For Clover

[Clover]

hon·est

/änəst/

free of deceit; sincere; truthful

“it’s a game of honesty”

---

These past few days were unusual, to say the least. I ran into Zach again. He saw me at the station and darted into a crowd of people. He must have felt safer there, mingling with the rush-hour traffic. When he runs, I just want to give chase.

This entry isn’t going to focus on him. My thoughts on him are very clear and anything else I write might paint a picture I don’t want to admire. This entry is about what has been happening at the Handle Bar and with my friends and family.

Last night, someone new came into the bar. His name was Spade and he looked like bad news. He looked rough, like he’d spent time doing hard labor, which fit with the fact that he did time. He was rude, both to Kenlie and to Victor, and I half expected them to kick his ***. Instead, the two were rather nice to him. They just let the guy walk all over them, which made the meeting even worse. He basically told Kenny to shut up when he was talking to Vic. I know there’s history between Kenny and Spade, but no kind of history warrants that kind of treatment for someone like her. A real man doesn’t treat a lady that way.

I know I squared things off with Vic and Kenny, but I’m still mad. Not at them, but how things went when that guy decided to show his face in the bar. Maybe I should have let Vic and Kenny handle things without yelling my opinion across the bar, but I was angry. As I’ve mentioned so many times, I can’t control my anger all that well and I can’t always keep my mouth shut. Something else that didn’t help was the fact that Nik shushed me, as if I were that embarrassing woman on a tirade in the middle of a social event.

I was honest with my opinion on Spade. I didn’t need people dismissing me just because I showed my distaste in a very loud, very verbal form. I was waiting for someone to say, “You’re right!” Or even to join in with me and kick the guy out of the bar. But no. I was basically told to be quiet.

I’m still mad at Nik. I don’t think he knows, but I am. I’m disappointed. He was supposed to have my back. I thought. He just stood by and watched, not saying a word. Well, not saying a word until he encouraged me to be quiet. Just writing this makes me angrier. Why didn’t he talk to me if he wanted me to stop sharing my opinion on Spade? He didn’t have to say what he said. I was waiting for him and he let me down.

After all of that, I still had to give Mabel and Kenlie their gifts. I gave them matching snake bracelets to signify the fact that they were Fforde at heart, even if no one else saw them that way. They were family. They are family. Sometimes I forget that the story isn’t over. I still have to get Vic and Nik something. I planned on getting Vic some great alcohol. He can’t taste it, but he can smell it and enjoy the varying levels of viscosity. Yes, I used big words. I needed to describe how the liquor felt across the palate.

As for Nik’s gift, I haven’t decided what to get him. Being angry, I’m thinking about getting him a sack of potatoes or a cheap card. Even writing that made me feel bad. I might be expecting too much. But if ever needed anything, I would have his back. I would have stood up for him on the spot.

I need a different subject now, so I’ll move onto the Christmas present I had delivered. Right after Jesse gave me a snake bracelet, I knew I wanted to get him a real snake. I wanted to get him a green snake. I spent so much time on the phone and online. I went to so many different shops that I’m sure I went to some of them three or four times. Why did I put so much effort into a gift when I say I hate him or I dislike him or I’ll never ever bond with him? Because he’s trying. And if I can be completely honest, it’s not all his fault that we’re not on the best of terms. It’s mostly my fault. That’s the end of that.

I’m not sure if I should get something for Jersey or not. We’re friends, older friends than anyone else, but it seems like it would be weird. We haven’t seen each other and had a chance to really talk to each other face-to-face in a while. Maybe I could wait and see if she gets me something, then I can have a back-up plan in place.

I have a lot more I’d like to say. I have confessions that would take hours to write. I’d rather keep the rest to myself.

[Clover]

a·shamed

/əˈSHāmd/

embarrassed or guilty because of one's words or actions

“she's almost ashamed of her actions”

---

I didn’t get the chance to talk to Nik, but I still intend to introduce the Jersey to him. No matter what, I consider him my friend, so it shouldn’t hurt to introduce two of my friends to one another. After all the things I’ve said about Nik, both to Jersey and to my sire, I’m embarrassed to admit that maybe I put all my chips on the wrong number. Wasn’t I the cynic? Wasn’t I the one that mocked what I’d seen and heard about other relationships?

