Path of the Vampire forum

“Nah, I can’t. I’ve had enough,” Mason slurred. His words weren’t understood at all, not by himself and certainly not by the group of friends surrounding him. He tried getting to his feet, but he fell right back down onto the sofa. Instead of hitting the couch cushion, he landed on a woman’s lap. She wrapped her arms around him and held him to herself, whispering slurred words about how fit he was and how he had a great ***. “Let’s get out of here,” he managed, the single word out clearer than the rest.

When he tried standing again, he succeeded, and he held a hand out to the woman that had supported his weight. The blonde slid her hand into his and they both stumbled away from the living room and down the length of the hallway. There were closed doors on either side, each one with a sock or a shirt hanging from the doorknob. When they got to the master bedroom, Mason kicked the door open with his foot and leaned against the doorway. The blonde bumped into his back and erupted into a fit of giggles, her final bit of laughter punctuated with an unladylike snort. The noise ignited Mason’s laughter, and the two of them stumbled into the room with good spirits.

The blonde, a pretty little thing by the name of Teresa, closed and locked the door, but she tripped over her heels and crashed right into Mason’s arms. The two of them swayed toward the bed, with Teresa already trying to rid herself of her slinky dress, and Mason fell back onto the mattress with an ungraceful oomph. They were both drunk and high as hell, so every touch seemed entirely new to them. He couldn’t see straight, and he had a feeling that neither could she, but their sight didn’t matter, not when he could run his hands down her bare sides.

“Shh,” Teresa shushed, even though they weren’t talking. “Baby,” she whispered, “baby, do you have a condom?” She giggled again, and Mason blinked a few times. He couldn’t decide whether they were going to have sex or whether they were going to giggle until they passed out. Her question had him patting down the pockets of his jeans and digging through the pockets of his jacket. When he pulled out a familiar square wrapper, Teresa snatched it from his hands and immediately went to work.

Mason lay back and stared at the ceiling. He felt the jerk on his belt, the feel of her hands on his thighs, and then the movement stopped. She’d passed out on top of him, and he really couldn’t blame her. They’d taken too much, and they’d had so much to drink. Mason thought about moving her, about crawling beneath the sheets, but he passed out not long after. They lay there, limbs tangled together, until he woke up hours later. One of the couples in another room had started arguing, and the loud voices pierced his head like an icepick. Teresa didn’t seem to notice the noise, if her snoring was any indication, but Mason couldn’t get back to sleep.

Nudging the woman aside, he adjusted himself, pulled up his jeans, and zipped his fly; they’d passed out too soon for anything to happen, and he had to admit he was disappointed. Teresa was a hot girl, at least by his standards. Good chest. Good bottom. Nice face. When she was sober, she was sweet as pie, and that’s exactly what Mason liked about her. That was his type. When he sat up, he had a sudden rush to his head. He jumped out of bed and ran the few feet to the bathroom door. He slammed the door open, fell to his knees on the cold tile, and crawled over to the toilet, where he emptied his guts into the pine-scented bowl. At first, he’d dry heaved, but that hadn’t lasted long. He emptied partially digested pizza, potato chips, and brownies. His vomit stunk like rancid beer, and some of the chunks clung to his facial hair.

Vomiting always made him want to vomit more and more, which caused an almost endless chain of events. Whenever he drank too much, whenever he snorted too much, he always ended up in the same position. He ended up on the floor, curled around the toilet or curled in around himself. The earlier events had already become a blur, so he had no idea where he was. He remembered Teresa. He remembered Paul. He remembered getting into his Lexus. Beyond those people and his car, he remembered bits and pieces of shooting up and chugging beers. His thoughts were interrupted by more dry heaving, and he practically threw himself away from the toilet. The stench kept prodding at his sensitive stomach. After a night of partying, he couldn’t handle himself. He’d never been able to handle himself. Usually, he had a pretty girl to nurse him back to sobriety, but Teresa wasn’t that type of girl, if her current situation were any indication.

