Dorian's Destiny: Altered Page 13

  “Yes, a vampire can survive on either. When first turned, I drank only animal blood, however Thomas insisted a change for my benefit, of course. He was right. Unfortunately, human blood is far superior,” he replied through gritted teeth. His pain and topic of discussion were equal culprits in his uncomfortable situation.

  “Then why the switch?” She asked, curious about his self-induced pain.

  He forced a weak smile. “If I am going to let you attempt to save me, I thought I should do my part. No need for you to do all the heavy lifting.”

  She shook her head. “You didn't know your body would react so negatively.”

  “No.”

  “Well, I think I know what's happening to you,” she stated, giving him a once over glance before continuing her diagnosis. “You are going through withdrawal. Your body grew accustomed to human blood and now without it...it's, well...it's freaking out, for lack of a better word, causing the nausea, the fever.”

  “How long will it last?” He asked, hopeful.

  “Not sure. In humans, withdrawal can last days or weeks. Many factors play a role in that figure, the person, the drug, how long they've been addicted. I have no idea how those same factors would affect you. It would be better if you weaned yourself off human blood, instead of quitting cold turkey.”

  “No!” He stated adamantly. “I've already instigated the process, no need to backtrack. Besides, my healing ability should shorten the duration of my withdrawal symptoms, hopefully.” He watched her lips move in response, but no sound registered in his ears. Reigniting its revolt, his body assaulted itself anew with another more violent round of symptoms, blocking out everything but the excruciating agony. Crumpled into a ball, he hugged his knees, fighting through the waves of nausea and shivers. He welcomed the blackness that followed, grateful for the cessation of his pain.

  Megan attempted to make him comfortable by tucking the blanket snugly around him, then sat beside the couch hoping to be the first thing he saw when he awoke.

  When his eyes finally reopened, he found himself lying comfortably on her couch, his host sitting on the floor directly in his field of vision.

  “Hi. Feeling better?” Not giving him time to answer, she immediately explained his current state. “You passed out and I didn't have the heart to try and resuscitate you, taking your word that you wouldn't be dying in my living room.”

  He sat up uneasy, his aching muscles protesting every movement. “How long was I out?”

  Rising from the floor to join him on the couch, she shrugged. “A few hours, let me check.” Checking the time on her phone she continued, “Oh, it's almost 6. Guess you were out for a bit longer than I thought.” Her face heated when she realized how long she had watched him sleep.

  He glanced out the window, hoping her timing was off and it was not so perilously close to sunrise. Regrettably, the lightening sky confirmed her accuracy. Leaping from the couch, his body swayed. Steadying himself with the arm of the couch, he exclaimed, “I have to leave.”

  “Are you sure you’re able?” She questioned doubtfully.

  “I don't have a choice. It's almost sunrise.” He insisted, his voice panicked.

  Unable to resist this prime opportunity to make a joke she never thought she would get a chance to, she asked, “Because you sparkle in the sunlight?”

  “What?” His eyes widened, briefly confused by her assumption. Shaking his head, he snapped, “No! Not even close! Sunlight tends to deep fry me.”

  “Oh, sorry,” she whispered, feeling horrible for wasting precious time with her stupid joke. “Why don't you stay?” She gasped, surprised by her suggestion, but it made perfect sense. “You are in no condition to attempt to race home before sunrise.”

  “I'll be fine,” he responded, releasing his grip of the couch arm and turning for her door. Only halfway, he clung to the kitchenette island.

  Seizing her opportunity to say told you so, she put herself between him and the exit. “Sure you'll be fine,” she scoffed. “You can barely walk. I may not be a vampire expert, but I am still a nurse. If I allowed you to leave and something happened to you or someone else, it would be on me.”

  “I can't die though, so there isn't any reason for your concern.” He stood straight, ready to move her aside if necessary.