I delivered two more Christmas presents last night. I gave Vic an expensive whiskey. The bottle was in a hand-carved box, with the inside of the wooden structure covered in burlap lining. I just walked into the store and asked for the most expensive thing on the wall and then I spent the next hour smelling them, trying to find one relatively delicious to the senses. I settled on a foreign whiskey. It’s funny, but I don’t even remember the name. If I ever saw the bottle again or smelled the alcohol again, I would remember instantly.

The second present went to Nik. I went shopping with something in mind for him, I did, but I put everything back on the shelf and bought an empty box. What I did, I’m not proud of, but I did it and I can’t really take it back. I found a small piece of coal and I put it into the beautiful, velvet-lined box, then I wrapped the box with the same hideous wrapping paper I’d used for Vic’s gift. The wrapping paper wasn’t intentional--the store didn’t have anything else in stock, so they both got the same Frozen-themed wrapping paper. I was amused with my little gift. I thought he deserved the coal.

When I gave them their gifts, I paid more attention to Nik. He was high off something, whether it was blood or something else entirely, and he had this goofy grin on his face. But when he finally opened that box and he saw the coal, I noticed something in his eyes that I hadn’t really seen before. He seemed sad. Genuinely disappointed. He played it off, but he wasn’t a very good actor. I’m not one-hundred percent sure, but I think I really hurt him. After that, I didn’t say much to anyone. I was caught between being proud of myself and being absolutely ashamed.

That’s how I treat someone I like. I hurt them. It would be easier to find someone I haven’t hurt, emotionally or physically. I’ll never change. I don’t think I’m able to change. I just have to admit that I hate this part of myself. The part that goes to such lengths to be a vindictive *****.

After sleeping on it and replaying the same scene over and over in my head, I decided to find Nik a proper gift. I knew exactly what I wanted to get him. The gift isn’t as fabulous as I wanted, but what can I say or do to make up for what happened in the bar? It’s not like I can kiss it better. It’s not like I can really personalize something, anything, to make him ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh.’ I got him a watch with his name engraved on the back. I like the gift, but I also hate it.

Then again, a watch is a safe gift. Jesse suggested I was coming off as someone interested only in sex, while Mabel suggested I needed to communicate better. I communicate better with this journal than I do with anyone else. It’s how I’ve been my whole life. Maybe Jesse’s right and Nik is a homosexual. Maybe Jesse’s right and my constant flirting with Mabel irks Nik. This whole mess started because I tried being nice, and it got worse when I encouraged everyone to beat the **** out of that guy at the bar.

They say loose lips sink ships. Yeah, maybe the watch is a perfect gift.

[Clover]

sug·ar·coat

/SHo͝oɡərˌkōt/

make superficially attractive or acceptable

“it’s okay to sugarcoat every now and then”

---

Things are going well. I’m really starting to adjust to everything and everyone. I worked things out with my sire and now I worked things out with Nik. Nik really liked his gift too. He had this grin on his face like he’d been given some new lease on life. I knew he’d like it. I did. And when he thanked me for the watch, I felt better about giving him the coal and taking pleasure in that moment when he saw the rock in his gift box. The two of us are better than ever. I really can’t complain. Everything’s really starting to come together for me.

[Clover]

sub·mis·sive

/səbˈmisiv/

ready to conform to the authority or will of others; obedient; passive

“you love that submissive ********”

---

It’s snowing now. Lately, I feel like it’s always snowing, and maybe it’ll never stop snowing again. I can’t say that I hate the weather, or even that I dislike the weather, but it’s become an endless cycle of cold days, white flakes, and cold nights. The last time I took a pen to paper and wrote down my thoughts, I lied. I lied to myself and I lied to anyone lucky enough to stumble across these pages. I chose to write the ideal situation in the hopes that what I wrote would become a reality. It didn't work, which I’m sure I've realized and those closest to me have realized.

