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The noise of the pulses blurred in Dennis’s ears, the smell overwhelming his senses. So much blood, more than he’d ever had to handle at once, the sweetness of A-, the bitter taste of AB+, all of it making his head spin. He had greedily smuggled out a bag of blood, not a care for those who truly needed it. He stumbled out of the doors and snuck off to the side, his sharp canines bursting the seal of the bag, moaning unabashedly as the thick liquid coated the inside of his mouth, the metallic taste sending a pleasant rush through his body. The liquid slowly cleared his mind; the hunger his body had been desperately fighting finally waned.
♱
The blood stained your skin as you desperately tried to wash it away. Your friend had been fine, a shot grazing her calf, but she had come out stable after some surgery. You leave the bathroom, looking around and trying to stop the nausea crawling up your throat as you stumble out into the ambulance bay, craving the fresh air. You take loud and large gulps of it, sobbing between them, finally letting the shock hit you. You crumpled to your knees, your tears wetting the concrete beneath your fingers.
You hadn’t even had a moment, not hearing his quick steps, before being grabbed harshly and pushed against the wall, hidden from the doors. A blinding pain erupted from your neck, dizzying you almost immediately, and a scream couldn’t even leave your throat as the pain rippled through your skin. Your neck throbbed, the blood flowing from veins feeling like fire. Dennis’s breaths were ragged, frenzied between gulps of blood as his eyes rolled back. It had been almost two months without blood, vampires only being able to go without it for three; he couldn’t find the money to afford more blood, the hospital a constant temptation. Your blood was sweet and crisp, satisfying and nurturing. Your perfume was strong, skin soft, and pulse strong. The sobbing had brought it up, making it louder. He couldn’t think. You were there. Easy. Caught off guard. Delicious.
♱
It was warm, wherever you were. It smelled like fresh detergent and sandalwood, stirring for a long moment, gasping as the sharp pain in your neck. You slowly bring your hand to your neck, freezing at the sight of blood and recalling the night before. You sit up in a frenzy, frantically looking around for an explanation. The door slowly opens, and you tense, bracing for the worst.
“I’m–I’m sorry… It shouldn’t–”
“You’re a monster! A–a vampire!” Dennis raced to your side, frantically waving his hands, face riddled with panic.
“Yes–yes, ok! You.. you can’t… You can’t tell anyone! Please- please just let me explain!” He pleads. You shrink back against the headboard, knees pulled to your chest.
“Huckleberry! Is your hookup still here?” A voice rings out loudly through the apartment. Dennis gulps loudly, shooting you a desperate glance to keep quiet.
“Yeah! She’s sticking around for a bit!” He calls out to the mystery girl in response.
“Damn Huckleberry! You were that good?” A loud laugh follows the voice, and the tips of Dennis’s ears burn as he looks back over at you.
“Look… I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean to bite you… I didn’t mean to hurt you… I didn’t want to, I promise. There– there was so much blood yesterday… I hadn’t fed in almost two months… I was… manic… I wasn’t thinking… What’s… what’s your blood type?”
“A– a negative.” You whisper meekly, and Dennis nods.
“I–I know… It’s… It’s the sweetest blood type, and after my shift yesterday… I just couldn’t hold back… It wasn’t fair to you… You didn’t deserve it… I’m sorry. And–and I can beg and plead with you all I want, not to tell anyone… But I don’t get the luxury of asking you to do so.” He says quietly, glancing down at his hands in his lap, the tendons flexing.
“Two–two months?” You whisper after a long moment of silence.
“Vampires can only survive a maximum of three months without it… I–I don’t have the money to buy any blood… I was losing my mind… Goddamit! I feel fucking awful for hurting you… I don’t even know why you were there–”
“My friend– she– she uh– got grazed by a bullet… tore through her calf… She... she was stable after surgery.” You sniffle weakly, watching him closely. You could feel the guilt radiating off of him in waves, his sunken eyes and posture refusing to meet your own. “Can– do you have my phone?” He nods, walking to a small set of shelves and passing you your purse. You hesitate for a moment before taking it from his hands.
“Are you hungry?” He asks gently, and you slowly nod. “Want something to eat? I think Trin made waffles.” You glance up and crack a weak smile.
