when faced with the reality of it, it wasn’t for me. Wrapping my arms around myself, I start walking home without my coat, heartbroken, and without a shred of dignity left.
Chapter Five
Pedigree
I lay my head against the cool taxi window, as the city’s sights pass by. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept very well since the incident with Lawrence, and now, fang toothed blood drinkers have been added to the nightmare mix. The only concept of a vampire I have is the western version. Ridiculous eastern European accent, dramatically wielded cape, and of course, the urge to “want to suck your blood”. It’s all pretty cliché and cheesy, but most of all, nothing like the creature I met last night.
His bright red eyes and blood stained chin come to mind and I shiver. Yeah, nothing like the Dracula version I’m thinking of. Sitting back in my seat, I accidently meet the cab driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Averting my gaze, I look out the window but feel my tension rising. I don’t like being looked at. The irrational but very real paranoia that he’s judging me.
I pull down the sleeves of my back up winter coat, and try to ignore the churning in my stomach. I tell myself that he has no idea who I am and all he wants is my money. His opinion, even if he has one, shouldn’t matter to me. It shouldn’t matter, but for some screwed up reason, it does. Glancing in his direction again, I’m relieved to find his eyes are stationed and focused on the road ahead.
It’s all your head, I chant to myself.
“We’ll have to take the highway.” He says loudly, making me jump, “There’s too much traffic this way.”
“Um, okay.” I nearly whisper. Can we just go now?
“Just thought you’d like to know.” He murmurs.
Now, I feel like an asshole. Clearing my throat I try to speak louder, but wince at the unsteadiness in my tone, “Y-Yes, thank you.”
He says nothing else and for that I’m thankful.
It only takes another forty-five minutes of driving, before the taxi pulls to a stop outside of my parent’s house. Shakily handing him a few bills, I scurry out of the cab and inhale the fresh winter air. I clench my fists and stand perfectly still on the sidewalk, with my eyes closed until the taxi pulls away. I try to force myself to pull it together, but the reason for coming here only peaks my anxiety.
I know that my parents love me and I love them, but they also like to meddle in things they don’t understand. My depression, my anxiety, and all my other issues aren’t something they can sympathize with. My mother has always been too self-contained to ever understand my outbursts. My dad is so rational and calm, that he doesn’t comprehend my fears and irrational thoughts. He tries, they both do, but I don’t think they can truly look at me and not be scared shitless. I don’t blame them for it either. I scare myself sometimes.
Unclenching my fists slowly, I try to even out my breathing as my heart starts to slow down to a reasonable rate. I open my eyes and try to slip on my most convincing sanity façade. I’m okay. I’m taking my pills. I am not having any suicidal thoughts at all. I even made a friend. Yes, I think I’m getting better. Dr. Reynolds would agree with me. He’s very optimistic.
Taking my first steps towards the house, I run through my lines, preparing for the expected inquisition. Pushing open the small wrought iron-gate at the stop of the steps, I take a last calming breath. The house is beautiful, it always has been, even in my darker memories. It’s a colonial style with three floors. We’ve lived here ever since I was really small. It’s the only real home I’ve ever known, but even in here, I don’t think I ever felt comfortable.
I knock on the door once, before it swings open to reveal my mom. She looks fantastic in her white turtle neck sweater, with the sleeves rolled up her elbows, black slacks, and bare feet. Around her neck, is a red coral pendant
Chapter Five
Pedigree
I lay my head against the cool taxi window, as the city’s sights pass by. I’m exhausted. I haven’t slept very well since the incident with Lawrence, and now, fang toothed blood drinkers have been added to the nightmare mix. The only concept of a vampire I have is the western version. Ridiculous eastern European accent, dramatically wielded cape, and of course, the urge to “want to suck your blood”. It’s all pretty cliché and cheesy, but most of all, nothing like the creature I met last night.
His bright red eyes and blood stained chin come to mind and I shiver. Yeah, nothing like the Dracula version I’m thinking of. Sitting back in my seat, I accidently meet the cab driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Averting my gaze, I look out the window but feel my tension rising. I don’t like being looked at. The irrational but very real paranoia that he’s judging me.
I pull down the sleeves of my back up winter coat, and try to ignore the churning in my stomach. I tell myself that he has no idea who I am and all he wants is my money. His opinion, even if he has one, shouldn’t matter to me. It shouldn’t matter, but for some screwed up reason, it does. Glancing in his direction again, I’m relieved to find his eyes are stationed and focused on the road ahead.
It’s all your head, I chant to myself.
“We’ll have to take the highway.” He says loudly, making me jump, “There’s too much traffic this way.”
“Um, okay.” I nearly whisper. Can we just go now?
“Just thought you’d like to know.” He murmurs.
Now, I feel like an asshole. Clearing my throat I try to speak louder, but wince at the unsteadiness in my tone, “Y-Yes, thank you.”
He says nothing else and for that I’m thankful.
It only takes another forty-five minutes of driving, before the taxi pulls to a stop outside of my parent’s house. Shakily handing him a few bills, I scurry out of the cab and inhale the fresh winter air. I clench my fists and stand perfectly still on the sidewalk, with my eyes closed until the taxi pulls away. I try to force myself to pull it together, but the reason for coming here only peaks my anxiety.
I know that my parents love me and I love them, but they also like to meddle in things they don’t understand. My depression, my anxiety, and all my other issues aren’t something they can sympathize with. My mother has always been too self-contained to ever understand my outbursts. My dad is so rational and calm, that he doesn’t comprehend my fears and irrational thoughts. He tries, they both do, but I don’t think they can truly look at me and not be scared shitless. I don’t blame them for it either. I scare myself sometimes.
Unclenching my fists slowly, I try to even out my breathing as my heart starts to slow down to a reasonable rate. I open my eyes and try to slip on my most convincing sanity façade. I’m okay. I’m taking my pills. I am not having any suicidal thoughts at all. I even made a friend. Yes, I think I’m getting better. Dr. Reynolds would agree with me. He’s very optimistic.
Taking my first steps towards the house, I run through my lines, preparing for the expected inquisition. Pushing open the small wrought iron-gate at the stop of the steps, I take a last calming breath. The house is beautiful, it always has been, even in my darker memories. It’s a colonial style with three floors. We’ve lived here ever since I was really small. It’s the only real home I’ve ever known, but even in here, I don’t think I ever felt comfortable.
I knock on the door once, before it swings open to reveal my mom. She looks fantastic in her white turtle neck sweater, with the sleeves rolled up her elbows, black slacks, and bare feet. Around her neck, is a red coral pendant
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