Chapter Text
Impossibly long legs covered by knee high socks. Pen tucked on the right side, not your usual accessory. Art major? Educated guess. Hair cascading down her shoulders, red lipstick on, black tight skirt and boots clicking loudly on the pavement as she strolled down the street. That was how she got around in a big city at nightfall. Mean walk, head up high and with unshattering confidence. Even in the dimness of the few streetlights, Frank could easily see her take the same turn on the same corner as she has done for the past two weeks. That was when Illi McMillin moved into his quiet neighbourhood like an oncoming storm.
Frank was just like her when he started university a couple months ago, flushed with hope and alive. It felt like so long ago, he couldn’t tell how much time had actually passed since. He watched her chest moving steadily up and down, wondering if the polluted air that used to dissolve in his lungs burned the same way in her chest. There was nothing filling his chest anymore, except the undeniable urges accompanied by the constant pangs of pain when he refused to leave the house, even after the sun was long gone.
The incident. That was Frank's only obsession. He spent endless days, hiding behind thick velvety curtains, in the darkest corners of his new room, trying to figure out what happened. His head was a broken tape, he repeated every word he said, he replayed every step he took, forced himself to remember every person he has spoken to. All of them were feeble attempts, he couldn’t think with all the ringing in his ears. The ringing wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how hard he hit himself over and over, no matter what pills he took. He’d always end up throwing them up or making himself so sick he couldn’t move.
The walk home to his small rented one room apartment was usually a drag, boring and lengthy. It was the end of the first week of his courses and the weather had turned unusually pleasant, the chilly breeze of September was welcomed after a hot, bothersome summer. Leaves started changing colours and the crushing sound of them sparked a new sense of belonging deep inside Frank. No one knew who he was in this place. His name was not a dirty stain on him that people were trying to wash off. It was supposed to be the beginning of the rest of his life.
He has always been the kind of person to stand up for others. Always getting into a fight if someone needed help. Always spat back at whoever looked at him the wrong way or made a comment under their breath thinking he wouldn’t hear or do anything about it. He made a promise that he would tone it down, that he was going to keep to himself from now on. Get less angry and be less violent, less reckless. Except he couldn’t, not when he recognized a group of guys from one of his classes ganging up on a kid that couldn’t have been older than thirteen on the other side of the street. It was hard to see, the sky had darkened to an almost midnight colour, but Frank could still make out the small figure on the ground getting kicked.
“Hey!” he shouted. None of them turned, one of them got down on his knees - or the kid pulled him down? Frank wasn’t sure. “Hey, fuckass, pick on someone your fucking size!”
“Get lost!” the tallest of the group snapped. He was taller than Frank too. That didn’t impress him much. The bigger they were, the easier they fell.
“It’s none of your business, Iero!” said another with long jet-black hair. When he turned to look at him, Frank thought he looked almost scared, like a prey animal.
Before he could make a rational decision, his feet got ahead of his brain and he threw a punch at one of them just to get closer to the place from where he could hear tiny groans and whines. Who the fuck did these guys think they were?
“I said—” he started as he fisted the shirt of the guy kneeling over the poor kid. His skin was pale and bruised. He didn’t notice that the other guys had taken a step back or that they weren’t trying to fight back at all. He blinked, confused when the guy whose shirt he was gripping clawed at him, mumbling words he couldn’t make out. “He— no, he— I didn’t— help me— please, h-help m-me”
Frank stared at him and then at the body he was looming over a second ago. A rush of anger washed over him, this guy left a kid beaten on the pavement and now he was asking for his help?
“What the fuck, man?” He pushed the other man off him and watched as he ran away, not once looking back. He would see him next week, it wasn’t over. “Hey, kid. Are you alright? Can you tell me your name?
“Ca—” he coughed. “Caleb.” He was breathing heavily and his eyelids were fluttering. He looked very young, the thin layer of skin covering his cheekbones almost translucent. “I’m alright, just need a minute.”
“Easy,” he offered his hand, but that little dude didn’t have enough strength in him to get up and his head fell on Frank’s arm. He was cold. “Do you know those guys?”
“No,” he mumbled. “They came out of nowhere and I—” he coughed again. “I live down the street, I’ll be okay.”
“Sure? You seem pretty weak, I can help—”
“Go home,” he said and Frank let go of him and got up.
He went straight home. He didn’t question it, he didn’t even check twice. He didn’t argue and by the time he was washing off the blood on his knuckles, wincing at the contact with the hot water, he forgot everything about the encounter. Frank was already bleeding, he didn’t notice the punctured wounds in the soft flesh of his wrist.