Mason drew his knees up toward his chest and rested his forearms atop them. He stayed like that, listening to the muted screams drifting through the walls, until his back and his *** began to ache. When he moved, he pushed himself off of the floor and took a few shaky steps toward the toilet. He dropped the lid closed and flushed the toilet, then made his way to the sink, where he swished some cold water around his mouth and finished off by gargling some mouthwash he found in the medicine cabinet. He found a clean washcloth and washed his face, but he still felt sweaty, a result from last night’s party. His breath minty fresh and his face clean, he padded out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom.

Teresa looked over at him through half-lidded eyes, a small scowl on her face. Mason didn’t need to ask to know that she felt just as wonderful as he felt. He made his way over to the bed and stopped next to her. Brushing a hand through her messy hair, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good morning, love,” he spoke, his voice deeper than usual. “Do you need a ride home?”

“Did we,” she trailed off, her eyes moving from his face to his crotch. A brow arched, he shook his head from side to side. “Do you want to now, before you go?” With his smirk, she slid to the end of the bed and made her way to the bathroom to gargle some mouthwash and splash some water on her face. Before she got to wash her face, he walked up behind her and slipped his arms around her. His arms crossed over her upper half, and she smiled at him in the mirror. “Do you want to get breakfast after?”

He moved his arms and slipped his fingers beneath the straps of her dress. In response, he kissed her shoulder. He peppered kisses up toward her neck and licked and sucked at her skin. She moaned, the sound low and deep in her throat, and she gasped. He moved quickly and swept her off of her feet. He didn’t answer her question because he didn’t want to answer it before he had a chance to get into her panties. Mason had no interest in going to breakfast with her. He had no intention of seeing her again, unless they crossed paths at yet another party, and Mason hated when that happened.

Making love, to him, was like worshipping the human body. When it was over, he had no reason to remain. He took pleasure in admiring her, in ravishing her, and then he moved on. After they had sex, she fell asleep, and that’s when he dressed himself, retrieved his wallet and keys, and slipped out. He waved goodbye as he passed his friend, Paul, and then he went out to his Lexus. Whether or not Teresa forgave him, he didn’t care. He’d had plenty of women just like Teresa, each one a little more meaningless than the last, so he’d grown accustomed to the varying levels of hatred directed at himself. He had a schedule he had to keep, so he left. Nothing seemed simpler.

After every party, he went to the same diner, a hole-in-the-wall type place with great scrambled eggs and crisp bacon. Just the thought of the comfort food made his stomach rumble. He was one of the few people he knew that could puke his guts out and then turn around and shovel food into his mouth. None of the women had ever followed him to the diner, so the place was his little sanctuary. The drive took a little over twenty minutes, but when he pulled into the parking lot, he was ready to get out and stretch his legs. Mason parked in his usual spot, a parking spot right in front of the large windows of the diner, got out of his car, set the alarm, and headed through the double doors. The hostess wasn’t at her spot, but he didn’t really need the hostess to find his way to his usual booth. He took the same booth in the same corner. Mason had a ritual, and he had to get the same booth. If he ended up in any other spot, he would have thrown off his whole morning, possibly his whole day.

“Morning, Danielle. Don’t you look fit,” Mason grinned, complimenting one of the older waitresses on duty. The woman laughed and pretended to fan herself, which made Mason chuckle. He loved complimenting the woman because she was receptive to his words, and she knew neither of them were interested in anything more. “Where’s my waitress for the day?”

“Oh you. You could have waited for the hostess, like everyone else,” she scolded him. “You won’t always be able to coast through life on those beautiful brown eyes. And is that a new tattoo I see? Honey, you need to stop ruining yourself. Tsk.”

“I ruin myself to keep you off of me,” he joked. As he slid into his usual side of the booth, the side that offered him the best view of the whole diner, he snatched the menu from behind the metal napkin dispenser. The air smelled like bacon and coffee, with a buttery undertone. Anyone else might have thought the place smelled like grease, but not Mason. He thought the place smelled heavenly. “Patty,” he greeted the young waitress, “where’ve you been all my life?” He grinned at her, knowing that his flirtatious behavior irritated her.

