Peaches and Bane (So I'm Not a Vampire?)
If you don't know these names, then there is a problem. Below are the first few chapters of my new Mystery Girl series. In it you'll meet Peaches and Bane and their friends. Trust me, you're going to laugh. It's unlike anything Ive ever done before. I hope you enjoy!
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Prologue: To be Un-dead or Not to be Un-dead, That is the Question So... I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire. I'm not going to jump the gun and declare myself a blood-sucking, night-walking, sun-hating vamp just yet, but I'd bet my last bar of chocolate I'm right.See, at the moment, I'm lying on this super tacky metal slab freezing my—if I was a man—balls off, with this scratchy, washed-way-too-many-times sheet over top of me. Oh, and I'm butt naked. Now, I've seen about a ba-gillion crime shows and I'm almost positive that I'm in a morgue. Just one more thing that proves my whole vampire theory.But I guess you're probably wondering "why was your first thought vamp?" The main reason: I died. I'm one hundred and ten percent positive about this one. You see, it all began at my super-duper hot now-ex-boyfriend’s house. Me, being the cute and sincere girlfriend I am, decided to bake a batch of brownies and take it over to his place. Did we (mainly I, since both we both knew I always end up eating two-thirds of the little pieces of chocolate heaven) really need brownies? Hell no! I was, well... am, pushing a size sixteen, and my long, bottle-red hair just ain't covering up that double chin anymore. Getting back on track, I brought brownies. Rob and I had been dating for about two years, give or take a month—which in my mind is six months too long without a commitment of either shared living quarters or a ring. But I'm a patient girl, and I thought Rob was worth it. He had this whole cute boy-next-door thing going on, and was just a little wilder cause he had a motorcycle. Did he ride it? No, but he had it, and that was all that counted.Again, I'm getting off topic. I do that a lot. My mom says I have ADD, but she acts the same way so I think it's more genetic than anything. Some parents share hair color with their kids, my mother and I share a short attention span. But back to the reason I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire and one hundred percent sure I'm dead. I went to see my boyfriend, yada, yada. Brought brownies, yada, yada. Caught him fucking the Chinese take-out man— Oh, wait! I didn't get to that part yet. Yup, I found my boyfriend ass up, taking it from behind, while our Chinese take-out guy rammed a pretty impressive piece of equipment in his ass. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I hate to be one of those people, but I really would have preferred to see my boyfriend with his dick in a size negative one, supermodel chick instead of the way I caught him. It wasn't just a blow to my self-esteem, but also a blow to my womanhood. There's nothing like seeing your boyfriend getting the business from another dude to remind you of that extra muffin you ate, and the few extra pounds you'd put on lately. I, being the entirely rational person I am, stood there and screamed my head off like a banshee. Of course, Rob heard, but instead of getting limp and having his dick fall off as it should have, he came. That about sealed the deal for me. I turned in a whirl of neon pink skirts and marched out the front door. At the front steps, I realized I still held the freaking brownies in my hands, and instead of just taking them with me, I decided to chucked them while I took a step. Clumsy me stepped wrong in my matching neon kitten heels, turned awkwardly on my ankle, fell, and cracked my head on the pavement in front of his house. All I remember is a hazy feeling of pain, my ears ringing, and then darkness. I also think I remember seeing blood, but it just could have been a distorted image of my pink dress, because I'm pretty sure the thing had flown up and I was flashing God and everyone. So, here I am, laying in what I assume is a morgue with a very fresh memory of my death; my very humiliating, very embarrassing death. I just hope Rob lied to my parents and whoever came to collect my body, and made up some believable story about how we were having passionate sex in front of his house, and he was just soooo good that I came and died. Now that is a death I could get behind. Got sidetracked again. Silly little Peaches. Oh, right, I totally forgot to tell you my name, it's Peaches. Well, my nickname is Peaches, but my real name is Georgia Kent. In grade school my grandma used to come and pinch my cheeks and say: "chubby little cheeks, just like a peach, and good enough to eat." From that moment on I was ridiculed and my nickname became Peaches. Now, I'm Peaches the Vampire. Wow does that sound stupid and wrong. But I mean, what other explanation is there to my sudden rebirth in a morgue? Scenario one is that the brownies I may have 'sampled' on my way to Rob's house were contaminated, and I was now a zombie. Only thing wrong with that scenario was I didn't smell myself decomposing, I could form complete thoughts, and I was craving chocolate, not brains. Scenario two would be that I'm in a coma. This one I could maybe get, if I didn't feel freaking, freezing cold—I mean like Hell's probably warmer the little box I was in. And why would I imagine myself in a morgue if I were in a coma? That didn't make any sense. Plus, I read somewhere that people in a coma don't dream, and it doesn't really feel like a dream but cold, harsh reality. Option three—which is the one I'm sticking with until someone or something, proves me wrong—is that I'm a vampire. Fact: I got a mosquito bite two weeks ago that hasn't gone away. Maybe it wasn't a mosquito bite but, like, a vampire bite. And, aside from the whole zombie thing, I don't know any other creature that can come back to life, Frankenstein excluded. Then there's the possibility that I could still be alive, but the paramedics must have been really stupid if that's the case. With all the technology we have, I find it un-be-lievable that they wouldn't have made, damn sure I was six feet under before they placed me in a morgue in preparation to be put, well, six feet under. You know, Peaches the Vampire is starting to grow on me. Has that sort of epic quality like Dracula or other vampires I can't think of right now. Vampire Peaches. Yeah, I can get behind that.