That night, every joint in his body began to hurt. He was convinced he caught some kind of virus or a stomach bug so he collapsed onto his bed after he was done in the bathroom. Then, in the middle of the night, the pounding started. Painkillers weren’t much help, he blamed it on a late installed migraine from all the assignments he has to get done in the following weeks. The next day, he couldn’t stand the sight of food. He knew getting drunk on an empty stomach was a mistake he was bound to regret, but Frank needed a distraction.
Club lights have always been blinding, but he figured that was normal since he wasn’t getting much sunlight lately. Living like a bat in his own apartment, never turning on the big light. He was grateful for the familiar taste of alcohol burning down his throat and sooner than later, he found someone to dance with. Or grind against, same thing, The pain subsided, but it was still there. Bearable to an extent. “We could go to my place,” he whispered in a girl’s hair he couldn’t remember the name of. Frank thought she was pretty, the prettiest girl he’s seen in a while.
The door closed behind them as he slammed her against it, her legs wrapped around his waist. He needed this, something that didn’t need to mean anything. Just a fun night out. She smelled of vanilla and sweat and blood, Frank couldn’t keep his hands off her. His head was buried in the crook of her neck, her fingers tangled in his hair. Frank couldn’t recall what happened after. One second he was kissing her, sucking and— biting so hard he didn’t have any control over it.
“Dude, I get it, but it hurts,” she whimpered. Frank couldn’t stop himself when the skin tore and he licked the first drop of blood. He let out a sigh of relief, a numbing sensation that none of the pills he took for the past twenty-four hours could give him. He needed more. More of that relief, more of what caused it. More blood. He let his teeth sink into her throat again, deeper this time until he heard the faintest pop of a blood vessel and sucked.
It was exhilarating, how much the sweet taste of blood helped with all the symptoms he couldn’t explain, all the pain was gone in an instant. Crimson liquid was dripping down his chin, his hands tightened involuntarily around her. He was vaguely aware she was saying something to him.
“S-s-stop, p-please,” she whispered in a ragged breath. Frank pulled back then, excitement thrumming through his entire body followed by absolute horror. If he wasn’t holding her up, she would have been lying on the floor. Her face was drained of colour, her gaze lost in between there and another place Frank dreaded to think of. Her glittery top was covered in blood, trailing down her frail frame.
“I’m sorry,” he swallowed. “I don’t— I don’t know what got into me.”
She was blabbering, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Frank didn’t know what to do, the warmth of her blood was still running through his veins. “It’s okay,” he lied to himself. “I’ll just call an ambulance, you’ll be alright.”
He did call an ambulance, but he wasn’t there when it arrived. He watched as the ambulance drove past him on his way to...well, he didn’t know. Anywhere but there. He cleaned himself off in a gas station bathroom, burned his clothes and walked back to the place he was now. In the building across from his old apartment, watching the girl who moved in what once was the bloodbath he left behind that night.
It was all over the news. A young student attacked and found on the brink of death in a new rental building, the police are still searching for the offender. He went to the hospital she was admitted in, pretending to be a relative. The receptionist was skeptical about him coming to visit so late at night, but didn’t argue when he said he was coming all the way there from a different country. By some miracle, she was still alive. Frank has never touched another human being ever since.
Illi McMillin was her name and when she heard of the story, Frank figured she either didn’t care or didn’t believe it. And he’s made it a habit to observe her and memorise her schedule without interacting with her at all. She was a curious little thing, Illi. Frank heard about her from his old friends, who sometimes would text him and ask him how California was treating him after he decided he “suddenly wanted to take a gap year and explore all America had to offer”. She was the hot topic of the month.
The first time he saw her, Frank thought she was the kind of beautiful he could have only imagined. Simply out of this world. With delicate features and the calculated twirl of her dress as she avoided the cracks in the pavement. How her lips were always a shade lighter than blood. He could never get close to her.
He didn’t mean to look, the first time was purely an accident. It was past two in the morning and he was watching the usual passerby on the empty streets. He was hungry. He was starving. He hasn’t fed properly since that time and he refused to. Frank hasn’t fully accepted what he was, but he knew he couldn’t deny it forever. The curtains weren’t drawn, soft light spilling out the window as Illi was sitting at her desk, pen in hand. Even from that distance, Frank could see her lacy pink pyjamas clearly. How she stretched when she yawned, he could almost hear it too if he really focused.
Each night was a battle between watching Illi sleep and fantasizing about her. It was the craving talking, nothing more to it. He developed some sort of interest in her because she seemed effortlessly fearless. Things only got worse when she didn't come home for the weekend and Frank couldn't resist the temptation of checking out the apartment. A quick look around. He was not going to touch anything, or at least, not something that belonged to her.
