I closed the door behind me and leaned my back against it. I slid to the floor, pulling my knees up. The floor was cold but I didn’t care. I could hear Sabrina on the other side. Angry, moving around, her scent—that familiar combination of vanilla and cigarettes—wafted under the door. With a muttered oath she pounded on the door, calling out a few more choice things, but I didn’t answer. I crawled into bed, still in my clothes, but I didn’t care. I curled into a fetal position and pulled the duvet over my head. Eventually Sabrina gave up trying the door, and things settled down on the other side of the wall. I assumed she slept.

  XXXIII.

  When I came out the next morning, Sabrina was awake and eating a granola bar. She glared at me defiantly. But when I turned away from her, she stomped from the room, slamming the bedroom door behind her. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding and crumpled to the sofa. The TV still blared, but under that I could hear Sabrina crying.

  My heart twisted in my chest. I wanted to run in there, to apologize, to hug her. But I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to spend my life surrounded by zombies who thought they loved me. I would free my mother from being a perpetual victim. Sabrina could live her life. And no one else would get hurt.

  I took a long, hot, shower. My luggage was in the bedroom, so I just wore a towel, sipping coffee and watching the pale, sickly sun rise over the snow-covered city. It was a shame the sun didn’t burn me up like in vampire movies. It’d make things a lot easier. I could just drop my towel, step into a band of light, and it would over. Granted, burning alive would be terrible, but at least it’d be fast.

  Sabrina eventually came out, head high and obviously ignoring me. I ignored her right back and went in to get a change of clothes. It was for the best. I needed to know where the line was between Sabrina making her own choices and me compelling her. The fact that she was angry at me proved I was making the right choice. Her anger was real. I slid on some jeans and a sweater, leaving my hair down to dry.

  Sabrina spent a long time in the bathroom, and when she emerged pink from the shower in a towel turban, I could see the bite marks on her arms and neck, healing slowly, which would probably leave permanent scars. She tried to keep ignoring me, but halfway across the room she finally spun around.

  “I’m still so pissed at you, because I like to think we’re a team. But you’re right—you don’t owe me anything. And I was being immature. You have a lot of heavy stuff going on. For what it’s worth, whatever Hugh is or isn’t, or whatever he’s been saying, please don’t push me away. You won’t hurt me: I’m tough.”

  “I can’t take that chance, Sabrina. We have to stop seeing each other.” I started cleaning the counter, pretending not to care.

  “God. You want to be a martyr, or something? What options do you have? Really, what are you going to do? Waste away in that rotten old house?”

  I perched on a barstool at the kitchen island. “It’s over, Sabrina. We leave today. I’ve learned what Hugh could teach me. End of discussion,” I said, chewing a hangnail.

  The knock on the door startled us both, and I realized it had to be Hugh. Sabrina huffed and made a production of walking to the bedroom and slamming the door, again.

  I took a second to gather my nerves before answering. I plastered a nervous smile on my face and let Hugh inside. He surveyed the apartment, no doubt looking for Sabrina.

  “Why didn’t you let yourself in again?”

  “Figured you’d appreciate the gesture, after last time. Where’s your friend?”

  “She’s holed up in the bedroom. We had a fight. I told her it was over. She’s not happy about it.” I sat on the sofa. He didn’t say much, just raised an eyebrow.

  “Would you mind if I talked to Sabrina alone?”

  My first instinct was to say no, definitely not. He could see my hesitation, even my hostility, at the idea.

  He gave me an exasperated look. “I just want to help her understand all this. Please.”

  I gave in. The alarm bells clanged but I nodded. He thanked me and went to the door, rapping on it gently. Sabrina opened it a crack. He asked if he could come in and, after looking at me, she let him. He shut it behind him, which left me staring at the door.

  I could hear their muffled voices on the other side of the door, and curiosity had me up with my ear pressed to the door.

  “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but Jane is making the right decision. She doesn’t want to hurt you.”

  “She won’t,” Sabrina responded petulantly. “She’s getting better all the time.”