After writing that entry, I chose to go to Jesse. He wasn't there when the dramatics occurred and I assumed he would listen without judgment. I could have gone to Mabel, but that would just put her in between, forcing her to take my side or lie to my face. It’s funny how things work out sometimes. It’s funny how things fall apart just when you’re trying to put them back together.

I don’t trust myself to write exactly what happened when Nik decided to finally talk to me, but I will share certain parts. I can share my thoughts. I can share my restrained words and actions. I think he wants someone to listen to him. No, he wants someone to worship him, to wait on him with bated breath. When he spoke to me, he spoke to me as if he were speaking to a child, like he had a list of all my indiscretions. He embarrassed me. He made me ashamed to be myself, to show my face. And the worst part is that if I told him this, he would do the same thing over again.

Communication is extremely important. I've heard that all throughout my life. I was never much of a communicator, not even as a kid. After my mother died, it was just June, my father, and me. June spent too much time rebelling and my father spent most of his time drinking. I never really had anyone to talk to. My friends were alcoholics and stoners. They didn't want to talk and I wasn't in the state to ask. I didn't trust them. They didn't trust me. First sign of trouble and we parted ways. I’m still the same: I have trouble trusting people. It’s enough to say that I won’t run at the first sign of trouble. I’m trying.

Trying. Six little letters make such a big difference. I'm trying right now to make sense of everything, like the fact that Victor and Kenlie are getting married or the fact that I think I went too far with Mabel or the fact that I actually enjoyed myself at the Andras party. And at the back of my mind, I am still thinking about Nik. He's gone. I don't know where, not really, and I don't want to ask. Wherever he truly went, he needed to go. Just like I needed to go to that party.

I met the man from the bar, Kenny's old friend, and it turns out the guy's name is Curtis. And you know what? We both apologized. He can be a really nice guy, charming even. It’s crazy how the world sets things straight; it’s funny how things work out sometimes. He has an odd taste in music, but so do I. I think I'll go to another Andras party. Eventually. I almost lost control there. If it wasn't for Jesse and Ishaq, two familiar faces, I might have started breaking things. I might have run away. Deep down, I think Jesse knew that. I think they all tried. And there's that word again. It's only in a different form.

At the end of the night, Mabel and I went to Vic and Kenny's place, just to top off the evening, but things turned sour. Let me make one thing very clear, I don't care for Kaelyn. I don't like the fact that she latched herself onto my sire. I blame her for the time I ran away from the mall. Is it right? No. It's hard enough having twenty other Fforde and seventy Andras. Why does it matter? I feel left out. I'm jealous of her. She has everything and she is too ******* stupid to realize it. She would rather cry and mock people. I would give anything to end her life. I've never felt so sure. Does it make me a bad person? Does it show that I have unrealistic expectations? I don't know. I do know that telling anyone would cause more trouble. With Vic. With Kenny. With Jesse.

Seeing the relationships within my family, I began searching for something equally fulfilling. I started following two people around the city. I know it's wrong to stalk them, since I'm a victim of stalking, but I like them. I like listening to them. I like feeling connected to them. One is a woman and the other a man. They're humans. Full of life and limitless potential. Sometimes I have to restrain myself. I just want them to know I'm there. I see them. Even when no one else does. I wouldn't push it too far and say that I really care, but I would feel something if they were to disappear.

I’m beginning to think that I’m of the minority in the city. I see nothing wrong with being among humans. Right now, Esperanza is around Vic and Kenny, and I see nothing wrong with them taking her into their lives. Sometimes, cycles don’t really end. Sometimes a change isn't as dramatic was we would like to think. In this case, I am different. I’m no longer human. At the same time, I’m not--I’m not the monster I thought I was or the monster I thought all vampires were. There are exceptions, of course. I’d like to use Kaelyn as an example, but she’s a big mistake with a bow on top.

What’s wrong with helping people, even if you overstep the boundaries a few times, even if you know they can handle themselves? What’s wrong with being territorial? What’s wrong for leading a life outside the shadows? Just because my blood is black and I have to spend every waking moment trying to control some poor excuse of a shadow doesn't mean I’m that dark. I’m not someone or something that exists to live along the edge of the world, in corners of rooms and corners of eyes. If I want to associate with humans, then I will. If I choose to share my personal secrets with humans, then I will.