They didn't bother to change the locks. To his surprise, the key he held onto still worked, it twisted with ease and the door creaked slightly as he slithered in. The walls have been repainted a monotonous greige, but Frank could still smell the faint lingering iron scent underneath it. His stomach churned. The scrubbed clean with bleach floor didn’t make a difference to him, he could see the blood splatters like it was yesterday. His head was spinning from the strong incense he noticed Illi put on a couple days ago.
Despite all the cleanliness, her desk was a complete disaster. Notebooks left opened, dog-eared books, multiple pens and pencils and under all of it, a sliver of something pink and fluffy that resembled...handcuffs? He used one of his pale fingers to gently push the mess to one side and discovered that Illi did not own fluffy handcuffs, but a diary with a little silver lock attached to the side. Frank didn’t need to pick the lock, his gaze landed on the matching key, the shadow of which was reflecting in a forgotten coffee mug. She wouldn’t notice. She wouldn’t bat an eye.
wednesday nov 16th, 2005
dear diary,
i’ve finally moved out of my parents house today. it’s quite a small place and the smell is weird, but the rent is cheap. when the old man handed me the keys, he said an accident happened here a couple months prior, but that the apartment has been thoroughly cleaned. i just smiled and pretended i couldn’t see the streaks of dried blood they’ve painted over. i’ve seen enough true crime documentaries to know when landlords think a bit of paint will fix everything. that didn’t bother me though. i don’t mind a bit of mess. especially if it keeps me out of my hometown.
friday nov 18th, 2005
dear diary,
something weird has happened today. i was walking home from my classes with one of my friend, nothing weird so far. after we split ways, i kept getting this feeling that someone was watching me. or following close right behind me, but when i turned around, there was no one. i shouldn’t go out alone at night, i know. what can a girl do? email all of mu professors and ask them to let me leave my lectures early at the possibility someone might be stalking me? i’m sure it’s all in my head. but i can’t shake it off, the prickling sensation at the nape of my neck. i should get more sleep instead of spending my nights doodling stupid things.
Frank swallowed hard. He had been following Illi that afternoon, to make sure she got home safe. After reading that entry, he saw the drawings at the end of every page. A range of red blown pupils, fangs drenched in blood, faceless people— no, creatures accompanied by annotations he couldn’t make out because of her rushed handwriting. He was going to read one more page and then leave, he already overstepped. He flipped through it until he got to the date before she left.
thursday nov 24th, 2005
dear diary,
i’ve been sleeping with the window wide open for the past week on purpose. i have decided i’m not hallucinating, someone has been watching me. i don’t know who he is, but i’m pretty sure he lives across the street. the building looks abandoned, i know it’s not though. my brother used to live there. i don’t think he knows that i’ve seen him late at night, hiding behind a curtain and peeking at me when he thinks i’m not looking.
i’ve only seen him at night, he never shows his face in the daytime. he likes to hide in the shadows. i think i should be terrified, but i’m not. not even a little bit. i wonder if he looks away when i change my clothes. is that fucked up? i don’t know this guy. i’ve asked around, no one knows about a guy who lives there. it’s like he is a ghost, but i somehow know he is not.
yesterday i had another one of my dreams. some would call them nightmares. this time was different, this time my brain tried to conjure the image of this mysterious man. i couldn’t see his face, i could only feel his pointy razor-sharp teeth grazing the inside of my thigh. he wasn’t breathing, they never are. not the usual hot breath of a regular guy that maybe on a good day it would make me feel something. his hands were cold too, made my body shiver. and i liked it. he didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. i just wanted him to bite me. i just wanted him to suck my blood.
i wonder if other people think about this kind of stuff or if my mind is just a bit disturbing. i wish someone could tell me what my blood tastes like. anyway, i’m going to be out of the city for the weekend, mikey asked me to visit him and ray at their new place.
i know he’s watching me right now. somewhere in between my jaw and collarbone, which...well, i’ve read about what happened here. he never gets close enough, but i want to meet him. tell him he’s a fucking creep to his face. ask him if he’s a vampire by chance.
go to sleep, ills. vampires aren’t real.
Except they were and Frank still struggled to make sense of how he became one. So Illi had a brother. And she was into the whole vampire thing. And had sort of a sex dream about him without ever seeing what he looked like. She was correct, he did stare at the curve of her neck stretching into the slope of her shoulder more than he liked to admit. Frank was a fucking creep, he should have learned to control his impulses. However, he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
He didn’t need to sleep anymore, he hasn’t got used to that yet. Days passed him by like years and when the sun was bright and burning, he spent most of his time thinking about Illi. One particular evening, Frank heard her arguing with someone on the phone. He chuckled at the “are you a fucking stupid cunt?” that went past her lips. She had such a filthy mouth, you would not believe it if you saw her out on the street in her dainty outfit. He hasn’t stopped thinking about her mouth since.