Chapter 1: Maybe It's Cranberry JuiceAbout ten minutes into lying on that deathly cold slab, I decided it was high time to move my vampire ass into gear. I mean if Twilight, Blood Ties, Moonlight, Buffy, Angel, and the million other vampire movies and shows were right, I had super speed, super strength, and very soon I'd need blood and a dark place to sleep when the sun rose. Though since I was in a freezer for dead people, I wasn't sure if it was night or day, I decided to chance the odds based on the whole 'vampire internal clock’ thing. But then again I could've just me made that one up. Mustering my strength, I lifted my once flabby, weak human arms and used my new vamp strength to push the door open and then watch it fly off the hinges and into the wall. Sadly, this didn't happen. The door barely gave a creek under my vampire strength and it sure didn't fly off anything. "No big, powers probably just need time to... uh, get here or something." Other vamp movies portrayed new as being as weak as newborns. Since I was a fledgling vamp, maybe the same applied for me. Meh, that explanation worked. It took forever and a day to finally get that stupid door open, but sheer force of will got the job done. I was surprised no mortician came to see what all the racket was about, but it was probably well past midnight and everyone was probably home. Now, I'd like to say my emergence from the freezer was elegant and graceful, but I'd be lying my big, fat but off. I pushed too hard and the momentum sent me flying, head first, out onto an equally cold white tiled flooring. If I wasn't already dead, I'm pretty sure the impact would have killed me. "Stupid, baby vamp strength." When I was at full vampire super-strength, I would lift an elephant with my pinky just because. I got up and looked around the room. It was pretty big with three silver rolling trays in the middle with a lamp overhead and a giant wall of square, silver refrigerator. I have to say; those TV shows really got it right. I guess I that was one of the reasons I wasn’t freaked out about the whole death and morgue thing. "Clothes, clothes, clothes," I mumbled as I looked around for a lab coat of something to throw over my nakedness. I spied a work jacket in the corner, and an instant outfit idea came to me. I picked up the sheet that had fallen off after my dive and twisted that around my body in a strapless dress sort-of-way. I cringed at the hairy ape legs I was sporting but promised myself a hot shower and a razor later. I threw on the jacket but couldn’t button the thing up. Apparently becoming a vampire hadn't made me instantaneously, super-hot. That sort of sucked, because going through the rest of my undead life as a size sixteen sounded about as appealing as a low fat, dairy free, gluten muffin. I shuddered at the thought. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but drinking some rando's blood didn’t hold as much appeal now that I was actually among the ranks of the undead. How actors made the process of drinking that sticky, metallic stuff look so hot and sexy amazed me. But then again they had darkened cranberry juice or something. “Hmm, cranberry juice.” I shook my head as I stepped out of the room and into the white-on-white hallway. “Get your head in the game, Peaches.” I had this terrible habit of talking to myself in the third person. My friends liked to count how many times I did it in a day. I really cut back from the hundreds it used to be, but every so often it creeps up on me. Though now that I thought about it, I really wouldn’t have to cut back anymore. I mean, I no longer had any friends because everyone knows vampires can only be with other vampires when they’re newbies or they go on a rampage of blood, guts, and gore. I wondered how long it would take me to get to that stage; probably not long given the rumblings in my tummy. “Oh blood, oh blood, oh where can you be,” I sang quietly as I walked through the building, peaking in different rooms in the hopes of finding my new liquid food. “Don’t you know, don’t you know, I’m freak-ing hungry.” On the fifth door I opened, I smelled blood; not like an overwhelming amount, but like someone got a bad cut that needed stitches bad. Sadly, my fangs didn’t pop out and I didn’t go psycho over the smell of it. Again, I chalked it up to me being new. I spied a glass fridge in the corner with baskets of blood inside. I peaked in and saw blue and red baskets with blood bags that with the Red Cross symbol on them. I snatched an O neg bag and closed the fridge. “Yum. Blood.” My voice might have lacked excitement, but that was only because when I was a human blood grossed me out. I guess the transition just, like, took longer. Maybe it had something to do with my age. I feel like twenty-seven is sort of old in vamp years. It was particularly old, decrepit, and nearly expired in human years. Maybe because I was older it was talking my powers longer to emerge. At least, that’s what I told myself. “Bottoms up, Peaches,” I sighed to myself as I sank my teeth into the bag and got... nothing but plastic. Several minutes of gnawing on the bag later, and I finally poked a hole in it. It was sort of like drinking a super gross—I mean delicious, Capri Sun. So the taste wasn’t the best, but maybe O neg wasn’t my favorite. Plus, I bet it would have tasted a lot better from the warm, heart-beating source. Still, blood tasted like, well, blood. And after two minutes of trying to gag it down, I decided that maybe blood wasn’t really what vampires ate. I mean, Marcelline on Adventure Time (one of my guilty pleasure shows) just sucked the color out of red stuff. Maybe the same applied to me. Maybe red apples, cranberries, and cherries were what I needed to eat. Well, I had all of eternity to find out. But, first things first, I needed to find a way out of the creepy blood and dead bodies infested place. There was no going home, but I’d been, uh, camping and I could rough it for a night. Plus if worst came to worst, I could see if my vamp mind-control powers came in yet. Now that would be cool!