  Frustrated, she stood defiantly, hands on her hips. “Great, maybe you can't die, that doesn't mean you should endure unnecessary pain. What if you get caught out in the sunlight? I assume by your wording, that's extremely painful.” He agreed with a nod. “Or you have an episode while driving and wreck, injuring yourself, or God forbid, someone else.” Tears stung her eyes, her words triggering memories. Filled with renewed determination, she poked her index finger into his shoulder a few times. “So, as I see it, you have two choices, stay here until you are fully recuperated,” she added the next option reluctantly, not ready for him to leave. “or I can drive you home.”

  He stared down at her, admiring her tenacity. No way would he allow her to drive him home, after trying so hard to keep her away from that part of his life, especially Thomas, which left him with only option one. “Okay, you can stand down. I'll stay and let you continue to nurse me back to health,” he obliged, smiling.

  “Wise decision,” she retorted with a smile. “Why don't you sit back on the couch? I'm going to change clothes, and then you can lie down and rest on my bed. I'm sure my tiny couch didn't provide you with the highest quality of sleep.”

  He watched her disappear into her bedroom. Soon, he envisioned her slipping out of her scrubs, exposing her delicate cream skin. These thoughts produced an unexpected, potentially embarrassing reaction. Looking down at his groin, he wondered how such an appendage could elicit such an incredible influence over his mind and body. Adjusting his pants to accommodate the growing member, he concentrated on driving the images of her semi-nude body from his mind. Free from the sensual images, he glared at the knob on her bedroom door, willing it not to turn until he could regain his dignity. Panicked he lacked the appropriate time, he glanced around the room, searching for Blaze. “Blaze, Blaze,” he whispered, desperate like never before for the overly affectionate feline. Almost cursing, he bit his tongue.

  Any other time that cat would be up in my lap, but not now when I need something less conspicuous than a pillow. Just relax and breathe.

  Adjusting himself again, he hoped to lessen the visibility of his desire. He mentally prepared to die from embarrassment as he heard the doorknob slowly turn. Answering his plea, a tuft of red fur barreled out of the bedroom and into his lap before she took her first step out of the room. Leaning down, he stroked Blaze's back, whispering, “Thank you.” Blaze purred loudly in response.

  Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, hair pulled up in a loose ponytail, she walked over to the couch, snatching Blaze from his lap. “Leave Dorian alone. He needs to rest.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully the few extra seconds of cover were all that was needed for his reaction to become unnoticeable.

  She sat Blaze on the floor and motioned for him to follow her back into the bedroom. “Let's get you somewhere more comfortable, so you can recuperate.” She gestured to her bed, half the size of the one he no longer used. “Is there anything you need, before I crash on the couch?”

  There was only one thing he could think of as he crawled under her pink and purple paisley printed comforter – blood. “No, I'm fine. You don't have to fuss over me.”

  She shook her head as she pulled the covers snugly around him, “Nonsense, at the moment you’re ill which makes you my patient. It's my job to fuss over you, and there's no reason to be ashamed. However, if you want my continued help, you need to be completely honest with me at all times. Now is there anything you need? Something to drink perhaps?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. Receiving no response, she huffed, slightly frustrated, “Honesty, Dorian. Can you change what you are?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Then there's no reason fo
r you to be embarrassed or try to hide what you need to survive. You've been here for several hours and although I don't know the feeding habits of vampires, if there's any resemblance to humans, you are probably hungry. I wouldn't mind getting what you need and I won't think any less of you.”

  Propping up with a couple of pillows from the surplus adorning the bed, he responded honestly, “But I am embarrassed and ashamed of what I am and what it takes for my continued survival, so much so, I would have ended my existence long ago if it was possible. Lord knows I tried. The only reason you know is because I thought I should show you I was the lost cause, not you. But instead of shooting the sick stray that's crawled its way onto your porch, you've decided to nurse it back to health.”

  Her brief smile over him referring himself to a stray dog faded as she registered his admission of attempted suicide. “Wait. You've tried to kill yourself?”

