Romance, Blood, and a Nightclub

Cheesy title, I know. I wrote this for Creative Writing 1 last year.

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Grace was the oldest one in the nightclub; one hundred and thirteen years and with the same body she had when she was nineteen. The only thing that had changed about her physical appearance was the pair of puncture wounds, hidden beneath the synthetic leather collar she wore.

She worked as a bartender at Shampoo Nightclub in Philadelphia. Bartending was one of the few occupations that met her nocturnal needs. Plus, the energy of the youthful was like heroin to a vampire, but less addictive. It suppressed her appetite and her keep her going without blood, but just barely. But she could live off the liveliness of dancing club goers until she could find a “donor.”

Grace loved working Wednesdays: Industrial Night. It was her weekly dose of people she could actually connect with. Among the “posers” and whiny teenagers, there were those who truly did understand the appeal of the darker side of life. And on occasion, she would sense a few of the undead (undoubtedly searching for a source of food), and even some psychic “vampires” who may or may not have known what they were capable of.

It was here that she met Fiona. One night, when the song changed, the crowd at the bar had flowed back onto the dance floor. She remained, waiting patiently for that moment when she could order her drink without drowning in the sea of drunks. When Grace saw her at first she had thought it was Clyde, until she reminded herself he had been dead for ninety-four years. Still, there was an eerie resemblance. She had the same softly angled face, and dark brown eyes. Her short, unkempt black hair even resembled his dark, untidy hair before she noticed the purple streaks. And she was just as beautiful.

“Red devil, please,” she requested, her voice soft, quiet, but not shy. Grace knew she was not twenty-one, but the paper wristband indicated she was of age, and that was the bouncer’s problem, so she mixed up the concoction. A gut feeling told her this wasn’t another under aged kid trying to get drunk for the sake of being rebellious.

“Thanks,” she responded as Grace put the red colored drink down in front of her.

Grace hadn’t realized she had been staring until the girl responded with a questioning, somewhat nervous look. Shaking herself out of the daze,
Grace explained, “Sorry, you just remind me of someone.”

Unsure of how to respond, she gave a simple, “Thanks?” Unsure of what to say, she shifted her weight uncomfortably and took a drink.

After a moment of quiet, Grace laughed. It was one of those awkward silence induced laughs, but it spread to the girl, and it broke the ice. Another half hour of flirting later, she learned her name, that she was a student at Art Institute, and her more recent love life issues. Grace received a generous tip from her in her cleavage, exaggerated by the corset she wore.

“You going to be here tomorrow?” Grace asked. She didn’t work Thursdays, but she would come in to see her again.

“No…. Sorry,” she said, truly apologetically. “Wanna go get lunch somewhere?” she asked.

Lunch… That daytime meal... During which she was usually sleeping, or sitting in her apartment with her thick curtain closed, reading or composing a new melody on her violin, claiming to have a migraine whenever her landlady came by and questioned the darkness. “Sorry, I can’t. I’m busy during the day,” she lied. Fiona looked down, disappointed. “How about dinner?”

Fiona looked back up, her brown eyes widened in excitement. “Ok,” she answered, in an excited manner that, by the slightly embarrassed look, Grace could tell was out of character for her. Grace smiled at her; she was cute when she blushed.

They continued flirting until the main lights turned on, signaling closing time.

“I’ll leave you alone,” Fiona said, allowing Grace to do her work. She pulled a small card from her pocket. “Business cards make me feel cool,” she explained, half joking, and handed it to Grace, who laughed. “Just give me a call so we can work out the details.”

“Or I can pick you up at eight thirty, Ms. Page,” she suggested, examining the card, saying her last name in a mock formal tone.

Fiona laughed, “Sounds like a plan. See you tomorrow then.”

The next night, dinner went well. They ate at an Italian restaurant, and Grace was thankful that the myth about garlic —and just about everything else— was merely superstition. She had not eaten real food in a long time, and while it did nothing to sustain her, she had forgotten the pleasure of taste. It was not the same as blood, which gave her a high, but still pleasant.