Patty looked up from her notepad, groaned, and turned to walk away. He leaned over and swatted her *** with his menu, something he’d been doing since she started three weeks ago. The only reason he got away with such behavior was because his father knew the owner, another rich snob of a man who chose to wash money in rundown apartment buildings and businesses, or so Mason assumed.

“I’m not in the mood today, Mason. I’ll get your usual and whenever you want something, please just ask Danielle. I don’t even know why they give me this section. I don’t like you,” Patty sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples.

“Love, I just need a black coffee and a supreme breakfast. That’s not too much to ask for. I don’t know why you’re always so hostile,” Mason sighed, purposely copying the way she’d sighed. When she turned to glare at him, he dropped the menu on the table and held up both hands. She narrowed her eyes, looked him over, and then moved toward the swinging gate that led behind the main counter. She returned with an empty coffee mug and a steaming pot of coffee. “Have a seat and chat with me?” Offering her a seat at his table was yet another ritual he’d begun. She always declined, and it was no different.

“I’m on the clock, Mason.” Patty topped off the cup and nudged it closer to him, as if she were presenting him with his entire breakfast. “You come in here all of the time, and you try to woo the waitresses. Don’t you have something better to do? Don’t you have a family?”

Mason stared at her, his grin slowly slipping away. She seemed to realize what she’d said was inappropriate, if not downright rude, and she tried to stutter out an apology, but he’d turned his attention to the window. The kitchen bell rang and Patty quickly left the table to retrieve his food. When she returned, she hovered. She stood there for a good five minutes, just waiting for him to look at her, but he didn’t want anything to do with her anymore. He picked up his fork, stirred his scrambled eggs around, and then skewered a few. He didn’t expect her to sit down across from him, so when she did, he glanced up from his plate.

“Aren’t you on the clock?”

“Yeah, well, they won’t miss me,” she replied, a shaky smile on her lips. “I’m really sorry. You didn’t deserve that. I just had a table of these crazy teenagers, and I--what’s that on your arm?” Patty’s eyes had strayed from his face to the right sleeve of his shirt. The sleeves came down long enough to disguise his tracks, but the sleeve had ridden up. He dropped his fork, the utensil snapping against the glass plate, knocked his cup of coffee over. The hot coffee fanned out across the top of the table and spilled on their laps. Luckily, the liquid had cooled enough so that they weren’t burnt by it.

Mason jumped up from the table and began swatting at his lap with a fistful of napkins. The coffee had already begun to stain the dark fabric of his jeans and the bottom portion of his shirt. He’d taken care to tug his shirt sleeves down farther, but she’d already seen. And really, it was his own fault. He didn’t always do the same cocktail, so he wasn’t used to hiding needle marks. Teresa had been the one interested in mixing, and he’d been willing to give anything a try.

Patty had grabbed more napkins and boxed in the remainder of the coffee on the tabletop, trying to keep anymore of the liquid from cascading onto the floor. There was already going to be a sticky mess, but she tried. Mason helped her soak the coffee up and began piling the dirty napkins atop his ruined breakfast. “I’ll get you a new meal,” Patty said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He didn’t know what to say to her, so he just waved a hand to dismiss her words. His breakfast was ruined, and he had no interest in sticking around. He had an hour to get home, an hour to get ready, and then twenty minutes to get from Elmworth to Stag Heath. There was time to get another breakfast at home, just like Patty had implied when she’d asked about the existence of his family. Of course he had a family. He had a father. He had a mother. He had siblings. Even if he didn’t exactly hear from three out of the four, they still existed. They counted.

Mason pulled out his wallet and grabbed a few bills. He didn’t bother telling her goodbye. He didn’t bother thanking her. He laid the money atop a dry portion of the table, grabbed his keys, and turned to leave. Mason never really cared for the place anyway.