Bloody Lonely

Part 1

It had been many thousands of years that Andrew had been gone, and I had gotten used to it- to being on my own again. Because of my age, my power, others had tried to take his place at my side, of course, but I had not been interested. At first, it was because I had been so sure that, at any moment, Andrew would be reincarnated, as others had. That we would be reunited in such a romantic and exquisite fashion, it would be nonpareil. I thought we would show them all, together, that we were not to be crossed.

But after centuries passed and hope wilted to nothingness, I finally began to fathom that Andrew wasn't coming back for me. Whether it was because he didn't want to or something held him back, I couldn't say. I just knew that I was on my own to exact vengeance for Andrew's death.

I took my time. It was really the only thing left that gave me a sense of purpose. Ultimately, after I had disposed of everyone that had the slightest hand in Andrew's death, as well as their loved ones, and any human descendants they had, even my retribution was over and done with.

As time wore on, I had realized that the desperate beings seeking me out as a companion could never compare to Andrew, and became increasingly brusque in turning them away. The last had been a long time ago. Now I was, eternally, alone. It was irrelevant whether I liked it that way: it just was.

Existence had thrummed numbly on, until that one day, when everything changed so irrevocably. I had sat, watching the humans from an alley, in some part of L.A. A car, I recall that it had been dark green, and with a bad paint job, had driven by slowly in the mild traffic, and I had heard Andrew's voice come out of it! My beloved's baritone, dulcet tones singing a recorded song!

Normally, I had always obeyed all the rules. It's rather pointless to cause mayhem and panic. But I had to know the source! Quickly, I had run up behind the car. Not smelling or seeing Andrew in the vehicle, I flipped it into oncoming traffic by grabbing the rear bumper, then jogged swiftly back into an adjacent alley and waited, watching the ensuing panic. Good!

The humans in the car weren't even dead, just injured. My Andrew would have been proud of me! I remember, at the right moment, I sprinted to the wreck and tore the sound system apart, searching, searching... A cd! I grabbed it and fled into the night, clutching it to my chest. I eyed it, a treasure and a gateway, and that was when I first learned about Black Veil Brides, the rock band.

That was five years ago. Now, it seemed that Andrew had indeed returned, in some form, but not to be by my side, as my lover and confidante, once again. No. Now he fulfilled a greater purpose, as a human man, with his life's work. He always had been such a meddler, but this was on a whole new scale.

I spent my nights now, obsessing. Often, I followed Andrew, now Andrew Biersack, where his music took him. I could not take people he loved; I would never hurt him in that way. But on the rare occasions I still needed to feed, I would only take from fans that Andrew had touched- a hug or a handshake, which carried some small lingering aspect of his scent. I drank in the joy of his touch through their veins.

And- no. Of course I wouldn't eat Andrew himself. Myths and stories have always gotten bits and pieces right, but not the whole picture. That translated to movies as well.

I almost wished I had never known of his return. Every moment I spent in agony, forcing myself to stay away. Reminding myself that Andrew was content with his mortal, human life and, presumably, had no memory of our many years together. I had seen pictures, known he had been with a least a few human women, probably many, many more, I was no fool... but now his meaty, living, beating heart seemed truly taken, and it was complete anguish.

I could not even let myself look upon him directly, for I knew I would weaken. I had watched him grow from a very young man into something so close to the Andrew I knew, the age at which he must have been changed. So, instead, I watched the music videos and interviews, over and over. I looked at pictures on the internet and in magazines. I had many apartments throughout the world, every room covered with posters, pictures, articles, and paintings I had purchased of Andrew (or, more accurately, Andy) Biersack, the rock star.

It amused me to think that such an outfitted apartment, to a human eye, would look like the home of a serial killer. It occurred to me that, technically, in the past, I had been one. Technically, so had Andrew. But we had both learned to control ourselves with age. Besides, I had no intention of killing Andrew. I loved him. More than anything. Anything that has ever been or will ever be.

Tonight the pain of my mind, of the ancient memories, was especially strong. Though I was not hungry, I had resolved to find the first person Andrew interacted with and bring them to their full end in my embrace. Unusual for me, but I was feeling a keen despondency. I wanted to taste as much of Andrew as I could, he was everything, and I would never even see him with my own eyes again. I knew it was to keep him safe from me, and for the best, but it hurt so badly I questioned if it was wise for me to continue on much longer in this world. I had to drown my sorrows and buy more time to think on the matter. Clear my head.