While listening to Fiona speak about philosophy, Grace had to keep pulling her lustful stare from her neck back to her eyes. To Clyde’s eyes. They were the same, until she noticed the flecks of blue in them; this was a different person than her lost lover, but she was falling in love with her nonetheless.

But there was still that lustful instinct that she knew would take over if they ever got too physical. She did not want to hurt Fiona, but that meant that there must always be a barrier between them.

After Grace paid for their dinner, claiming to be a “gentleman” in response Fiona protest, she got up from the table, still hungry.

As they left the restaurant, something didn’t feel right to Grace. “I’ll walk you home,” she offered.

“You really are a gentleman,” Fiona laughed. Grace pretended to laugh too, but the feeling that someone was watching them was worrying her. Sure enough, she could feel the presence of someone following them as they walked together. Grace kept a protective arm around Fiona’s shoulder.

They arrived outside Fiona’s apartment building, and Grace’s hand moved down to her date’s soft hand and they looked in each other’s eyes, smiling. “I really had a good time,” said Fiona. “Thanks.”

“Good night Fiona,” said Grace. She wanted to get her inside quickly, but she did not want it to end either.

Grace moved in towards her, closing her eyes, and kissed her gently on the lips, which were just as soft as the skin on her hands and the cheek she caressed. There was a blissful silence as they pulled away, their gazes locked. “Good night,” Fiona said softly, still smiling. She kept stealing glances at Grace as she walked through the door.

Once the door was closed and Grace was sure she had climbed at least a few flights of stairs, she walked back in the direction from which they came and turned into an alley.

“Give me your wallet, dyke,” a man’s voice said over the cocking of a gun. She turned around to face the silhouette, and without warning, lunged at the man. He fired the gun in panic, but Grace hardly cared about the bullet lodged where her non beating heart was. She grabbed his dirty hair, jerking his head painfully to the side as she sank her teeth savagely into his neck.

The blood tingled as it coursed through her veins and her heart began beating again, resonating throughout her body. She could feel the warm liquid run down her chest, soaking her shirt while the wound healed and ejected the bullet.

She drank until there was nothing left and she ripped a large piece of flesh from his neck as she tore his lifeless body away from her. This was a man society cared little about and his death would not merit an investigation; it looked like a “well trained” dog had done its master’s dirty work and the police would pass it off as such.

Done with him, Grace wiped the blood from her mouth as she stepped back into the street, feeling more alive than she had since she actually was alive.

Grace and Fiona saw each other frequently over the next few weeks. Between visiting Grace at work, there were more dinner dates, a couple movies, and even a night in at Grace’s apartment where Fiona had been impressed by the lack of modern technology. Things were going well, except for the restricted physical affection, limited to small kisses.

The kisses were wonderful, but Grace desired more, and so did Fiona, but the vampire could not explain her nature to the mortal. Not only did she fear her reaction, but it was a burden that the teenage girl was off without. Still, Grace wanted to taste her, and had to keep fighting off that urge. She doubted her control, because even if it was a single drop of blood, she did not know if she would be able to stop there.

One Wednesday at Shampoo, while Grace watched the back of Fiona’s exposed neck when she left the bar, she heard a cold but suave voice, “Still working as a bartender?”

If she had a pulse, her heart would have stopped momentarily as what felt like and invisible hand was squeezing her stomach. “What are you doing here, Drake?” she asked the other vampire bitterly, spitting out his name.

“Just collecting some money you still owe me,” he said, brushing his long black hair out of his face with his slender, colorless hands.

“Isn’t it enough that you already took Clyde?” she whispered.

“Consider his life a late fee,” he practically laughed. His icy grey gaze suddenly turned serious. “And don’t try to pin your guilt onto me for falling behind on payment. Ironic though. You effort to save to save your lover’s life resulted in his fate.”

