BLOODY AVERSION
A (Sweet) Horror Story
by
Rebecca M. Senese
SMASHWORDS EDITION, 2012
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PUBLISHED BY:
RFAR Publishing on Smashwords
Bloody Aversion
Copyright © (2012) by Rebecca M. Senese
Cover Design copyright © (2012) by RFAR Publishing
Cover art copyright © StockedPhotos.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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BLOODY AVERSION
Dennis had a problem. He was a vampire.
That wasn’t the problem, no. Dennis quite liked being a vampire. He’d always considered himself a night owl, even when he was human. He preferred the darkness to the sun. Being fair-skinned and red haired meant he’d burned easily under sunlight, a condition that only increased once he became a vampire. He was quite used to staying in the shade, so having to avoid the sun altogether wasn’t that much of a hardship.
He loved the whole not-aging thing. He’d been turned just as he was starting to get a touch of crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes so he could still blend in well with younger people. For a week or two, he flirted with the whole cape look but decided it wasn’t for him. Even slicking his hair back, it just looked silly for a red-haired man to be walking around in a cape. He preferred a nice camel brown sportscoat. Gave him a slimmer line.
He’d been happy to discover he didn’t need to sleep in a coffin. As long as he was securely out of the sun, it didn’t matter where he slept.
But there was one important aspect of being a vampire that caused him no end of trouble and Dennis just didn’t know what to do about it.
He hated the sight of blood.
He’d always hated the sight of blood, even as a child. He remembered fainting when his best friend, little Suzy DeMar, had fallen from the swing set and skinned her knee. At first the scrap had been just raw but then the red blood started flowing, trickling down her leg in tiny rivulets... One look had been all it took and Dennis fell over in a dead faint.
It didn’t get any better as he got older. He’d had to quit the football team because he couldn’t stand seeing any cuts. He skipped biology classes and almost flunked out. For a while, he’d considered being a doctor because he liked to help people but he just couldn’t get past the whole blood thing. Becoming an accountant seemed a good way to help people and avoid any bloodshed.
Everything had been fine until, well, becoming a vampire.
Now Dennis found he had a huge problem.
At first his sire, a petite woman named Giselle, looked after him. She brought him a thermos full of blood and he drank it with his eyes closed. But after six months, she became more and more impatient with him. Sometimes the mouth of the thermos had blood dribbling down it and he couldn’t take it from her. One night, she pushed it into his hand and smeared blood across his palm.
Dennis felt his vision start to go black, fading around the edges into a narrow tunnel. He stumbled back from Giselle, not taking the thermos but she’d already let go and it fell, spraying blood across the tile. Dennis took one look at the red puddle...
He was unconscious before he hit the floor.
He didn’t hear Giselle swearing at him in French.
When he woke up, Giselle was sitting by the bay window, smoking one of her foul smelling cigarellos. He sat up, almost afraid to look around but the thermos and puddle of blood were gone. Giselle must have cleaned it up.
His knees popped as he stood up. Giselle’s head swiveled toward him and her glare struck him. He almost staggered back from the force of it. The only time he’d ever seen her look so intensely was the night she’d chosen and turned him.
“You have been a huge disappointment, Dennis,” she said. “Things can not continue this way.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. He hung his head. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been able to deal with it.”
“You’re going to have to,” she said. “My patience is at the end of the thread. There is no more left. You must find a way to be a full vampire or I’m leaving.”
“Giselle, please, give me another chance.”
“I have given you plenty of chance. Now I want to see progress. And when I say I will leave, you will not be left behind. I made you and I will unmake you.”
“Okay.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll find a way. I’ll be that vampire you’re looking for.”
Her eyes narrowed through the smoke of cigarello. “Promise?” The question contained equal parts hope and threat.
He swallowed, remembering the strength in those thin arms that pined him down, the intensity of the pain and overwhelming pleasure as she bit into him. He had a feeling an unmaking wouldn’t be so pleasant and would definitely end with the end of him.