“I’d– love that if it’s not too much trouble.” He nods eagerly, leaving the room. You let out a long sigh of relief, finally glancing around. It was clear that if this was Dennis’s room, he’d moved in rather recently. Bare grey walls, boxes stuffed away in a corner, little to nothing on the shelves. A plain navy blue bedspread with a black comforter and plain pillows, and a messy closet. You check your phone, sending out messages to a few people that you were ok and safe after the festival, and sigh before setting it beside you, rolling the fabric of the sheets between your fingers.
The door opens again, and you're met with a fresh plate of waffles, some fruit, and a large glass of water. “Special delivery!” Dennis smiles weakly. You gratefully take the plate and slowly start eating as Dennis sits at the end of the bed, watching silently.
“Does– does the sunlight really hurt you?”
“If I’m in it too long. I just burn faster and worse than most.” He sticks his hand into the sunlight streaming through the window, and you admire his pale skin that glitters in the light.
“What’s your name?” You whisper gently.
“Dennis. Dennis Whitaker. I uh– looked at your ID while you were asleep.” You nod, which explains why he knew your name.
“How.. How old are you?”
“Only 76. I was changed when I was 22 after I snuck into an abandoned barn in Nebraska. I got bitten and woke up in my bed the next morning, left to figure everything out.”
“Did… did it hurt?” He nods weakly. “Can I ask something stupid?”
“I love stupid.”
“Can you turn into a bat?” A gentle giggle leaves your lips as a wide grin spreads across his face.
“Yes, I can. Want to see?” Your eyes light up with a frantic nod. He smiles proudly, and before your eyes, in a matter of milliseconds, a small vampire bat is sitting in front of you. You tentatively reach out, picking him up and feeling the soft fur.
“You’re so little…” You whisper. He squeaks loudly, his small teeth glinting in the morning light.
♱
Dennis had washed your clothes and let you shower as the morning continued. He had been sweet, tentative, and guilty, walking on eggshells around you to make sure you felt safe.
“Is it silly if I like you more as a bat?” You smile, working to cover the aching bite with concealer. He laughs, watching you as he gets ready to head to the hospital.
“I don’t blame you. Probably a lot less scary.”
“I don’t think you’re scary. Now that I know you at least.”
“You’re… you’re not scared of me?”
“Not… not anymore. I believe you that you didn’t mean to do it… I understand how desperately you needed it.” You say gently.
“You’re too nice. You shouldn’t trust me like that.”
♱
The scabs on your neck had healed over, scars barely noticeable. But you hadn’t forgotten about Dennis. You thought about him more than you should. His guilt was so strong… the way he looked at you like a kicked puppy, who had just bit you for the first time, knowing he was in trouble.
As you washed the dishes, humming along to a random song you had put on, red gushes from your arm, a gasp following shortly after. You had hit a plate on the edge of the sink, breaking it, a piece cutting the length of your arm. Swearing, you wrap your arm in a towel, trying to fight off your nausea at the sight.
♱
The lights buzzed as you were walked into a small hospital room.
“Can I ask you something…” You glance at the nurse’s badge, “Matteo?”
“What can I do for you?”
“Is– is Dennis Whitaker working?” You ask gently.
“Yeah, he is.”
“Can… can he stitch me up? I know him, and Injuries make me feel awful, and some…
familiarity would really help… please.” Matteo listens with a gentle smile before nodding.
“Huckleberry, coming right up.” He grins, closing the door behind him. You zone out,
following the line of your shoelaces before hearing the door open. You can’t help the smile as you meet Whitaker’s eyes.
“Dennis… hi.”
“Doing ok? Laceration on the arm… probably a good amount of stitches.” He smiled awkwardly.
“I’m not great. Queasy.” He swiftly looks up at you.
“Do you want something for the nausea?” You shake your head.
“I just want this over with.” Dennis nods, grabs a pair of gloves, and sits in front of you. “Dennis?”
“Hm?”
“Do… do you need the blood?” You ask hesitantly, watching his expression as he processes the words: his body tenses, his hand freezing above your arm.
“What?”
“Do you need the blood?” You say gently.
“I couldn’t ask–”
“I’m offering.” You whisper. He looks up at you, and you watch the desperate glint in his eyes. He stalls for a long moment before pulling the curtain around the two of you.
“Are you sure?” He whispers weakly; he couldn’t pull his eyes from your arm.
“I’m sure.” You say gently, your voice trembling. He took one last glance at you before licking a long strip along your arm, the blood gathering on his tongue. His hand gripped the edge of the gurney desperately, holding back a satisfied moan. You shiver at the uncomfortable sensation, and he quickly pulls away.