Chapter 2: Pot Calling the Kettle Black It didn't take me long to find a way out of the morgue, or should I say University Hospital. That's right; I was undead in my old alma mater. A few feet to my left was Chittenden Hall, and right behind that were a bunch of other halls. It was both comforting and creepy to be back at my old school, especially considering it was summer and there was no one around. It didn't exactly give me a warm, fuzzy feeling to be a vampire on campus. Oh! That could totally be the next title of a movie! Then, reality set in and reminded me that while the bright, full moon and empty university did paint a great vamp horror flick, it didn't really work for me considering I was the ideal candidate to be killed first. I was white with bright hair, though it was red instead of blonde, and big. Don't get me wrong, the quaint charm of the place was still there, but it was all starting to give off every horror flick vibe ever made. "Fuck." It was the only thing I could think to say as all my bravado and most of my naive hope fled the building. For one, the closest I'd ever come to 'roughing it' was setting up a cozy little pink tent and a portable DVD player on the deck of my house. My mom brought out cookies and classic funny camping movies. Then, when I had to go to the bathroom, I just opened the door to my house and moseyed on up to my bathroom. Yeah, I'm a regular outdoorswoman. I could always break into one of the buildings or hope that a door was open somewhere, but there were two problems wrong with that. The closest thing I'd come to breaking in was watching it done on TV, and I was hungry. I didn't trust myself not to go H.A.M—Hard As a Motherfucker—on some poor unsuspecting cop and suck all his blood out. I mean, maybe I could live off of strawberries and red wine for the rest of my life, but that was a discovery for another day. "Why am I not surprised to see a white woman alone at night on this campus? There must be a stupid, willful endangerment epidemic going around," a deep, male voice snickered. I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash with how fast my head turned. There was no one on the sidewalk with me, just a flickering streetlamp. The place was practically screamed that a serial killer was going to step into its sporadic spotlight, and smile at me. I tried to peer into the darkness, hoping that some of those stupid—I mean awesome vampire powers would finally manifest. "Who's there?" "Oh? Can she mean me?" "No shit I can mean you," I bit off, cranking my neck this way and that to see into the shadows. I didn't know what I would do if the voice really did belong to some kind of slasher, bad guy but screaming and begging for my life were at the top of my list. The irony of my thoughts set in a second later. Here I was; the freaking walking dead worrying about a serial killer. What was the worst he could do? Kill me? Been there, done that. And, I mean, I watch a lot of karate movies, so I was about 99.9 percent sure I could take the guy on. But instead of a dude, a fat black cat strolled out. The thing twitched its tail, and—if cats could look aggravated—gave me an aggravated look. "Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?" I looked hard at that cat, because I was pretty sure it had just spoken to me without opening its mouth. Oh God! Was I becoming crazy from hunger? Was the next step me breaking into the drugstore and stealing all their dried cranberries and strawberry soda? "And she calls me fat," the voice snickered.
"Mind saying that again?" I had no problem picking a fight with a cat if the thing really was talking to me. When I was nine, I almost punched a parrot because it kept saying y breath smelled like butt. Am I proud of that? Well, maybe not, but that stupid was a total dick. "Ah, so you can hear me. That's quite interesting." The cat moved towards me and circled me like I was prey. It was weird considering the thing could come to about my calf. A sort of weird fear came over me, one I couldn't explain. It was like that time I was watching Craig Kosicek, this nerdy fifth grader, getting picked on by these douche-y seventh graders. One minute they were pushing him around, and he was saying quit it, and the next he had one of the guy's ears in his mouth and was biting it off while he punched another dude in the face. The kid went from sweet and nerdy to viscous animal in a second. That's how I felt about the cat. "A more apt word would have been frightened," he said as he came to a stop in front of me and sat back on his haunches. "The story was unnecessary.” "Maybe I'm missing something here, but cats aren't supposed to talk, right?" Aren't I clever? No shit cats didn't speak! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, but the whole dead girl and talking cat thing had me using half my normal brain cells. It only occurred to me a second later that the cat could be a shape shifter or fellow vamp. Maybe I was giving off a supernatural vibe now that I was a vamp that welcomed all the boogie men and paranormal romance stars. Hmm... Maybe I'll meet a single alpha werewolf with a dark past and a giant schlong. That would be perfect. "The better question would be: why are you hearing me?" His tail twitched as he got up and turned back into the darkness. "And could you please think of something else besides sex? It doesn't exactly help your case when all I can get out of your mind are quick, jumbled thoughts along the same lines as Sookie Stackhouse and Stephanie Meyers." The fact that the cat was well versed in vampire pop-culture surprised me. Weren't all supernatural beings supposed to be like centuries old, use big words, and talk with a transylvanian accent? I heard a metal jingle come from the shadows the talking cat was in. "What do you mean 'help my case'?" The cat emerged with a set of keys dancing on his tail. With a quick flick of the appendage, he threw the keys at me and I caught them with my face. Nothing like a cold, metal key to the forehead to wake a girl up. "Never mind, it's not important now," the cat replied. He sat back down on his haunches, licked his paws, and gave me a curious look. "Would you mind driving me back to my hotel? I'm a bit tired, or I'd do it myself." Was a cat actually asking me to be its chauffeur? This day just couldn't get stranger. From dying to finding out I'm a vampire and then meeting a talking cat, I'd have the best story since, like, Jesus. Maybe that's how I'll get rich! Sell my life story to Hollywood. "And hope that they don't either call you crazy or give you to the government for testing? Smart girl aren't you?" I flipped the stupid cat the finger. "You know what? You can just drive yourself home!" I turned sharply, willing to take my chances with the school buildings and security. "Fine," the cat said flippantly to my back, "but you're not a vampire. So you can stop thinking that you're going to bite some security guard. You won't." Again, I wasn't sure how I didn't break my neck with how fast I turned. Oh, and if cats could look smug, this one was looking like he just convinced a canary that his mouth was a nest. "What do you mean I'm not a vampire? Of course, I'm a vampire." He shook his head and licked his front paws again. "No, habibi, I'm a vampire. You, however, are a mystery." I barked out a laugh as I looked at the pudgy cat and watched his tail flick in agitation. "You? Shouldn't you go find Sabrina or something, Salem?" The cat stood up and stretched his limber body, the action looking more dangerous than a killer brandishing a gun. "Ah, Sabrina the Teenage Witch joke, how original. Are you going to drive me, yes