Grace’s knees gave way and she toppled over onto the floor behind the bar, her eyes flooding with tears that she tried to hide from Drake.

“Grace, are you ok?” came Fiona’s concerned voice. Grace didn’t respond, but silently cursed her girlfriend for condemning herself. Now Drake leverage.

“How rude, Grace. You’re not going to introduce me to your acquaintance here?” She wished she could stab the thick mockery in his voice. He circled Fiona, looking her up and down. “She’s got a beautiful neck. So delicate… so fragile.” He traced a hand around the mortal’s neck, causing her to shiver. He could have easily used his vampire charm to make this threat more arousing to Fiona, but his intention was to make them both uncomfortable.

Grace finally found her voice and was now standing again, a firm hand on the counter to keep her balance. “Keep your hands off my customers,” she demanded. Drake slowly pulled his hand away from her neck, smirking.

“I’ll expect payment in a week. In modern value.” He turned and left, several horny girls’ stares following him as he walked towards the exit.

“What was that about?” asked Fiona after a short silence that seemed to cut through the loud industrial music playing.

“I think it’s best if you stay away from here for a while. And my apartment isn’t safe either.” Grace’s voice was monotonous, void of all emotion; she was too numb to feel anything. Her gaze was fixed on a pair of overlapping stains on the top surface of the bar as her mind wandered back ninety-four years.

In 1911, Clyde had been sick with pneumonia, and her income as a bar maiden was not enough to pay the medical bills. Drake, the owner of the bar, had heard of her dilemma, and offered her a loan; something she had not expected from someone who was usually so cold, but she welcomed it anyway. Clyde’s condition only got worse when she had finally been able to pay back Drake, so the money saved had to go into further treatment.

Clyde did get better soon after, but Drake’s generosity was limited. One July night, they were both asleep when she felt a presence, waking her up. Indeed, above her sleeping husband was her boss, his features illuminated by the reflection from the blade in his hand. She couldn’t even find the voice to warn him before the knife slit his throat.

The image of Clyde’s eyes, wide open and drained of life, while Drake’s fangs sank deep into her neck was still imprinted in her memory. Her lover was dead, and it was her fault. She had been useless to prevent it, and she was the one that got them into the situation. Now she was at Drake’s mercy and unable to die. She had tried many of the common methods in effort to end her guilt, but not even a silver bullet to the brain worked.

Now Fiona was in danger because of her mistake.

Grace was not going to have the blood of another innocent on her hands. She was not going to lose Fiona like she lost Clyde. But at the same time, she could not afford to pay back Drake. And she knew he would not stop the torment even then.

If she learned one thing from modern graphic novels, a hero’s weakness was attachment. It could be exploited, hence the anonymity. Of course Drake knew who she was, so instead, she had to cut off all ties with Fiona. It was the only thing she could do to protect her, other than turn her into one of the undead too, but she could not condemn her to the same curse that plagued her. Giving her up was the only choice to keep her safe.

Thursday morning, she gathered the only belongings that were worth anything to her in a book bag; a couple sets of clothes, her and Clyde’s wedding bands strung together by a chain, some books, her violin, and the card with Fiona’s information. She put on a cap and a hooded sweatshirt to protect her from the sun outside.

It was her first time out during the day in years, and even through the sweatshirt she could feel the harsh rays harassing her skin. Ignoring it, she headed towards Fiona’s apartment, knowing she was in class now.

The door to the apartment was already open a crack, and from inside, she could hear Spice Girls playing with Fiona’s roommate, Andrew singing along. Although the myth that a vampire could not enter a home uninvited was only superstition, as Drake had proved, Grace would give her the courtesy of respecting her privacy. Rummaging through the book bag, she pulled out the card and the chain with the two rings on it and reached inside, placing them on top of a trunk that served as a makeshift table beside the door.

“Goodbye, Fiona…” she whispered, a tear escaping her eyes. Without looking behind, she walked back onto the sunlit street and headed towards the bus station.