“Are you ok? Did I do something wrong?” He blurts out quickly.
“No–no! It just… feels really bizarre.” You let out a deep breath as he nods.
“I’m going to numb it, alright? Pinch and some burning.” You wince and shiver at the horrible feeling.
“Was…was it enough?” You whisper gently.
“Any amount of your blood will always be enough.” He says quickly, regretting his words the minute they leave his mouth.
“Wh–what does that mean?” You ask gently, watching his face curiously.
“It’s– your blood… it’s… so strikingly sweet… It’s so… you.” He begins stitching you up. “It’s... more satisfying than any other blood I’ve ever tried. I’ve barely needed anything since I first bit you.”
“Really?” He nods weakly.
“You've got to make sure that this stays dry, and please call me if there’s any irritation, puss–”
“Would you want to go on a date?” You blurt out suddenly.
“Me–? What? Date? Us?” He stutters out.
“I– uh– yeah. A date maybe… maybe not if you– don’t want–”
“No–no I–I’d love that… that sounds wonderful.”
♱
You and Dennis walked side by side down the street, hands brushing each other’s gently. He held the door open to the small bar, smiling dopily as he followed behind you. You order a dirty Shirley as he ordered an IPA and found seats at a nice high table. You glance up with a smile, seeing the Avalanche beating the Penguins. Dennis grins at you as you meet his eyes.
“Are you a hockey person?” He questions gently, sipping his beer.
“Big time! It’s the best sport!”
“Enlighten me.” He muses.
“It’s fast paced, entertaining, they get to fight, they’re hot… what more can you ask for?” He laughs, shaking his head.
♱
By the time he’s walked you back to your apartment, you’re tipsy and giggling, holding firmly onto his bicep.
“Denny?”
“Yes?”
“Can you turn into a bat again? Come up with me? Snuggle?”
“Are you sure? You’re drunk. I don’t want you forced into that.”
“Forced?! I’m asking! Pretty please?” You let out a loud, drunken giggle.
“Alright, alright… c’mon sweetheart, let’s go.” He helps you up the stairs and into your building, then into the elevator, where you lean on his chest, looking up at him happily.
“Would my blood get you drunk?” He smiles with a nod, grabbing your keys from your bag to unlock the door.
“Probably. But I’d have to take a lot. Too much.” You let out a hmph before stumbling in and kicking your shoes off with an exasperated sigh.
“Denny?”
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Can you take my makeup off, please?”
“Sure, sweetheart, where are the makeup wipes?” You point to your bathroom, collapsing with a loud huff onto your bed. He watches with a grin, digging around and grabbing the small package of wipes before sitting beside you on the bed. “Sit up for me, c’mon.” You sit up, and he bites back a laugh at the mess of your hair.
“Do you need to bite me again?”
“No. The blood from today will have me set for a while.”
“Do you want to bite me?” He gently rubs off your makeup, cradling your face. His hand stills for a moment at your question.
“I don’t like the idea of hurting you again.”
“But it’s good for you.” He shook his head.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Even if it helps me.” Your head drops against his shoulder as you grab his hand gently, letting out a sigh.
“Do you only like me for my blood?” You mumbe quietly.
“Are you kidding? Absolutely not. You’re compassionate, gentle, strong… you’re everything.” You smile against his shoulder.
“I want to kiss you.” You mumble. A blush works its way down Dennis’s neck.
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re pretty.” You mumble, looking up at him sweetly. “And I want to kiss you… and I want you to bite me again… So you feel better.”
“How about some sleep, alright? I’ll stay.”
“With me?” He nods.
“I got some clothes out and put them on the counter for you, alright?”
“You’re already too good for me.” You mumble, standing up with a stumble as he grips your arm to help your balance.
“Easy… c’mon..,”
♱
You stir slowly, feeling a solid warmth against your back. A headache was beginning to throb at the base of your head, and you groan weakly. A hand slowly caresses your side, followed by a soft hum.
“Hangover?” He rasps out. You grumble, he laughs. “I’ve got plenty of medicine in the kitchen.”
“Don’t go.” You mumble weakly.
“Alright.” He gently pulls you closer.
“Do you wanna bite me again?” You offer softly. His nose runs along your neck.
“It’ll hurt you. I don’t want to do that.”
“Kiss me instead?” He snorts, rolling you to face him.
“That… I can do.” He grins, pulling you closer by your hips and pressing a firm kiss to your lips.