or no?" So those were my options. Trek into the great unknown with a talking, fat, black cat who claimed to be a vampire and said I wasn't a vampire, or take my chances with the university. I couldn't even count how many heroines had been given a similar choice of one or the other, this or that. Why were there always only two choices? Why not like three or ten? "Are you really a vampire?" I finally asked because well, I couldn't really think of another choice. "Yes. Are you going to drive me?" I sighed. Here was my life. I went from K-Mart manager to cat chauffeur in the blink of an eye. "Yeah, what the hell." I clicked the keys to unlock the door and spied a smooth, sexy red-hot Lamborghini fifty feet away. I couldn't help the low whistle that came out of my mouth. "I'm Peaches by the way." I said as I walked side by side with the cat to the sports car. "Bane," the cat supplied. "And if you think of a pun, I'll scratch your eyes out." It was on the tip of my tongue too, or the tip of my thoughts. What a name for a cat, but it worked perfectly for my situation. Peaches the vampire and Bane the cat. "You are wrong on so many levels, habibi," Bane purred into my mind as we walked together to the car. Chapter 3: Birthday Suit Crisis mode. Here I am, faced with God’s gift to womankind in the bed—naked!—next to me. I mean, mother fucker, this dude was hot. I mean fiery, smoking, scream-your-head-off hot! Chiseled features, rock hard… everything, and chocolate skin you just wanted to take a bite out of. I couldn’t help it. I freaked out a little. Okay, I lied. I freaked out a lot. I dashed to the bathroom, and just barely stopped myself from slamming the door. I flipped on the shower and started pacing around the room. I didn’t even notice how nice it was, or how shiny and new everything looked. One thing was on my mind: the black Adonis in my bed. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” I couldn’t think of anything else. I tried to scream my head off, but it only came out as a little squeak. I crouched, made myself as small as I could, and tried not to freak out more. It was just... me, Georgia Kent, didn’t get to sleep in bed with men like that. It didn’t happen—not in this world anyway. If I wasn’t being confused for a lesbian because of the hair choice, I was being attacked or snubbed for my weight. Long ago, I’d understood that I would have to settle, have to live with having 'good enough' instead of great. Of course, even that was messed up because 'good enough' ex-boyfriend, Rob, had been gay. Which all proves my point: sexy, hot men did not sleep in the same bed with me unless we were re-enacting Misery. The bathroom started to steam, and I started to sweat. It was only then that I realized I was naked. Yet again, I was butt naked. I came crashing to my knees with my palms flat on the heated, black marble flooring. Did I have sex with Chocolate Thunder over there? Oh my God, would I have gorgeous, caramel babies who look like little angels with soft, curly hair and exotic eyes? In that rather large bathroom, naked on all fours, I designed a whole life for myself and this mystery man. I mean, my imagination went above and beyond, past insane and right into bat shit cray. I looked at the ceiling through my mess of red hair and shook my fist dramatically. "Why God? Why me? How could you do this to me?" Yeah, it surprised me when I didn't win the part of Little Orphan Annie in my fifth school play. I had melodrama down to a science. Shake fist. Rant. Cry. Plead. Look up and see naked Adonis in the doorway of the bathroom. Wait. One of these things doesn't belong. "What are you doing, Peaches?" the man said, looking at me like I was crazy. Well, I mean I was acting a bit bonkers, but he was also standing there in his birthday suit. And then his voice hit me. I don't know why the voice didn't register automatically, but a second later it did and my jaw dropped to my boobs. "Bane?" He raised a questioning brow and stepped right over me like I was a puddle in the floor. It was only then that I realized it hadn't been fat the black cat named Bane had been sporting yesterday, but muscle. He looked over his shoulder and winked at me, the kind of wink that let me know he knew he was hot, knew my panties had gone up in flames, and knew that very soon I'd be under him. Man, did the guy have chatty eyes. It took me another second before a good dose of modesty and reason kicked in, and I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. Yeah, like that was going to do any good now. I looked up to see Bane step into the shower and water rush over his brawny muscles like it wanted him. That's right, the water was horny. And so was I. I couldn't help what my eyes did, if I wanted to. Suddenly they were looking at the back of Bane's head and the next they were looking at his butt. Oh, and what an ass it was. Tight and round, the type of butt you could bounce a quarter off of. "Peaches," he said warningly as he grabbed the soap. "Out." Apparently I was a dog now. I glared at him, spared one more, longing glance at his tight, muscular body then stormed out of the bathroom. I could tell when someone needed their privacy. Thankfully, time away from the super-hot Bane allowed me to think, and take note of a few things. One thing I noticed immediately was that we were in a really nice hotel suite. Not room, suite. There were clothes for me in the closet, and they all looked like my size. It wasn't like what you see in the movies, with rows of shoes and jewelry and stuff, but there was a skirt, pair of jeans, clean underwear, and the bare essentials. It was also dark outside, which didn't really help Bane's 'you're not a vampire' case. There was a mini fridge, thankfully, and a pack of M & M’s. I decided to put my red theory to the test while I waited for Bane. I didn't change into the clothes because I wanted to shower first, but I did pop a squat in front of that refrigerator and meticulously sort through little pieces of chocolate candy. I didn't really eat the red ones but instead sucked off the red sugar coating. My stomach rumbled and grumbled in protest to the meager offering of sugar-flavored spit. "What are you doing?" I didn't whip my head this time. Bane had this habit—could I really call it a habit if I've only known the guy for twelve hours—of sneaking up on me. "I'm eating." He came around and I could smell fresh, slightly musky male. Hmm... I almost licked my lips. He barked out a short laugh. "Are you licking the sugar of the red M&Ms?" I looked up, and up, and up at him. Damn he was tall. "And what if I am?" My shoulders squared and my tongue was limber and ready to lash out at him if he said I wasn't a vampire again. While eating, I'd thought a lot about what he said and how I didn't believe jack squat of it. For all I knew this man could have been a serial killer, the mosquito that bit me, or not the cat named Bane at all. His lips quirked. "I am the vampire named Bane." I bit the inside of my cheek and winced. "Whatever." He sighed and vaulted over and onto the couch. "Go get a shower and get dressed. We're going out." I scrambled up and slapped my hands on my towel-clad hips. "Don't I get a thank you for driving your sorry ass back home?" He threw me a roguish smile. "Thanks for driving my sorry ass back home." I stared into eyes that, on closer inspection, were dark brown and not black. I so wanted to punch him in the face, but the guy had answers, and boy did I need answers. I turned around and stomped in the direction of the bathroom. "Stupid prick." "I heard that," he called out as the TV blared to life in the living room. "Good."
