Author's note: Written for SAW. Feel free to tear this to shreds. Part 2 will be posted next week.
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I didn’t really expect to die to a vampire in a Beacon gas station on a Sunday afternoon, but life often has other plans for me. Of course, these plans are never a full ride scholarship to Salem University or an internship at a welder’s guide, but these plans never really ended up pinning me up against the refrigerator section as a vampire monologued about the fey cult and how he was being unfairly targeted by fey kind.
“Listen, dude, all I wanted to do was to stop you from shoplifting. I’m not paid enough to deal with this.” In my head, my words probably sound a lot more in control than they actually are. My twin sister often says that I’m a coward, but she’s not around to debate with me on my composure. In fact, she left me to go pick up Subway in our pickup truck. So, I have to struggle through my non-heroic words as I’m being held up against cool metal glass by the literal scruff of my shirt.
Returning to my previous statement: I’m actually not paid enough to deal with this. 8 dollars an hour isn’t enough to deal with troublesome pixies (seriously? Who pays with conch shells for beer?), overemotional werewolves, and the occasional shoplifting human. Of course, there’s nothing in the employee handbook about how to deal with shoplifting-vampires-turned-homocidal-maniacs, so this is definitely above my pay grade.
I digress.
I’m currently struggling for my life. I’m actually really upset right now. Like, I think there are tears in my eyes, and I worked for years in order to not cry in public. I guess dying to a vampire is enough to break down all the barriers I built up over the years.
He’s a pretty handsome vampire, though. Like, I dunno, Holly says that my taste in dudes is weird, but I don’t really mind the entire vampire aesthetic. Like, I could totally be down for cuddling with a vamp in a coffin, provided that he listens to the right music. Then again, I like it when the vampire aesthetic is genuine. This dude is handsome (blond, no irises, thick eyebrows), but way too into his Party City vampire cape and overdone makeup. The makeup can’t really conceal his rockin’ cheekbones, but it can make me question his tastes.
I can also question his tastes by the fact he wants to kill me for his perceived confusion.
“Dude,” I choke out, “I’m not in any sort of,” he presses tighter, “grand conspiracy!”
My back is cooold. I’m gonna dieee.
I don’t even have the chance to tell Karen: ‘I’m not fired! Because I quit!’ And then reveal my true nature as she screams in horror and realizes that her discriminatory hiring policies weren’t enough to knock me out of the running! Okay, maybe I wouldn’t reveal my true nature to her. It’s not even my true nature; it’s just a lie that decided to be my default body. Ugh. Too complicated even in my own head.
Back to dying!
He stares at me and continues with his fake accent, “Vhy is a fey vorking in a gas station?” Was it supposed to be Russian? Transylvanian? “Vhy is fey pretending to be human?”
His vampire aura surrounds me, but I’ve kind of built an immunity to it over the years. When your best friend and total crush is a vampire throughout high school, it gets easy to just block out the complete and total death and despair and lust (ew, not sexual. Lust for blood, you pervert) that totally just radiates off of them. Like, I know that they can conceal it (only Pan knows if Jake really did try) just like fey or pixies throw on Shifts, but it can be difficult.
I empathize with that.
“Vhy is vampire pretending to ve Russian?” Wow, I’m not really the smartest cookie. At least my mother loves me! “I’m not even fey. You have the wrong guy.”
Oh, right. I really am an idiot.
He bars his sparkling white fangs and cocks his head to the side— at least he’s dropping the dumb accent. “Fey have aura too, dumbass.”
Shit.
“Drop your Shift. I want to see want you look like before I kill you.”
I’m not going to drop my Shift. I much prefer to live my truth, thank you very much. I raise my eyebrows and continue to struggle against him, kicking and trying to get free with squirming. It doesn’t really work and instead just causes him to press against me further. Ugh. “Okay, yeah, I’m fey.”
The vamp tenses. Do I have to call him vamp? I’ll call him Dil. Dil the murderous vampire. “Fey have the strongest type of aura, you absolute dumbass. Well, now I know I’m safe, since the Council only sends their absolute worst.”
Ouch, that stings.
“Council?” For some reason, that rings a bell in the back of my mind.
Dil licks his teeth. Disgusting.
I previously hadn’t expected for this shoplifting scheme to have turned into my death. Truly. All I wanted to do was say, ‘hey, sir, stop it.’ Like, he was only stealing chips? This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. It was supposed to be a benign shoplifter. But, innocent things always get corrupted when the fey are involved.
At least I’m the innocent party in this scenario.
“Drop the Shift,” Dil says again. He yawns, like I’m a snack he’s getting bored with. Well, I am a snack that he’s getting bored with. “You’ll taste better without it.”
Okay, to set the record straight before I die, I was not sent after Dil by the Council. I don’t know what the Council is. I’m just a regular, average guy trying to do my job. The only difference between me and Joe Schmoe is the fact that Joe Schmoe is most definitely a human and I am… most definitely not.
I don’t drop my Shift.
Instead, I relax. I close my eyes. My struggling is of no use. My sister won’t be back from her lunch break for, well, only Pan knows how long. Maybe she’s cozying up to the manager?
The door chimes. I instinctively shout out, “I’ll be with you in a minute.” My voice is strained. I can, for once, hear the fear in my own voice.
I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.
Dil is gently letting me to the floor—my dangling feet touch the ground. Touching the group for the last time. His hot breath is on my neck. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
Footsteps. Shuffling.
He screams and slumps against me.
My eyes snap open and my twin stares back at me. “Didn’t know you’d invite your fetish to work, Mason.”
End of part 1.
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