  Looking down at the comforter, he traced one of the intricate paisleys before confessing another one of his dark secrets. “Yes. I didn't understand what had happened, or what I had become, but I knew I didn't want to live with an undeniable craving for blood, so I attempted to kill myself. I ultimately failed after numerous painful tries. Then Thomas found me and I embraced what I was, although not completely, because I didn't think I had a choice.”

  “You do, Dorian, and now you have me to help you along the way, in case you stumble,” she assured, smiling again. “And we've been over this; you're not a lost cause. I don't believe anyone ever is. Now lie back and rest. I'm going to crash on the couch until daylight, then I'll see if I can't find you some sustenance.”

  Hours later, he awoke abruptly with a gnawing in his stomach, not felt since first experiencing the insatiable hunger for blood. Creeping out of her bedroom as stealthily as his weakened body could manage, he searched for the sustenance she had hopefully acquired. He walked gingerly into the tiny kitchenette while his host slept soundly on the couch. On the refrigerator, he found a note informing him of her success in attaining his unfortunate necessity like it was an everyday grocery item. 'Two containers of pork blood on the top shelf. Thank goodness for the Irish and their unusual sausages. Enjoy.'

  Shaking his head, holding back laughter at her candidness, he removed one of the containers of blood. Holding his breathe he brought the container to his lips. He prepared himself to combat the repeating gags likely to be induced by the cold crimson liquid. Though the taste was just as rancid, his ability to complete the process without the urge to vomit had dramatically improved. Thankful, he engulfed the first container, refreshed as the life sustaining ichor pulsed through his veins, revitalizing his feeble shell. He grabbed the second container, greedy for its rejuvenating powers, intent on devouring it quickly.

  “Feeling better?” The sweet feminine voice broke through the cloud of indulgence. Slipping from his startled hand, the container of blood burst open as it crashed to the floor, decorating the kitchenette with the slippery red serum. He gawked at her, his face full of shock and embarrassment; hand still outstretched holding only air.

  She raced into the kitchenette, apologizing profusely. “Sorry. I'm so sorry. I was just glad to see you up. I didn't mean to startle you.” She stammered before pausing to study his stiff frame, motionless in her pint-sized kitchen. He was starkly different from any portrayals of his kind. “I thought vampires were nimble not clumsy.”

  Snapping out of his stupor, he lowered his hand. “You apparently render my vampire prowess null and void,” he joked, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Oops, I guess that makes me your kryptonite.” she smiled, amazed by the contradiction standing in her apartment.

  “What?” He asked, not understanding a remark.

  “Haven't you ever heard of Superman?”

  He shook his head, smiling sheepishly. “I've lived a sheltered life.”

  “Okay...well...he's a comic book superhero that's practically indestructible with super speed and super strength, among other powers, except for when he's exposed to a green rock from his home planet. So basically, kryptonite cancels out his powers making him normal...just like any other person.”

  “Okay, I guess kryptonite’s effect is a suitable comparison of your effect on me.” He wished it could be more accurate and she could revert him back to normal.

  As she made quick work of the bloody mess covering her refrigerator and floor, an amusing thought crossed her mind. “You know, you couldn't have found a better recipient for your dirty little secret, since the sight of blood doesn't bother me in the least. Our story would be titled “The Vampire and The Nurse.” It's quite poetic. Isn’t it?”

  Before he could offer to help or respond to her last comment, she had finished cleaning and offered him a towel. “You have some blood on your mouth.”

  Feeling his face heat up, he accepted the towel and wiped away his disgrace. “I wish you hadn't seen me guzzling down blood.”

  “Dorian, it's not a big deal,” she smiled, waiting for him to return the towel.

  “It is to me,” he whispered, reluctantly handing back the damaging evidence.

  “Well, it needn't be, and I hope you realize that soon,” she assured, tossing the soiled towel in the bathroom hamper before continuing. “Sunset is still a few hours away, we could sit and talk.”