*Want to read more? Full story (sadly unedited, but I'm working on that) is up on Literotica, Mibba, Wattpad, Booksie, and Webooks.*
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Prologue: To be Un-dead or Not to be Un-dead, That is the Question So... I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire. I'm not going to jump the gun and declare myself a blood-sucking, night-walking, sun-hating vamp just yet, but I'd bet my last bar of chocolate I'm right.See, at the moment, I'm lying on this super tacky metal slab freezing my—if I was a man—balls off, with this scratchy, washed-way-too-many-times sheet over top of me. Oh, and I'm butt naked. Now, I've seen about a ba-gillion crime shows and I'm almost positive that I'm in a morgue. Just one more thing that proves my whole vampire theory.But I guess you're probably wondering "why was your first thought vamp?" The main reason: I died. I'm one hundred and ten percent positive about this one. You see, it all began at my super-duper hot now-ex-boyfriend’s house. Me, being the cute and sincere girlfriend I am, decided to bake a batch of brownies and take it over to his place. Did we (mainly I, since both we both knew I always end up eating two-thirds of the little pieces of chocolate heaven) really need brownies? Hell no! I was, well... am, pushing a size sixteen, and my long, bottle-red hair just ain't covering up that double chin anymore. Getting back on track, I brought brownies. Rob and I had been dating for about two years, give or take a month—which in my mind is six months too long without a commitment of either shared living quarters or a ring. But I'm a patient girl, and I thought Rob was worth it. He had this whole cute boy-next-door thing going on, and was just a little wilder cause he had a motorcycle. Did he ride it? No, but he had it, and that was all that counted.Again, I'm getting off topic. I do that a lot. My mom says I have ADD, but she acts the same way so I think it's more genetic than anything. Some parents share hair color with their kids, my mother and I share a short attention span. But back to the reason I'm pretty sure I'm a vampire and one hundred percent sure I'm dead. I went to see my boyfriend, yada, yada. Brought brownies, yada, yada. Caught him fucking the Chinese take-out man— Oh, wait! I didn't get to that part yet. Yup, I found my boyfriend ass up, taking it from behind, while our Chinese take-out guy rammed a pretty impressive piece of equipment in his ass. To say I was shocked would be an understatement. I hate to be one of those people, but I really would have preferred to see my boyfriend with his dick in a size negative one, supermodel chick instead of the way I caught him. It wasn't just a blow to my self-esteem, but also a blow to my womanhood. There's nothing like seeing your boyfriend getting the business from another dude to remind you of that extra muffin you ate, and the few extra pounds you'd put on lately. I, being the entirely rational person I am, stood there and screamed my head off like a banshee. Of course, Rob heard, but instead of getting limp and having his dick fall off as it should have, he came. That about sealed the deal for me. I turned in a whirl of neon pink skirts and marched out the front door. At the front steps, I realized I still held the freaking brownies in my hands, and instead of just taking them with me, I decided to chucked them while I took a step. Clumsy me stepped wrong in my matching neon kitten heels, turned awkwardly on my ankle, fell, and cracked my head on the pavement in front of his house. All I remember is a hazy feeling of pain, my ears ringing, and then darkness. I also think I remember seeing blood, but it just could have been a distorted image of my pink dress, because I'm pretty sure the thing had flown up and I was flashing God and everyone. So, here I am, laying in what I assume is a morgue with a very fresh memory of my death; my very humiliating, very embarrassing death. I just hope Rob lied to my parents and whoever came to collect my body, and made up some believable story about how we were having passionate sex in front of his house, and he was just soooo good that I came and died. Now that is a death I could get behind. Got sidetracked again. Silly little Peaches. Oh, right, I totally forgot to tell you my name, it's Peaches. Well, my nickname is Peaches, but my real name is Georgia Kent. In grade school my grandma used to come and pinch my cheeks and say: "chubby little cheeks, just like a peach, and good enough to eat." From that moment on I was ridiculed and my nickname became Peaches. Now, I'm Peaches the Vampire. Wow does that sound stupid and wrong. But I mean, what other explanation is there to my sudden rebirth in a morgue? Scenario one is that the brownies I may have 'sampled' on my way to Rob's house were contaminated, and I was now a zombie. Only thing wrong with that scenario was I didn't smell myself decomposing, I could form complete thoughts, and I was craving chocolate, not brains. Scenario two would be that I'm in a coma. This one I could maybe get, if I didn't feel freaking, freezing cold—I mean like Hell's probably warmer the little box I was in. And why would I imagine myself in a morgue if I were in a coma? That didn't make any sense. Plus, I read somewhere that people in a coma don't dream, and it doesn't really feel like a dream but cold, harsh reality. Option three—which is the one I'm sticking with until someone or something, proves me wrong—is that I'm a vampire. Fact: I got a mosquito bite two weeks ago that hasn't gone away. Maybe it wasn't a mosquito bite but, like, a vampire bite. And, aside from the whole zombie thing, I don't know any other creature that can come back to life, Frankenstein excluded. Then there's the possibility that I could still be alive, but the paramedics must have been really stupid if that's the case. With all the technology we have, I find it un-be-lievable that they wouldn't have made, damn sure I was six feet under before they placed me in a morgue in preparation to be put, well, six feet under. You know, Peaches the Vampire is starting to grow on me. Has that sort of epic quality like Dracula or other vampires I can't think of right now. Vampire Peaches. Yeah, I can get behind that.