“I promise,” he said.
* * * *
He began where all good research began, on the Internet. He discovered his fear had a name. Hemophobia, the fear of blood. He tried to read more about it but every time he opened one of the articles, a photo of blood would appear. Several times he almost fainted before he could close the browser windows. This was not helping. If he didn’t find a way to deal with this Giselle would make good on her threat. For now, she seemed mollified with his efforts. She returned to the practice of bringing him blood in a thermos but he knew it wouldn’t last. He had to take care of this once and for all.
He spent another night searching on the Internet, avoiding photos but soon came to realize he wouldn’t be able to deal with this by himself. Sitting in front of a computer wasn’t going to help him. And Giselle was starting to look at him with narrowed eyes.
He had to do something else.
He was going to have to see a therapist.
When he mentioned it to Giselle, she didn’t laugh the way he expected. A thoughtful look came across her thin face. She nodded.
“Remember to ask if they take evening appointments,” she said. “You won’t be able to go during the day.”
“Right,” he said. He returned to the computer and found a list of therapists who dealt with phobias.
His evening appointments-only restriction cut the huge list down to a meager ten. He showed it to Giselle, to prove he was still trying, and also to ask her advice.
“I don’t know which to pick,” he said. “How do I know which one will be able to help me?”
She puffed on her cigarello. “Try them all. See who you feel most comfortable with.”
“Um, there’s a problem,” he said.
“What is that?”
“I don’t have the money for this.”
She shook her head. “I pay for it, silly.” She stood up from the bench by the window and crossed the room to the large antique desk. She opened the drawer and pulled out a large mahogany box. When she opened it, he saw stacks of money inside.
“How much you need?”
“I don’t know.”
She tossed him a bundled stack. He caught it and counted. Roughly five thousand in his hands.
“Start with that,” she said. “But I expect results.”
He nodded. “I promise.”
* * * *
The next evening, he got up right after dusk and started making calls. He discovered five of the therapists were either booked or out of business. That left him with only five options: Wilson, Bromheld, Travers, Higgins and Smithers. He called each in turn, asking for an appointment in the evenings as soon as possible.
Much to his relief, he was able to get appointments with each one over the next two weeks. When he hung up the phone he turned to Giselle and smiled.
“I start with Dr. Wilson tomorrow night,” he said.
She nodded. “Good. Let’s hope one of them can help you.” She slipped her long black coat over her red corset. “I have hunting to do.”
She gave him a pointed look.
“I’m going to go out too,” he said.
“Fine,” she said. “But don’t start anything and faint in the middle of it. It’s too much of a mess for me to follow up on.”
Dennis hung his head as she swept out of the room. With her petite frame and flowing clothes, she was the perfect vampire. She didn’t have any problems with blood at all.
Why couldn’t he be like that? Why did he have to carry his phobia about blood into his undead state with him? Giselle had explained how the man he was would determine what he would be as a vampire but he didn’t have to like it.
Maybe he didn’t need therapy. Maybe he could do this on his own.
He grabbed his brown camel sportscoat and headed out himself.
* * * *
He ended up in a jazz club, standing at the bar, nursing a club soda. He never bothered with alcohol. It had no effect on his vampire chemistry save to give him a bit of a headache and make his mouth taste fuzzy. So he nursed club soda in a short glass, pretending it was vodka.
At the end of the bar, he spotted a cute little brunette. She smiled at him, then looked at the stage where a piano, guitar and drum trio were playing. Dennis focused on her, using the vampire psychic call to coax her to look at him again. Her head tilted then turned. Her big brown eyes widened, as did her smile.
He picked up his glass and moved to the end of the bar.
Now that he was a vampire, it was so much easier picking up women. The whole hypnotizing with the eyes, sending out commands psychically, ensured that even Dennis managed to connect. Sure enough, this lovely brunette (Julia, she told him her name with a laugh), only needed the slightest nudge before she slipped her hand through his arm, willing to follow him anywhere. He led her down the stairs, heading toward the washrooms. He knew she expected him to make love to her but he had something else in mind.
