She Scarey (Mariah Carey Vampire)

She Scarey: The Aftermath

Beatrice's PoV

I sat at my desk, words spilling out on the page every time I dipped my pen into the bottle of ink. I tried to make the words optimistic, but all that came out was sadness. I wish my tears turned to ink instead of blood. That way, I will never run out of ink to write with, and I wouldn't risk dying every time I was upset. Any and all emotion stays in this book. No one has read it. Maybe it will be left in my room when I die, or maybe the humans will find it and study my literature for clues on us.

"Beatrice! I'd like a word with you, please!"

I put my notebook back inside my desk draw and went downstairs to see what my father wanted.

"Yes, Dad?"

Dad patted his hand on the armchair next to him. Granddad was there too, with a smile. I felt odd, but I sat down.

"Beatrice, your father and I have been talking, and...we are worried about you." Granddad started.

I tilted my head in confusion.

"Why?"

"Well...since that girl, Cheryl, died, you've been very distant with us lately." Dad answered, "I know how much she meant to you, darling, but we can't do anything to bring her back."

"I know...I shouldn't be fooling around anyway-"

"No, Beatrice; we want you to be happy, no matter what. And, while you may refuse, we are going to get you a therapist."

"A...what?"

"A therapist." Dad repeated, "They help you cope with your problems, and you talk to them when you are feeling down."

"Will they be human?"

"Of course."

"Then I don't see how they would understand that my tears could kill me."

"But they would be able to help you cope with Cheryl, your mother and grandmother's deaths better. It happens to everyone at some point, no matter how it happens." Granddad insisted.

"I know you don't like talking to strangers, but I think it could help you." Dad added.

"Can't I just feed on them, instead?" I asked, "You know I've had no blood since Cheryl died, anyway."

"Don't be selfish, Beatrice. You will do no such thing." Dad reprimanded, "You can find other people to feed on who don't care about you."

I sighed.

"Okay...I'll go."

"And you promise not to feed on them?"

"Yes, Dad." I nodded.

Yeah right! Like I'm not going to take the opportunity for some fresh blood to drink after my several attempts of having to seduce men in nightclubs - and nothing. Sorry, Dad, but desperate times goes for desperate measures.

But whilst one part of me only cared about using them for survival, one tinge of hope in me assured that this 'therapist' would help me get over all the people I love dying all the time.

I couldn't quite fathom how I'd lived 427 years and not found closure. It was something, amongst other things, that I just didn't question. After all, I lived a questionable life in a human's eyes, staying inside until nighttime, drinking their blood, not having any friends to socialise with...

My existence was a mystery to most.

...........

Wednesday 5th February 2017,