Chapter 1: Maybe It's Cranberry JuiceAbout ten minutes into lying on that deathly cold slab, I decided it was high time to move my vampire ass into gear. I mean if Twilight, Blood Ties, Moonlight, Buffy, Angel, and the million other vampire movies and shows were right, I had super speed, super strength, and very soon I'd need blood and a dark place to sleep when the sun rose. Though since I was in a freezer for dead people, I wasn't sure if it was night or day, I decided to chance the odds based on the whole 'vampire internal clock’ thing. But then again I could've just me made that one up. Mustering my strength, I lifted my once flabby, weak human arms and used my new vamp strength to push the door open and then watch it fly off the hinges and into the wall. Sadly, this didn't happen. The door barely gave a creek under my vampire strength and it sure didn't fly off anything. "No big, powers probably just need time to... uh, get here or something." Other vamp movies portrayed new as being as weak as newborns. Since I was a fledgling vamp, maybe the same applied for me. Meh, that explanation worked. It took forever and a day to finally get that stupid door open, but sheer force of will got the job done. I was surprised no mortician came to see what all the racket was about, but it was probably well past midnight and everyone was probably home. Now, I'd like to say my emergence from the freezer was elegant and graceful, but I'd be lying my big, fat but off. I pushed too hard and the momentum sent me flying, head first, out onto an equally cold white tiled flooring. If I wasn't already dead, I'm pretty sure the impact would have killed me. "Stupid, baby vamp strength." When I was at full vampire super-strength, I would lift an elephant with my pinky just because. I got up and looked around the room. It was pretty big with three silver rolling trays in the middle with a lamp overhead and a giant wall of square, silver refrigerator. I have to say; those TV shows really got it right. I guess I that was one of the reasons I wasn’t freaked out about the whole death and morgue thing. "Clothes, clothes, clothes," I mumbled as I looked around for a lab coat of something to throw over my nakedness. I spied a work jacket in the corner, and an instant outfit idea came to me. I picked up the sheet that had fallen off after my dive and twisted that around my body in a strapless dress sort-of-way. I cringed at the hairy ape legs I was sporting but promised myself a hot shower and a razor later. I threw on the jacket but couldn’t button the thing up. Apparently becoming a vampire hadn't made me instantaneously, super-hot. That sort of sucked, because going through the rest of my undead life as a size sixteen sounded about as appealing as a low fat, dairy free, gluten muffin. I shuddered at the thought. My stomach rumbled at the thought of food, but drinking some rando's blood didn’t hold as much appeal now that I was actually among the ranks of the undead. How actors made the process of drinking that sticky, metallic stuff look so hot and sexy amazed me. But then again they had darkened cranberry juice or something. “Hmm, cranberry juice.” I shook my head as I stepped out of the room and into the white-on-white hallway. “Get your head in the game, Peaches.” I had this terrible habit of talking to myself in the third person. My friends liked to count how many times I did it in a day. I really cut back from the hundreds it used to be, but every so often it creeps up on me. Though now that I thought about it, I really wouldn’t have to cut back anymore. I mean, I no longer had any friends because everyone knows vampires can only be with other vampires when they’re newbies or they go on a rampage of blood, guts, and gore. I wondered how long it would take me to get to that stage; probably not long given the rumblings in my tummy. “Oh blood, oh blood, oh where can you be,” I sang quietly as I walked through the building, peaking in different rooms in the hopes of finding my new liquid food. “Don’t you know, don’t you know, I’m freak-ing hungry.” On the fifth door I opened, I smelled blood; not like an overwhelming amount, but like someone got a bad cut that needed stitches bad. Sadly, my fangs didn’t pop out and I didn’t go psycho over the smell of it. Again, I chalked it up to me being new. I spied a glass fridge in the corner with baskets of blood inside. I peaked in and saw blue and red baskets with blood bags that with the Red Cross symbol on them. I snatched an O neg bag and closed the fridge. “Yum. Blood.” My voice might have lacked excitement, but that was only because when I was a human blood grossed me out. I guess the transition just, like, took longer. Maybe it had something to do with my age. I feel like twenty-seven is sort of old in vamp years. It was particularly old, decrepit, and nearly expired in human years. Maybe because I was older it was talking my powers longer to emerge. At least, that’s what I told myself. “Bottoms up, Peaches,” I sighed to myself as I sank my teeth into the bag and got... nothing but plastic. Several minutes of gnawing on the bag later, and I finally poked a hole in it. It was sort of like drinking a super gross—I mean delicious, Capri Sun. So the taste wasn’t the best, but maybe O neg wasn’t my favorite. Plus, I bet it would have tasted a lot better from the warm, heart-beating source. Still, blood tasted like, well, blood. And after two minutes of trying to gag it down, I decided that maybe blood wasn’t really what vampires ate. I mean, Marcelline on Adventure Time (one of my guilty pleasure shows) just sucked the color out of red stuff. Maybe the same applied to me. Maybe red apples, cranberries, and cherries were what I needed to eat. Well, I had all of eternity to find out. But, first things first, I needed to find a way out of the creepy blood and dead bodies infested place. There was no going home, but I’d been, uh, camping and I could rough it for a night. Plus if worst came to worst, I could see if my vamp mind-control powers came in yet. Now that would be cool!