The lock clicked and Frank scattered the papers back on top of it, throwing the key among the pile. Dawn was fast approaching, he didn’t want to take the chance of bumping into Illi in her own space. Plus, he needed to get started on some research.
By the time of her return, Frank had come to the conclusion he couldn’t live off rats. They tasted unclean, nothing compared to the real thing. Guilt was chewing at his insides, he couldn’t have the real thing again. What if he couldn’t make himself stop? That was how he stumbled upon a forum of like-minded people, and by like-minded he meant freaks who indulged in pretending to be vampires or bitten by one. He initially posed as anonymous and when no answer was enough to satisfy him, he quickly created an account with the username x_donquixote_x. Yeah, no one would know who he was. His question was simple: can vampires feel anything besides hunger?
imBATman
yeah dude i get turned on all the time
coffind00r
the whole blood thing really gets me going
thehumblegarlic
message me and i could show you, only if you’re pretty. i don’t fuck ugly guys or girls. i swing all the ways baby
A forced deep sigh felt almost like breathing again. This was pointless. These people were not actual vampires, they weren’t dead. They didn’t have their heartbeat replaced by a hollow cave. And yet, his thoughts drifted to Illi and his fangs involuntarily sprang out. If someone cared to ask him, he was having the worst time.
The good thing about winter was how early the sun was setting, maybe one day he would go out for a walk. Illi was back at her desk the following Monday, working on her projects and quietly humming a song Frank hasn’t heard in a while. He didn't fix his eyes on her, only appreciated her presence and the light hush of turning pages, the occasional crack of her wrist as she scribbled words Frank was going to read later at some point.
He was about to check the replies he got on the forum, despite knowing none of them would turn out to be helpful. Then he perked up at the sound of a low noise, close to a murmur. It could have been the buzzing of the streetlights, but Frank knew better than that, it wasn’t electrifying. Unmistakably human in nature. Listening in closely was a skill he has started to master.
A muffled moan, silky and delicate. Followed by another, faintly louder than the previous. He’s heard that voice enough times to recognize who it was. It would be wrong to look. It would have been wrong to look if she didn’t know he was watching. If she hadn’t taken down the curtains that morning, leaving him a straight view of her bed that she was lying in.
Her head was tilted back on the pillows, long strands of hair covering her face, lipstick smudged by those pretty fingers. Her nipples visible through the thin fabric of her top sticking to her chest as she arched her back, letting out a shaky breath. She reached down one of her bare legs, a red trail left behind from above her knee right down to her hipbone. She let her hand settle in between her spread open legs, just enough for him to see the light bounce of her thigh. Her hand tucked inside a pair of black panties. Frank should have looked away. He didn’t.
Illi whimpered, her free hand getting under her shirt and pinching one of her nipples in between her fingers. Frank figured the pressure on her clit was not enough, she squirmed just to get a bit more friction. He wanted to tell her how incredible she looked. All worked up and flushed and— the blood thrumming through her caused him to cry out in pain.
She touched herself deliberately slow, dragging out every moan from the back of her exposed throat. She shuddered and Frank could only think about what she wrote in her diary. How his freezing hands would make her shiver even without him biting her. How she probably imagined it right now as she was obscenely whining in front of him, getting off at the thought of his teeth sinking in her plush thigh. Not just to bruise her skin, to suck her blood. She knew exactly what she was doing and he fell for it, he would have done it again gladly if it meant he got to watch Illi fall apart with every wet rub on her clit as he drank out of her.
His mouth ran dry, it was impossible to ignore how badly he needed to feed. Illi was just...so alive. And willing enough to put on a show that made Frank believe he could definitely feel more than just hunger. The desperate thrust of her hips and her thighs pressed together, her eyelids fluttering shut and her lips parted were nearly as intoxicating as fresh warm blood. Illi licked her fingers clean and it took everything out of Frank not to pass out when she did so.
He has been teaching himself how to blink again, his eyes didn’t need to get wet anymore. Her chest was rising regularly, her breathing slowed down. Frank supposed she fell asleep. After turning on his laptop, it took him a minute to adjust to the screen’s brightness. Most of the other replies were tending to be the same “i’m down to fuck if you are”. He wasn’t interested in them. He wondered briefly why he believed there would be easy access to a society of vampires. He didn’t think they were real either, not until he became one. All he knew was that these people were into some kinf of role-play stuff he could care less about.
fangorialoverills
i think they can, but it has to be a strong feeling. bordering on overwhelming, something to take over that primal instinct. you know? blood is like a gateway drug for them, vampires need it in order to stay alive. nothing can replace it permanently, but for a while...if they find the right thing, they might escape the whole “i’m dead” thing
Commented two hours ago. He was right about Illi McMillin from the start, she was a natural disaster waiting to happen. And he’s never been more pleased he was undead.