Ruby Red

Eight+

 

© Amber Kalkes 2014

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+Eight+

The feeling of someone’s flesh in your mouth is an odd sensation. It’s kind of like eating something for the first time. Everyone is different in taste and texture. Every time I bite into the skin of a random person it’s like trying to figure out if this restaurant was for me. Did they serve readily or would I have to make them? Would their blood taste as good as the smell suggested?

See what I mean?

Odd.

Kale’s eyes are on me just like every time he takes me hunting. This is a new thing he was trying to teach me. He says I can’t always feed off him and learning to hunt for human prey is an important skill. Sometimes hanging around Kale is like dealing with a college adviser or something.

I release the delicious little Asian girl I’ve been draining the past five minutes with a thud as she falls to the concrete below. I looked down at her empty husk of a body and hope that there is a god. Just so I didn’t feel so guilty about this. Knowing these people were being released from their fleshy prison to a more magical place makes me feel less evil.

“You did well.” Kale remarks. “Barely spilled a drop on yourself.”

I give Kale a sarcastic smile. “Do I get gold star for that?”

“Must you be confrontational with me at every turn?”

I should probably be scared by the edge in his tone but I’m not. I’m used to Kale being edgy and snappy with me and I prefer it. It makes me not want to do what I’ve been thinking about since that day in my room all those weeks ago. At least that’s what I tell myself. Secretly I love when he glares at me. It makes my skin tingle in anticipation that one of these days he’ll get so frustrated with me he’ll bite me in anger.

Because it turns out is all my body wants.

We just want Kale to bite us.

But he won’t and that in its self is depressing.

Talk about a hit to the ego.

“Are you going to feed?” I ask, trying to get the subject away from me.

He gives me an intense look for a few minutes letting me know he knows exactly what I’m trying to do. I just look blankly back at him telling him I don’t care. We seem to do this a lot, just communicating with looks instead of words. Though I have to admit, with eyes like Kale’s why wouldn’t we?

“No.”

“Very well.” I say offhandedly.

Striding past him and out of the alleyway I’m met with the sights and sounds of the city. We’re in the section of the city were the nightlife is and I find it all terribly fascinating. Since I was cooped up in that house like a preciously caged bird this is all new to me. I want to go out and dance, drink, and sow all the wild oats that I didn’t even know I had. It doesn’t matter I’m seventeen and a vampire. I just want to live and I want to do it all now.

So when I saunter my way up the doorman at a club called “Sweat” I’m all confidence because confidence is key. The doorman is a large African American fellow with his large ebony arms crossed on his expansive chest as he wears a scowl. When he sees me smiling pleasantly at him the scowl becomes more pronounced.