  Okay,” he agreed, happy to change subjects. He joined her on her couch. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small golden cross she had given him, intent on returning the token of faith, believing it useless since his last unanswered prayer.

  Megan stared at her necklace in his hand, pleased he had kept it with him. Hopeful it had served its purpose, as made evident with his presence in her home. She was amazed by how such a small trinket could prove so invaluable in keeping her grounded in her faith.

  After several moments of silence, with both of them staring at the necklace, he softly recited Hebrews 11:1, offering the object back to its rightful owner. “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”

  Awestruck by the beautiful verse, his outstretched hand went unnoticed by her. “That was beautiful. It's a Bible verse, isn't it?”

  “Yes, it's from the New Testament, the Book of Hebrews. I...”

  She cut him off, unable to contain her amazement. “Wow, a vampire who quotes scripture. Now that's something you don't see every day.”.

  Ignoring her comment, he finished his sentence with a sense of urgency in his voice. “I would like to return your necklace.”

  She shook her head. “No, please keep it.”

  “It means much more to you than me,” he insisted, dangling the necklace from his fingers.

  “I doubt that, not with you being able to quote scripture. Besides, it was a gift,” she added eager to end the exchange.

  Frustrated, his first instinct was to fling the necklace at her face. Angering in a flash was an unfortunate side effect of his condition, one of many. Instead, he swallowed his anger and calmly stated, “I appreciate your gift and at first, I thought I could accept it, but it's not for me.”

  “Why?” She asked nervously.

  Speaking sternly, he replied, “Like I told you before, I don't have faith, at least not in what the necklace represents.”

  “Okay, I'll take it back,” she agreed reluctantly, pulling the necklace free from his fingers. She held in the tears fighting to break free, a reaction from her fear she was failing her call.

  Seeing tears just below the surface, knowing his words were the cause, he apologized, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I appreciate the necklace, and I understand why you gave it to me. Give me a moment to explain and maybe you will understand why I am returning it.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, wiping a tear from her cheek that had slipped passed her defenses.

  He forced a weak smile, attempting to calm her further. “Considering my upbringing, it was ironic for you to offer me your necklace and speak about faith during our last meeting.”

>   “Really?” She asked.

  He nodded. “Yes. I am the adopted son of a priest, and before becoming this...,” he spat out the next word, snarling his upper lip, “thing, I had every intention of following in my father's footsteps. For the majority of my life, faith was the most important principle. Being brutally removed from the life I had chosen, receiving no guidance from the one I pledged my life to, has caused me to lose faith. I'm not sure I will ever regain that faith.” He shook his head. “Does that make any sense at all?”

  New tears formed as she grasped the true extent of his plight. Until now, she hadn't realized how truly devastating his fate was to him. She knew all too well how hard it was to forgive, he felt like he was wronged by God Himself. “Yes, it makes sense but...” She bit her lip, afraid her next statement might push him away but she felt strongly it was something he needed to hear. “Please don't be angry with me, but you're wrong.”

  “What do you mean, I'm wrong?!” He snapped, his anger flaring once more.

  Undeterred by the reaction she expected, she continued. “Well you're essentially blaming God for what happened to you, when He had nothing to do with it.”

  Already doubting the placement of his blame, he toned down his next remark. “Maybe not, but He ignored me when I begged for His help.”

  She continued her message with earnest, reassured by his softer tone. “Did He? Just because you didn't receive the answer you wanted, doesn't mean He ignored you. We can't only have faith when life is good and toss it aside when bad things happen. Doing so is not always easy and often we question ‘why me’, but if we have faith, we must have it always. I think in this situation, your closeness to God made it easier for you to cast your blame upon Him, thinking maybe you were more deserving of an answer than those who haven’t dedicated their lives to Him. Unfortunately, you should know that's not the way it works. God does not choose favorites.”

  He heard the truth in her words, but was reluctant to agree.

  I was a servant of God. Did I not deserve to have my prayers answered more than others? Am I arrogant for believing so?