Chapter 2: Pot Calling the Kettle Black It didn't take me long to find a way out of the morgue, or should I say University Hospital. That's right; I was undead in my old alma mater. A few feet to my left was Chittenden Hall, and right behind that were a bunch of other halls. It was both comforting and creepy to be back at my old school, especially considering it was summer and there was no one around. It didn't exactly give me a warm, fuzzy feeling to be a vampire on campus. Oh! That could totally be the next title of a movie! Then, reality set in and reminded me that while the bright, full moon and empty university did paint a great vamp horror flick, it didn't really work for me considering I was the ideal candidate to be killed first. I was white with bright hair, though it was red instead of blonde, and big. Don't get me wrong, the quaint charm of the place was still there, but it was all starting to give off every horror flick vibe ever made. "Fuck." It was the only thing I could think to say as all my bravado and most of my naive hope fled the building. For one, the closest I'd ever come to 'roughing it' was setting up a cozy little pink tent and a portable DVD player on the deck of my house. My mom brought out cookies and classic funny camping movies. Then, when I had to go to the bathroom, I just opened the door to my house and moseyed on up to my bathroom. Yeah, I'm a regular outdoorswoman. I could always break into one of the buildings or hope that a door was open somewhere, but there were two problems wrong with that. The closest thing I'd come to breaking in was watching it done on TV, and I was hungry. I didn't trust myself not to go H.A.M—Hard As a Motherfucker—on some poor unsuspecting cop and suck all his blood out. I mean, maybe I could live off of strawberries and red wine for the rest of my life, but that was a discovery for another day. "Why am I not surprised to see a white woman alone at night on this campus? There must be a stupid, willful endangerment epidemic going around," a deep, male voice snickered. I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash with how fast my head turned. There was no one on the sidewalk with me, just a flickering streetlamp. The place was practically screamed that a serial killer was going to step into its sporadic spotlight, and smile at me. I tried to peer into the darkness, hoping that some of those stupid—I mean awesome vampire powers would finally manifest. "Who's there?" "Oh? Can she mean me?" "No shit I can mean you," I bit off, cranking my neck this way and that to see into the shadows. I didn't know what I would do if the voice really did belong to some kind of slasher, bad guy but screaming and begging for my life were at the top of my list. The irony of my thoughts set in a second later. Here I was; the freaking walking dead worrying about a serial killer. What was the worst he could do? Kill me? Been there, done that. And, I mean, I watch a lot of karate movies, so I was about 99.9 percent sure I could take the guy on. But instead of a dude, a fat black cat strolled out. The thing twitched its tail, and—if cats could look aggravated—gave me an aggravated look. "Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?" I looked hard at that cat, because I was pretty sure it had just spoken to me without opening its mouth. Oh God! Was I becoming crazy from hunger? Was the next step me breaking into the drugstore and stealing all their dried cranberries and strawberry soda? "And she calls me fat," the voice snickered.
"Mind saying that again?" I had no problem picking a fight with a cat if the thing really was talking to me. When I was nine, I almost punched a parrot because it kept saying y breath smelled like butt. Am I proud of that? Well, maybe not, but that stupid was a total dick. "Ah, so you can hear me. That's quite interesting." The cat moved towards me and circled me like I was prey. It was weird considering the thing could come to about my calf. A sort of weird fear came over me, one I couldn't explain. It was like that time I was watching Craig Kosicek, this nerdy fifth grader, getting picked on by these douche-y seventh graders. One minute they were pushing him around, and he was saying quit it, and the next he had one of the guy's ears in his mouth and was biting it off while he punched another dude in the face. The kid went from sweet and nerdy to viscous animal in a second. That's how I felt about the cat. "A more apt word would have been frightened," he said as he came to a stop in front of me and sat back on his haunches. "The story was unnecessary.” "Maybe I'm missing something here, but cats aren't supposed to talk, right?" Aren't I clever? No shit cats didn't speak! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, but the whole dead girl and talking cat thing had me using half my normal brain cells. It only occurred to me a second later that the cat could be a shape shifter or fellow vamp. Maybe I was giving off a supernatural vibe now that I was a vamp that welcomed all the boogie men and paranormal romance stars. Hmm... Maybe I'll meet a single alpha werewolf with a dark past and a giant schlong. That would be perfect. "The better question would be: why are you hearing me?" His tail twitched as he got up and turned back into the darkness. "And could you please think of something else besides sex? It doesn't exactly help your case when all I can get out of your mind are quick, jumbled thoughts along the same lines as Sookie Stackhouse and Stephanie Meyers." The fact that the cat was well versed in vampire pop-culture surprised me. Weren't all supernatural beings supposed to be like centuries old, use big words, and talk with a transylvanian accent? I heard a metal jingle come from the shadows the talking cat was in. "What do you mean 'help my case'?" The cat emerged with a set of keys dancing on his tail. With a quick flick of the appendage, he threw the keys at me and I caught them with my face. Nothing like a cold, metal key to the forehead to wake a girl up. "Never mind, it's not important now," the cat replied. He sat back down on his haunches, licked his paws, and gave me a curious look. "Would you mind driving me back to my hotel? I'm a bit tired, or I'd do it myself." Was a cat actually asking me to be its chauffeur? This day just couldn't get stranger. From dying to finding out I'm a vampire and then meeting a talking cat, I'd have the best story since, like, Jesus. Maybe that's how I'll get rich! Sell my life story to Hollywood. "And hope that they don't either call you crazy or give you to the government for testing? Smart girl aren't you?" I flipped the stupid cat the finger. "You know what? You can just drive yourself home!" I turned sharply, willing to take my chances with the school buildings and security. "Fine," the cat said flippantly to my back, "but you're not a vampire. So you can stop thinking that you're going to bite some security guard. You won't." Again, I wasn't sure how I didn't break my neck with how fast I turned. Oh, and if cats could look smug, this one was looking like he just convinced a canary that his mouth was a nest. "What do you mean I'm not a vampire? Of course, I'm a vampire." He shook his head and licked his front paws again. "No, habibi, I'm a vampire. You, however, are a mystery." I barked out a laugh as I looked at the pudgy cat and watched his tail flick in agitation. "You? Shouldn't you go find Sabrina or something, Salem?" The cat stood up and stretched his limber body, the action looking more dangerous than a killer brandishing a gun. "Ah, Sabrina the Teenage Witch joke, how original. Are you going to drive me, yes or no?" So those were my options. Trek into the great unknown with a talking, fat, black cat