It took Jen twelve minutes EXACTLY to draw on her eyebrows.
I watched her every second, hidden away in her cupboard, peeping through the slats. My eyes wandered down to the stop-watch clenched in my sweaty palm. Fourteen minutes. Fascinating. I scrawled down the number in my Jen-book. She was getting faster. The number looked ten times better than it was five months ago. However, if she didn't get her breakfast in two minutes, she'd miss the bus. Again. And I would have my chance. At last.
Who would've thought that twelve minutes later, I jumped out of that cupboard and stabbed the bitch to death? Twenty stabs - one for every year I wanted her. And who would've thought, two years after that, I married her?
Damn vampires won't stay dead. My job was to kill as many of the bastards as I could before they got to me. Of course, she got under my skin minutes after I signed the dotted line. It's not my fault; I did try to kill her. I had all the equipment ready - a stake, a cigarette lighter, a Nature Valley cereal bar - but none of that could stop her tackling me onto the bed, fucking me, and then getting her pregnant (although she did appreciate the Nature Valley bar as a gift).
It's a living hell being married to her. There was little choice over the matter for me though. When Jen found out about her little gift, I had a good twenty vampires at my door demanding I marry her or I'd be sent straight to Hell. Been there, done that, not about that life. And then she found out about the pregnancy.
Pregnancy.
Pregnant.
Baby.
Father.
I was going to be a father.
I was going to be a father to a human-vampire cross-breed.
I mean, vampire: eh... not the best. But human?! The kid was doomed from birth. Think about the bullying! The discrimination! Fuck, I hated living in Transylvania.
Thankfully, Jen and I didn't live together, so I didn't have to deal with the little brat all the time. Man, the teething stage was a rough time. Unfortunately, I did have to teach the lil blood-sucker hunting. Hunting. Me. And Hunting. The ability to hunt was all on his mother's side. I remember the argument a week before:
"Adam!"
"Yes, dear?"
"Dracula is reaching three months now."
"I am very aware, dear."
"He needs to learn how to hunt."
"That's nice, dear."
"You need to teach him."
The mug slipped out of my hand. All I could do was glare at the vampire behind her laptop screen as scolding hot coffee poured into my lap.
"Me?"
"You have no choice; it's vampire tradition: a father teaches his son how to hunt."
Like Hell it is. Who did she think she was? Telling me what to do like that. I didn't even know why she was in my house.
It all started off easy-like. I would purchase bunnies from various pet stores, let it loose in the garden and watch Drac run around after it. It got messy once he'd manage to catch it. Those poor bunnies.
Then sixteen years flashed by.
My turn to attack...
"Jen!"
"What!?"
"Drac is seventeen now."
"And your point is?"
"He needs to learn to drive."
"Can't you teach him?"
"It's human tradition."
"No it isn't, don't lie."
"Alright, let me put it like this: I have spent SIXTEEN YEARS clearing out rabbit, cat, dog, deer and bear corpses out of my back garden. So no, I ain't doing it. It's your turn. This is your time to shine, dear."
"Alright," A sweet, innocent grin broke out across her pale face, "I'll do it..."
Her sudden calmness disturbed me. Over every other matter, she would kick up a fight and argue like there was no tomorrow.
She wasn't done though, "I was going to do the ritual, but if you're so insistent on turns, I'll do this."
"Wait, the what now?"
"Oh, you'll find out when he turns eighteen..."
The laugh that followed turned my hair grey. Jen wore a smile every day until Dracula's eighteenth birthday. I should've given him the damn driving lessons.
So here I am, Drac' eighteenth, chained to the stone wall of the dungeon my dear wife casually installed in the basement, naked, with sixteen teenage vampires chanting sacred curses, and drawing fancy satanic symbols in lamb's blood across my skin.
Gotta love parenthood.