The hallway to the washrooms ended with a large door opening to the alley out back. A sign warned that an alarm would go off if the door was opened but Dennis could tell it was a lie. His vampire senses told him there wasn’t anything electrical attached to the door. He grabbed the bar and pushed.
Julia giggled. “Aren’t you going to get in trouble?”
He looked back at her, giving her his best sneering smile. “Trouble’s my middle name, baby.” God, he loved being a vampire. No other way could he ever get away with such a corny line, and while wearing a brown camel sportscoat.
She laughed and followed him through the door.
The back alley was dark and reeked of garbage and urine. Julia’s nose wrinkled at the smells until Dennis focused his attention on her. In the dim light from the twenty watt bulb, he could see her eyes defocus. He pulled her farther down the alley, away from the light, then pushed her against the rough brick.
He pressed his body against her. If he’d still been human, feeling her soft curves against him would have definitely aroused him but the only thing that interested him now was the soft curve of her neck. He tilted her head. He could smell the blood underneath her skin. All he had to do was bite and drink. He didn’t have to look, he just had to swallow.
He could do this. Then he could tell Giselle.
She would be so proud of him. She wouldn’t glare at him again. Instead, she’d look at him with pride, maybe even admiration. After all, he would have conquered his fear. She’d never had to do that. Being a vampire was so easy for her.
He licked Julia’s neck, tasting salt and sweat. Beneath him, the woman shivered. He could hear her heart pounding. She was ready. All he had to do was bite. He unsheathed his fangs and pressed his lips to her neck. His teeth pressed against her flesh. He closed his eyes and bit down.
Warm blood gushed into his mouth. He swallowed and swallowed. This was so much better than the thermos! This was fresh, alive. He was doing it! He’d conquered his fear.
His eyes popped open.
He caught sight of her shoulder. Tiny rivulets of blood dribbled down, staining her shirt. Darkness narrowed his vision. His knees wobbled and buckled. His eyes rolled back.
He fainted.
He woke up a few minutes later. His head had landed in a pile of discarded lettuce. He heard the creak of the door open onto the alley and several sets of footsteps piled out.
“There he is, that’s the creep who bit me!”
He looked up. Julia stood just outside the back door, pointing at Dennis. Two big burly bouncers from the jazz club started down the alley toward him.
Dennis scrambled to his feet. The left shoulder of his sports coat was soiled. He felt mashed lettuce in his hair. How humiliating! The image of Giselle’s admiring glance faded from his mind, replaced by her sneering laughter. She’d never let him forget this disaster. He was never going to be able to feed himself. Giselle would leave him and he’d starve. But vampires didn’t die if they starved, they just became more and more skeletal, weaker and weaker until they could barely move.
And all because he couldn’t stand the sight of blood. What a pathetic vampire he was!
The two burly men’s approach caught his attention. He saw hands the size of large hams reaching for him. They grabbed him by the arms, dragging him into the light. The man on his right raised a huge fist.
Dennis wrenched his arms forward, breaking the men’s grips. They yelled and dove after him as he darted down the alley. He didn’t need to deal with these two lummoxes. He spun and slashed, hooking his hand so his claws sprang forth. They sliced through the men’s cheeks and chests. Dennis turned his head away so he didn’t see the splashes of blood.
He ran. The moans and cries of the men followed him down the alley and echoed in his head all the way home.
He arrived before Giselle, giving him the chance to shower (in the dark so he didn’t have to watch the blood from under his nails running down the drain) and clean up his jacket. The soiled mark wouldn’t come out so he tossed the jacket. If she asked, he’d tell her he got tired of it.
After tossing out the jacket, he sat in the corner in the dark waiting for Giselle to return.
Looked like he’d be keeping that appointment with the therapist after all.