who claimed to be a vampire and said I wasn't a vampire, or take my chances with the university. I couldn't even count how many heroines had been given a similar choice of one or the other, this or that. Why were there always only two choices? Why not like three or ten? "Are you really a vampire?" I finally asked because well, I couldn't really think of another choice. "Yes. Are you going to drive me?" I sighed. Here was my life. I went from K-Mart manager to cat chauffeur in the blink of an eye. "Yeah, what the hell." I clicked the keys to unlock the door and spied a smooth, sexy red-hot Lamborghini fifty feet away. I couldn't help the low whistle that came out of my mouth. "I'm Peaches by the way." I said as I walked side by side with the cat to the sports car. "Bane," the cat supplied. "And if you think of a pun, I'll scratch your eyes out." It was on the tip of my tongue too, or the tip of my thoughts. What a name for a cat, but it worked perfectly for my situation. Peaches the vampire and Bane the cat. "You are wrong on so many levels, habibi," Bane purred into my mind as we walked together to the car. Chapter 3: Birthday Suit Crisis mode. Here I am, faced with God’s gift to womankind in the bed—naked!—next to me. I mean, mother fucker, this dude was hot. I mean fiery, smoking, scream-your-head-off hot! Chiseled features, rock hard… everything, and chocolate skin you just wanted to take a bite out of. I couldn’t help it. I freaked out a little. Okay, I lied. I freaked out a lot. I dashed to the bathroom, and just barely stopped myself from slamming the door. I flipped on the shower and started pacing around the room. I didn’t even notice how nice it was, or how shiny and new everything looked. One thing was on my mind: the black Adonis in my bed. “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod.” I couldn’t think of anything else. I tried to scream my head off, but it only came out as a little squeak. I crouched, made myself as small as I could, and tried not to freak out more. It was just... me, Georgia Kent, didn’t get to sleep in bed with men like that. It didn’t happen—not in this world anyway. If I wasn’t being confused for a lesbian because of the hair choice, I was being attacked or snubbed for my weight. Long ago, I’d understood that I would have to settle, have to live with having 'good enough' instead of great. Of course, even that was messed up because 'good enough' ex-boyfriend, Rob, had been gay. Which all proves my point: sexy, hot men did not sleep in the same bed with me unless we were re-enacting Misery. The bathroom started to steam, and I started to sweat. It was only then that I realized I was naked. Yet again, I was butt naked. I came crashing to my knees with my palms flat on the heated, black marble flooring. Did I have sex with Chocolate Thunder over there? Oh my God, would I have gorgeous, caramel babies who look like little angels with soft, curly hair and exotic eyes? In that rather large bathroom, naked on all fours, I designed a whole life for myself and this mystery man. I mean, my imagination went above and beyond, past insane and right into bat shit cray. I looked at the ceiling through my mess of red hair and shook my fist dramatically. "Why God? Why me? How could you do this to me?" Yeah, it surprised me when I didn't win the part of Little Orphan Annie in my fifth school play. I had melodrama down to a science. Shake fist. Rant. Cry. Plead. Look up and see naked Adonis in the doorway of the bathroom. Wait. One of these things doesn't belong. "What are you doing, Peaches?" the man said, looking at me like I was crazy. Well, I mean I was acting a bit bonkers, but he was also standing there in his birthday suit. And then his voice hit me. I don't know why the voice didn't register automatically, but a second later it did and my jaw dropped to my boobs. "Bane?" He raised a questioning brow and stepped right over me like I was a puddle in the floor. It was only then that I realized it hadn't been fat the black cat named Bane had been sporting yesterday, but muscle. He looked over his shoulder and winked at me, the kind of wink that let me know he knew he was hot, knew my panties had gone up in flames, and knew that very soon I'd be under him. Man, did the guy have chatty eyes. It took me another second before a good dose of modesty and reason kicked in, and I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself. Yeah, like that was going to do any good now. I looked up to see Bane step into the shower and water rush over his brawny muscles like it wanted him. That's right, the water was horny. And so was I. I couldn't help what my eyes did, if I wanted to. Suddenly they were looking at the back of Bane's head and the next they were looking at his butt. Oh, and what an ass it was. Tight and round, the type of butt you could bounce a quarter off of. "Peaches," he said warningly as he grabbed the soap. "Out." Apparently I was a dog now. I glared at him, spared one more, longing glance at his tight, muscular body then stormed out of the bathroom. I could tell when someone needed their privacy. Thankfully, time away from the super-hot Bane allowed me to think, and take note of a few things. One thing I noticed immediately was that we were in a really nice hotel suite. Not room, suite. There were clothes for me in the closet, and they all looked like my size. It wasn't like what you see in the movies, with rows of shoes and jewelry and stuff, but there was a skirt, pair of jeans, clean underwear, and the bare essentials. It was also dark outside, which didn't really help Bane's 'you're not a vampire' case. There was a mini fridge, thankfully, and a pack of M & M’s. I decided to put my red theory to the test while I waited for Bane. I didn't change into the clothes because I wanted to shower first, but I did pop a squat in front of that refrigerator and meticulously sort through little pieces of chocolate candy. I didn't really eat the red ones but instead sucked off the red sugar coating. My stomach rumbled and grumbled in protest to the meager offering of sugar-flavored spit. "What are you doing?" I didn't whip my head this time. Bane had this habit—could I really call it a habit if I've only known the guy for twelve hours—of sneaking up on me. "I'm eating." He came around and I could smell fresh, slightly musky male. Hmm... I almost licked my lips. He barked out a short laugh. "Are you licking the sugar of the red M&Ms?" I looked up, and up, and up at him. Damn he was tall. "And what if I am?" My shoulders squared and my tongue was limber and ready to lash out at him if he said I wasn't a vampire again. While eating, I'd thought a lot about what he said and how I didn't believe jack squat of it. For all I knew this man could have been a serial killer, the mosquito that bit me, or not the cat named Bane at all. His lips quirked. "I am the vampire named Bane." I bit the inside of my cheek and winced. "Whatever." He sighed and vaulted over and onto the couch. "Go get a shower and get dressed. We're going out." I scrambled up and slapped my hands on my towel-clad hips. "Don't I get a thank you for driving your sorry ass back home?" He threw me a roguish smile. "Thanks for driving my sorry ass back home." I stared into eyes that, on closer inspection, were dark brown and not black. I so wanted to punch him in the face, but the guy had answers, and boy did I need answers. I turned around and stomped in the direction of the bathroom. "Stupid prick." "I heard that," he called out as the TV blared to life in the living room. "Good."
*Want to read more? Full story (sadly unedited, but I'm working on that) is up on Literotica, Mibba, Wattpad, Booksie, and Webooks.*
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