Mature Content

Blood, Blood, Gallons of the Stuff

**Warning: Tons of blood, suicide triggers, excessive cursing. Also, my older writing/not proof-read.**

"Hey jackass, it's-a me, Mario! I came to check on you. I just heard the news." she called throughout his home.

There was no reply.

"Shane, I'm stealing a Fanta," she informed him right before she entered the kitchen.

She was greeted by a sickly pale man bleeding out all over the floor. A knife had been plunged through his chest. She dropped to the floor beside him and ripped the knife out of his chest. He coughed up a few more bouts of blood before regaining a more conscious state.

"How dare you?" Shane croaked, causing himself to cough up a few more trickles.

"What the actual fuck, you dumb, blood-sucking bitch?" she hissed.

"Don't give me-"

She clamped a hand over his mouth, "Shut up." He licked her hand. "You better not bite my hand."

She spread open the hole in his shirt to make sure the wound had healed. It was completely closed up, and she could feel his heart beating again.

She removed her hand from his mouth.

"You should really knock first," he muttered.

"You should really stop trying to kill yourself," she snapped.

"It was one time, and it wasn't even a serious attempt," he groaned.

"Two times now," she snarled, "Get your ass up, and go clean your ass up."

He let out a grunt as he tried to push himself off the floor. He only collapsed back onto his back, "I'm just gonna stay down here for a bit."

"You're too weak, aren't you?" she sighed, "When's the last time you've drinken?"

"I don't know. Is that really our main issue right now, Terryn?" he attempted to change the subject.

Terryn pulled down her shirt collar to expose her shoulder, "You're a jackass," she wedged an arm under her backside to lift him upwards as she leaned over, "Drink."

"No."

"Did I stutter, dipshit? You're heavy. Hurry up and drink." she barked.

"I said 'no'."

She let him down slowly, "This isn't about the news, right?"

He didn't respond.

"You're not the one killing those people, dumbass. Nor are you gonna kill me by biting me." she rolled her eyes.

Recently, news stories were sprouting all over the place about a series of corpses with bite-like marks on their necks.

The modern vampire community has very strict rules about human interactions and biting. Biting on the neck was against the rules because those bites normally led to the death of the prey.

No one was sure if these corpses were victims of rogue vampires or if someone was trying to frame the vampires for these deaths.

Most of the corpses had appeared in Shane and Terryn's town, which was heavily human-dominated. Therefore, the vampire community constantly pointed fingers at Shane.

Luckily, his neighbors were less accusatory. Mostly because his neighbors, except Terryn, didn't know he was a vampire. They talked in voices of fear when mentioning his kind. He felt awful and guilty for the fear these poor people had to live with.

He knew that he wasn't at fault for any of it, but each article from the news, each interrogation from his species, each scared excerpt from a neighbor weighed down on him.

"I just don't want to," he mumbled.

"I don't care if you don't want to, jackass," she growled, "I care about you. Do you care about me?"

"Of course."

"Good. If you truly care about me, then you'll let me take care of you. It would make me feel a lot better." she coaxed.

He thought it over. "I hate you," he grumbled, carefully propping himself up half way. She leaned down and held her wiry, black hair out of the way.

His fangs sank into her flesh. The familiar, soft, chocolate-colored flesh blissfully caved like a sponge under his fangs. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming. This wasn't her first time acting as a blood bag for him, but it had been awhile. She forgot how much it hurt.

He eventually removed his mouth from her shoulder, "I still hate you, but thanks."

"You're welcome, jackass," she rubbed her now sore shoulder. "I can't tell if that's my blood or yours," she nodded to his face.

He licked his lips, "Mostly yours."

"Let's get this fucking mess cleaned up now," she offered a hand to help him.

"I need to get myself cleaned up too," he murmured.

"You are a fucking mess," she popped him upside the head, "Don't try any of this shit ever again. I have too much shit to deal with without having to deal with you too..."

"I-" he began to object.

"Shut the fuck up. I wasn't done yet." she snapped, "I care about your stupid ass, and I might not always be there to make sure you don't fucking kill yourself. Now, I know the world is being a dick right now, but none of that dickery is your fault. If something's ever bothering you, then I expect you to come over or call me. If I have to bury my best friend because you were too much of a pussy to text me, then I will never forgive you. Understand?"

He grumbled to himself for a bit, "Yes ma'am."

"Good boy," she ruffled up his bloodied hair, "Go take a shower. I'll start working on this."

"Thanks, Terryn," he wrapped her in a tight hug.

"YOU STUPID, FUCKING BABOON!" she snarled, looking at her white shirt which was now soaked in blood.

*Note: Did you like this story? There's a sequel called "Blood, Blood, Gallons of Bullshit" further down.*