I know the cost of everything I say and do. I know that I should have kept my mouth shut when I first met Curtis. I know that I should have spoken freely to Nik, about what I thought and what I meant. I know that I should have stopped things with Mabel, or maybe I should have done more. I’m not as shallow as I appear. I’m not as headstrong as I appear. Not all the time. And even if I am quick to ignite, to jump to conclusions, to start fights, then I would rather stand up for what I believe in than be that submissive little shadow I’ve come to hate. I’m better than that. I can be better than that.

The snow is winding down now. I think I might go out and explore more of the city, or I might stop by a cafe and buy a mug of hot cocoa. I can’t drink it, and the smell of it makes me uncomfortable, but the act of having the drink and holding the hot mug between my hands. It’s a part of the cold weather, just like the snow and ice. With all the talk about the weather, I wonder. Is it really too late to make things right? The ground is frozen, so why not us?

[Clover]

ex·cuse

/ikˈskyo͞oz/

a reason or explanation used to defend or justify a fault or offense

“i can stand to use a few more excuses”

---

I started selling my blood for money. There’s no real excuse, no justification. I wasn’t so desperate for money that I sold my blood to blood thieves. I liked the rush of it all. Though I suppose the two-hundred dollars helps. If I keep up what I’m doing, I should make at least a grand a day in the habit and pay. That’s more than enough to start saving for my next endeavor.

Even with the benefits, I feel cheap. I’m selling a part of myself for money. I wonder how many other vampires are doing just the same. Is this something I can talk about with someone else? Is this something as dirty and despicable as I think it is? I don’t think I can stop. Even if I were to find out how it’s viewed by the rest of the city, I would keep selling to the thieves. It’s business, and business is good.

In addition to selling my blood for money, I thought about selling other things. I realize how that sounds. That’s not what I’m talking about. I know that’s not what I’m talking about. I have other little items I’ve made and some different things I’ve procured from factories and warehouses throughout Coastside.

Wait. I feel like someone is watching me again. Right now. I tried looking around, but I don’t see anyone staring at me. The rest of the people in the bar are preoccupied with their own things, whether it’s drinking, playing pool, or any number of similar things. I know someone is watching me though. I’ve had this feeling plenty of times before being turned and I’m certain of it.

The bartender just delivered a cold pint and I know I didn’t order a beer. I can’t even drink beer. I asked, but no one knows where the drink came from, just that it was sent over from another person in the bar. I’m afraid if I look around again, I’m not going to like what I find, so I’m not turning around. I’m not moving from this seat. I’m thinking about calling someone and asking him or her to join me, just so I won’t be alone here. How pathetic does that sound?

[Clover]

a·ban·don

/əˈbandən/

to give up; to stop support; to desert

“i never meant to abandon you”

---

I never felt so alone in the world. I found you. I finally found you, you miserable piece of ****, but it was like you weren’t even there. I couldn’t see you and you couldn’t see me. I yelled at you. I thought about shooting you. Nothing would have made a difference. Maybe you didn’t even recognize me. What hurts the most is the realization that what happened meant absolutely nothing to anyone other than me.

I couldn’t go back home because there was nothing to return to, nothing that meant more than what I felt at that moment. I abandoned what I considered--what I consider--family. I never answered the one question I desperately need to answer: What am I going to do now? What does my life mean now? What can I do? I’m still lost. Even though I’m home, I feel like I’m still on the streets. I’m curled up on the floor of my apartment, sobbing. I’m sitting on a bar stool, sobbing. I’m like a little child in the biggest world imaginable. I have no reason to exist. Revenge fueled me and now I’m empty.

I lived in squalor. I hate to admit it, but I killed so many people. I didn’t even need the blood. I didn’t need to see the life drain from their eyes. I lashed out at them with everything I had. I stalked them like the worst kind of prey. When the sun came up, I retreated to the sewers like a monster. I still feel the urge to return to those roots. I don’t deserve to think about anything other than killing and feeding, feeding and killing.