  “You’re right, Sabrina. She’s getting better at being a cold killer. She doesn’t want you to be her first kill.”

  I stepped away from the door not wanting to eavesdrop further, finding the conversation depressing. Hugh must actually like me a little to involve himself. Otherwise, why did he care what I did to Sabrina? She was no one to him. Maybe I should stay in the city with him. Maybe Hugh could help get my mother into a nice nursing home, and then I could come back down, change schools, be with Hugh. Try to make it all work. Sabrina could be healthy and happy and most of all, safe, up north.

  They’d been quiet in there a while, enough time to have had the short conversation that would get her to break up with me. I stood up, impatient, and crossed the room to the bedroom door. I raised my hand to knock and thought better of it, and instead pushed in. The room was as I had left it that morning—curtains open, bed mussed. But on it lay Sabrina, swooning and wearing only a bra, Hugh at her throat, drinking deeply.

  I reacted instantly, screaming and pulling at his shoulders, digging my nails in and yanking him off. He released her, his mouth a smear of red, the hole at her throat deep, deeper than any I had ever inflicted. Sabrina was chalk-pale but smiling, not caring she was nearly naked. I moaned—at least, I think it was me, the sound seemed to come from somewhere outside my body. I crumpled to my knees, my hands balled into fists glaring at Hugh.

  “Why?”

  “To show you how easy it is. I know you love her, but look, not even five minutes with me and she was ready to forget you. Do you see? She loves all of us. I was like you, after Margot. I’m trying to protect you from that. She . . .” He pointed to the barely conscious Sabrina, lying on the bed, her blood seeping out wastefully onto the sheets. “She’s just like all the others. They’re all the same!”

  “And this was how you wanted to teach me that lesson? Would you have killed her if I hadn’t come in?”

  Hugh shook his head, straightening his clothes and wiping his face. “I hadn’t planned to do this, Jane. But she was so obstinate. Don’t overthink this. . . .” He gestured at Sabrina in the bed. I rushed to her side. Her pulse was weak, and I tried to stop the bleeding with the sheets.

  I glared at him. “Get out of here. Now, Hugh. I’ll figure this out on my own.” I practically snarled this out, choking on my anger. He put his hands up in defense, his face unreadable. He was almost out the bedroom door when he swung back and pulled an envelope from his pocket.

  “You may not believe it, but I was trying to help. Oh, I almost forgot. This is for you. I wish you luck. You know where to find me if you need anything. Just lock up and leave the keys at the gallery when you leave.”

  I was too furious to reply, so instead I just kept
my arms around Sabrina and watched him through the bedroom doorway until he was gone. When the front door closed, I allowed myself a breath of relief. I shook Sabrina awake. She stared at me blearily, woozy from blood loss. I rummaged through her bags, finding her first aid kid and bandaged her neck.

  It was impossible to ignore her reality staring at the supplies laid out: gauze, ointments, iron supplements. All the essentials when dating a vampire. I sat her up and got her some water and food. As she sipped and ate, her color started coming back. Then her lip trembled.

  “Are we still fighting?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. I laughed without meaning to and shook my head no. She finally noticed she was topless and felt at the gauze at her throat. Her gaze went far away for a moment before it scrunched up on itself, to fight the tears.

  “I get why you didn’t want me to meet your dad.” I nodded and hugged her, our foreheads touching. She got herself cleaned up and ten minutes later, all our things were piled by the door, and the apartment looked like no one had ever been there. Except for the blood-sprayed sheets I’d bundled and tossed in the bathtub.

  XXXIV.

  We loaded the car with our bags, Sabrina looking terrible. I worried about her driving, but she assured me she just needed to rest and then she’d be ready to hit the road. I sat in the front seat while she dozed in the back, neither of us feeling safe in the apartment.

  I opened the envelope Hugh had given me. It was a few sheets of paper. Lawyer stuff, finances, transfer of funds for a few thousand dollars. So Hugh had put together some sort of trust fund for me. A Post-it stuck to the last page where my signature was meant to go caught my eye.

  In Hugh’s cursive handwriting: Renee the waitress 917 555 8726