My bloodsucking best friend

Chapter One

I wake up to the sound of a female voice screaming so high-pitched that it sounds like I'm on the set of a horror movie. Broad awake due to the piercing sound, I rip my eyes open and immediately shut them again because the bright light from the window almost blinds me. Mentally cursing myself for always forgetting to finally buy curtains, I make my way out of my bed and my room without hesitating to find out what the hell is going on here. 

Once I've opened my door, I freeze. "Oh my god! Yes! Right there!" The voice is screaming words.

I'm beyond confused for a moment, and then it hits me like a train when the scream turns into a loud moan.

The voice isn't actually screaming. This is something completely different and it makes me want to vomit.

Preparing myself to see something that will make me want to go to confession, I stomp down the hallway as loud as possible to make it clear that I'm coming too, but in a completely different and far more unpleasant way. 

Once I've reached the right room because I know it can only possibly happen in this one, I repeatedly and heavily knock, letting out all of my frustration on the wooden door. 

The sounds abruptly stop and turn into hushed talking, and then a face shows up in front of me. "Oh fuck," Andy blurts out. "Exactly," I agree and narrow my eyes at him. "We had an agreement." He rolls his eyes and sighs. "Yeah, I know. I promised to let you sleep late on the weekends." 

"Yes, and it's Saturday," I remind him sharply. Pushing back his messy black hair, Andy tries to find excuses, but I know he doesn't have any because I'm right- and furious. 

"I'll get her out as soon as possible."

"Now," I correct him, trying my hardest not to raise my voice. He turns around to the girl and I notice that he's only wearing boxer shorts, showing off his V-line, toned stomach and chest covered with multiple tattoos, and when I see the sweat and drops of blood splattered on his skin, my stomach twists at the images of what might have happened. 

"You need to leave," Andy bluntly tells the strange girl on his bed and I regret looking at her. Not only that she's naked, but she has a gaping wound on her neck and little holes where Andy's teeth were on the rest of her porcelain skin, blood smudged all over her body like someone brutally murdered her, but her face looks very alive with her cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling. No one can doubt that they had their fun, and that Andy will probably not even try to wash those stained sheets.

"What?" the blood bag exclaims and her pretty face falls. Before she can totally freak out like they all do when their hearts get broken by some meaningless one-night stand, almost naked Andy walks over to her, gently cups her cheek and starts his thing.

I started to call it his thing the first time I saw him doing it several years ago, and even though I now know that he speaks with this very quiet and concentrated voice while fixating his eyes on the other person because he's manipulating or erasing their memories, I still refuse to refer to it as anything else than his thing because I find it absolutely unacceptable. 

People aren't his toys to play with and around, but he never listens to me, so we just don't bring it up anymore and I leave the room bitterly because I could be asleep right now.

To get my metabolism going, I schlepp myself to the kitchen to make some coffee and porridge and watch a slender figure with long blonde hair hustle out of the apartment a few moments later. Relieved, but also still heated, I wait for a way too happy Andy join me dressed in nothing but sweatpants he seems to have just thrown on. 

"I hope you at least healed those slashes," I mutter grumpily and pour some of the hot brown liquid into a mug. He chuckles and snags the mug from my hands. "Fucker," I mumble and show him my middle finger, but I'm too tired to start the usual pointless fight because he's a thousand times faster and stronger than me.