Something made me reach out to my sire. I regret it already. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I don’t want someone urging restraint. I don’t want to play house. I don’t want to sit around and cry. I don’t want to cling to humanity like I clung to the idea of revenge. But I also want it. I’m so confused I don’t know up from down. I’m frustrated beyond belief. I don’t make sense to myself, so how can I make sense to anyone else? What am I going to do now? What can I do now?

I abandoned everyone. I abandoned myself. And now there’s someone new, someone better. I know it without even asking. I smell it on her like I smell the filth in the sewers or the strong stench of a woman’s cheap perfume. I’m frustrated. I keep pacing. I keep destroying everything I touch in the hopes of something rewarding me with an answer. I want someone to bring me back from wherever it is I am right now. At this moment. If I could just cut myself open and scrape along my bones, I might find myself again. I might find the time I sat around the bonfire. I might find the time I first met Nik. I might find the time I made the worst decision of my life. I might find something I’m not sure I’m searching for right now.

Am I okay? No. I’m not okay. Help.

[Clover]

con·fi·dent

/känfədənt/

feeling sure of oneself; displaying self-assurance

“for a moment, i felt confident”

---

Crimson. I used to call Mabel that. She was my crimson and I was her clover. And now someone else is masquerading as Crimson and it’s not her. I’m trying to fix whatever mess I may have made, but this Crimson doesn’t seem to recognize me. I thought I was a sire. Am I wrong? How could I have forgotten something so important? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the scent and the feeling I get around this new Crimson is wrong. I’m in the mood to make mistakes.

I can understand sometimes. Not everything Crimson says is jumbled or foreign, or both. I recognize that it’s Japanese. I tried a translator on my phone, but most of the words and phrases got so confused and defined that the meaning was lost. I heard the words clearly in my head. I’ve heard a lot of things clearly in my head. I think that in addition to my indecisiveness, I’ve gone a little mad.

I was invited to a gathering today. In the past, I planned on attending more of them because I actually enjoyed meeting the new faces. Today, I panicked. I thought about the fact that I’d only just lulled nine people into a false sense of security and ripped pieces of them away to feed myself. I didn’t want to go to the “impromptu” meeting only to cling to my sire or, in the worst case scenario, hide in a corner. The thought of showing that side of myself to them made me ill. I tried explaining my thought process and my state as being “unstable,” but that contradicted the fact that I’d said I was “fine.” I’m contradictory incarnated.

I lie because it’s easier than trying to decipher the truth. I know that I want to keep killing. I know that I think about blood more than anything else. I know that I want my family. I know that I want to kill my family. I want to cut someone open, preferably a female, and take out her insides. I want to try and taste her, to really take her in. I’m sick. I’m sick and furious. I’m angry. I don’t go to my home because being entirely alone makes the desires stronger, but I can’t stay at the family home because being around too many people--is it wrong to want to protect what it is I want to hurt?

I’ve thought about hurting Crimson. Even as I thought about having someone depending on me. The thoughts disgusted me and I had to leave the bar several times to waste energy on breaking and entering factories and warehouses. I thought about going after the newest member of the “family.” That one brought on a louder response than the thoughts revolving around Crimson. I thought about befriending her and gaining her trust and then stabbing her in the back. Literally. Just writing it leaves me with mixed feelings: I’m caught between being terrified and being excited.

There’s a little voice in the back of my head repeating the same four-letter word over and over again. Mine. Mine. M-i-n-e. Everything combines with my thirst and creates a perfect storm, an absolute disaster. What am I going to do now? I’m going to think about all the ways I can carve my favorite verses into his body. What does my life mean now? I’m going to hunt and kill for pure pleasure whenever I feel the urge. What can I do? I can do whatever I want. Those are the honest answers.

I’ve rambled on and on. I don’t even remember what it is I wanted to write. I keep saying the same things over and over again. I just need to think clearly. I need to stop or I need to go. I need to be who I was or embrace who I could be. I called this entry “confident,” and I’m anything but confident. Right now, I’m nothing more than a shadow.

[Clover]

si·lence

/sīləns/

the absence of sound

“it’s pointless to deny the silence”

---

It’s possible to hear this kind of silence. I bet all of the senses could enjoy this deafening moment. I saw him on the street and I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t say anything. He walked right by me. I rationalize that he didn’t see me or that I didn’t open my mouth to say two words to him. I disappeared and he flourished. What can I expect, right? Right. And so I followed him, just like I followed the rest of my prey. I took a seat near him at the bar and I snuck little glances at him. I tried to look casual, to blend into the people mingling around the room, but I wanted it to be just the two of us.

At this moment, I’m not sure of my intentions. I feel desire. I want him. I don’t know what that really means though. I feel like I’m fumbling over words. I’m just getting to know myself and I’m too shy to come up with the right words and phrases. I can never ask the right questions. I don’t know whether I want to hurt him or not. I just feel the familiar tightening in my gut and the tingling along my spine. The feeling that descends on me like an actual shadow. I just want him. It’s so simple. I just want him.

I’m sitting here, with this mug full of warm beer, and I’m imagining him seeing me for the first time in months. He’ll see the differences. He’ll accept me, even if I decide that I want to shoot him a few times. He’ll offer his arms and legs for my blade and then I’ll play doctor. Some other part of me pushes those images away with disgust, telling me I just need to snap out of it.

Jesse told me that it’s easier if I accept myself. I have to admit the hunger is there in many different forms. I have to admit that blood is a catalyst. I’ll never be the same again. I can’t regret and hold onto the past. If it helps, I can pretend that the rest of the world is broken. I can find others like myself. Jesse can’t be the only one. Slowly, I’ll weed my way through the rest of this city until I find someone else I’m comfortable with to say these things.

I decided last night that I wouldn’t settle for blood packs. Even after the advice about restraint, I killed four more people. I didn’t know what to do with the bodies, so I cut them up and put them into garbage bags. Before sunrise, they began their secret voyage down to the bottom of the river. It was a shame to see them go, but I couldn’t leave the evidence. I couldn’t take the bodies home. I thought about a fire, just as a nod to my sire, but I didn’t want to completely destroy the remains. Lifeless. Bloodless. I felt nothing for them and nothing for my actions, not until I stepped back into the family home. Guilt washed over me in the way the water washed over those plastic bags.

The silence I just encountered with Nik matched the type of silence I heard just before sunrise. It’s the type of silence demons embrace. I would give anything for the noise.

[Clover]

li·ar

/lī(ə)r/

a person who tells lies; a fabricator; a deceiver

“i’m a big ******* liar”

---

Lying is what I do best. I even lie to myself. Sitting here, writing this, I know I’m lying to myself. I acknowledged the growing problem right after I told Kaelyn that I had feelings for Axel. I guess I could explain what happened before my so-called “confession.”

Kaelyn had some issues with Ripper. She shared the fact that he’d hit her. She made me promise not to tell anyone because she didn’t want him coming back and punishing her for opening her mouth. I promised. I promised her and I meant to keep my word. In exchange, I wanted to tell her one of my own secrets, but I couldn’t find the write words. I needed to tell someone, someone I could trust to keep quiet. I wanted someone that wouldn’t judge me.

As I struggled to find the right words, Kae kept prying. She asked me over and over again to tell her, so I did. I chose the first name that came to mind: Axel. Suddenly, I had strong feelings for Axel and he didn’t know. Gasp! The main problem with my secret is the fact that I’ve never met Axel. He’s never met me. We’ve never even interacted online or through texting. I chose his name because Kae brought him up earlier in the conversation, saying that he had been a good friend to her.

From that point on, I knew I had a problem. My lies became bigger and bigger until they began to crush me. I didn’t slaughter anyone else. Lie. I didn’t get caught feeding. Lie. I miss everyone. Partial lie. The lies outweigh the truths. I don’t think I can stop. I’m not sure if I want to stop. Lying makes everything easier, and if it doesn’t make everything easier, then it makes everything fun. I just wish I could keep my facts straight.

[Clover]

ex·pire

/ikˈspī(ə)r/

to come to an end; to die

“what i had expired”

---

Consider this my fifth attempt at deciphering my current life. My last word of choice was “irony,” but I thought “expire” made a little more sense. The word flows from the tip of this pen just like blood flows from the tip of my sword. It’s been a busy day.

I finally met Axel. I spent the night with Kae, Axel, and Kane. I thought we had a wonderful time and I hope we do it again, but the tension was thick. I want to believe that I didn’t add to the heavy atmosphere. I want to think that I lightened the mood by bickering and sweet talking. I think I helped make it worse.

The back-and-forth that I had with Kane made Kaelyn jealous. Let me be honest with myself and admit that I intended on getting close to him, but I never intended to make her jealous. I thought he would be a nice ****, being so ignorant of relationships, but when we started talking, I realized he reminded me a lot of my sister, June. I realized that Kae really cared for him. I’m a horrible person, but I’m not that horrible. I don’t do emotional torture, psychological torture. I don’t do that level of betrayal. But maybe I should start.

Axel and I didn’t talk much. When we did talk, near the end of the sleepover, I was pleasantly surprised. If Jesse was the first person I met with similar interests, then Axel is the second. He made me reconsider the idea of physical torture and my love for quick, and sometimes sloppy, work. I admitted what I had only admitted to one or two others--I admitted that I thought about cannibalism. “Cannibalism” or “cannibal” could have been the title of this entry, but I decided against it because those words reference one species eating another of the same species and that’s not quite right. I get the idea. This pen gets the idea.

With Kae and Kane being nearby, I didn’t want the conversation with Axel to last very long. I wasn’t sure if the two were eavesdropping or not. I forgot to mention what it was that Axel mentioned, didn’t I? It’s hard to describe it. He could describe it much better. Basically, he thrives on completely isolating someone and making the victim depend on him, trust him. The words stockholm syndrome were thrown around. Like I mentioned before, I don’t do emotional or psychological torture, but he made me want to try. I’ve never had someone depend on me that way and it would give me double the pleasure. I could be saint and sinner.

Just like Jesse, Axel went to drinking from blood bags instead of from the source. He was the third or fourth person I’ve heard that from, but his excuse was that he spent too much time at the forge. He’s also the third person I’ve heard from that mentioned that his victims remembered him. I’ve never considered the idea of my victims remembering me. I slowed down on my killings and I’m wondering if any of the ones I’ve simply fed from have remembered my face. Will I be forced into killing forever? That would give me the excuse I need to continue killing and evolve my methods. It could also be the justification for blood bags.

I don’t want to exist off blood bags though. I don’t like the taste and the texture. I don’t like the fact that the blood needs a microwave to reach an acceptable temperature. I don’t want to live that passive lifestyle. I need excitement now. I need the hunt. I want to feel what I felt during those months on the street. I felt like a real shadow then, like I overwhelmed my victims and then vanished. Just like that. I’m still having trouble with the guilt and the shame afterwards, but I rush in because that’s what I need to avoid succumbing to depression. I don’t want to be like Jesse. I see him as a housewife. I don’t know what he was like before, but I like to imagine he was like me. He lived for the hunt and he thrived doing the one thing he avoids. Destruction. Small scale. Large scale. Planned. Chaotic.

I see balance, but all I want is to tip the scale. Is it wrong that I want to see Jesse lose control? Is it wrong that I want to see Axel lose control? I don’t know anyone else like them, not yet. Or maybe I do, but they haven’t had the nerve to admit it. I want to see them lose control too. I can accept that I need another side to myself, the side that I show to friends and family. I need a daytime persona. I can’t always be the feral vampire I imagine for myself. I just want a little more time in that feral state. I want someone to watch me and see me. I don’t want to simply talk about it with them. I want someone to congratulate me on being that side of myself. Congratulations on being a feral vampire! And then I can last longer in my cookie-cutter, tax-account form. I can go back to being Oriana, the fake persona I joked about with Jesse.

Maybe this is all happening because I’m still alone. I need more interactions. I need distractions. I’m living, existing, like I have an expiration date. I don’t have a deadline for these new developments. I’ll learn whether or not the humans I feed from remember me. I’ll get what I want and what I need. I’m just learning more about patience right now.