“Yeah…maybe…” I agree, not really intending to follow through. “Listen, Mom, I love you. I gotta go though. You know, work night and all that.”
“Okay, pumpkin.” She nods her blonde head. “I love you too. Think about what I said, alright?”
Sure, Mom. I’ll try.
It’s now Wednesday, and I have had it with my texts to Kip sitting on delivered. In between pushing power buttons and helping people type in their passwords correctly (and them claiming it somehow magically changed overnight), I’ve become an internet sleuth.
I’ve never been much of a social media guy. I find it tedious, and quite honestly, fake and depressing. Everyone puts on a persona when they use social media. When you’re online, you can be anyone you want to be. You never see the truth behind someone…well, with one exception. Kip.
His profiles reflect his real life personality with one-hundred percent accuracy. His Instagram is filled with pictures of the gym he works at, him in workout gear, and inspirational quotes. Inspirational quotes asin things like that picture of the kitten hanging from a tree branch that says ‘keep hangin’ in there!’. That’s such a Kip thing to post.
But he hasn’t posted since last Thursday, which was before he turned.
During my lunch break, I swung by the gym where he’s a personal trainer, Pump Palace, to see if he was there. Newsflash, he wasn’t. And hasn’t been in since Thursday. He called in with a case of ‘severe diarrhea’. The receptionist went into explicit detail about Kip’s bowel movements, and I can only guess that he got all the gory, disgusting details from Kip himself. I left my name and number, stating that I was looking for a personal trainer and was interested in working with Kip.
So, that was a no go. And since he hasn’t posted anything new on his socials, I have no leads.
As soon as the clock hits four, I’m out of the office, practically sprinting to my car. My newest idea is to try and drive the route he took to drop me off at home Sunday night. The problem is, I wasn’t quite paying attention to the roads while he was driving. When I wasn’t trying to cheer him up, I was lost in my own head. So there’s a large chance I’m going to get nowhere with this.
Before I pull out of my parking spot, I send another text to Kip.
Charlie: Come on, Kip. You’ve got me worried. Please just let me know everything is okay, and I swear I’ll leave you alone.
This one also sits on delivered, go figure.
I drive around for hours, trying to retrace the route, but I’m not naturally inclined in terms of directions. Around nine at night, I give up and go home.
Texting Kip? Bust. Social media stalking? Bust. Driving around trying to find his apartment? Another fucking bust.
But, I’ve got another idea. Kip will need to feed again at some point, and since he’s not contacting me, he’s gonna have to go out and find someone. And what better place than the vampire club, Blood Rose?
I really didn’t want to have to resort to this like some sad stalker, but I can’t just let it go. I’ve never really cared much for anyone, besides my small group of friends, but I care about Kip. More than I probably should. I have a feeling my sudden obsession with the himbo vampire is only going to end in my own heartbreak. But is that going to stop me? Nope.
I’m not sure stalking was what my Mom had in mind when she told me to open myself up to people, but here I am anyway.
As soon as I’m inside Blood Rose, I throw up my hood and find a table up on the balcony with a good vantage point. I’m like a detective on a stake out. If watching the interaction between Kip and Tyson is anything to go by, I know that Kip doesn’t want Tyson’s help with anything after the betrayal. That means Kip has to come here at some point to feed, because he’s not going to pick a random person to attack. That isn’t Kip.
It’s been four days since Kip fed from me. He’s a new vampire, so he has to be getting hungry, right? How often do they need to feed?
I sit for a couple hours, watching the front door of the club for Kip. I’ll come back every day if I have to.
I’m about to get up and get a refill (of soda, you think I’m going to drink alcohol on a stake-out?), when there’s an electric tingle that flashes across my skin. It’s like everything stops around me, and sound ceases to exist, as my eyes are pulled back to the door of Blood Rose.
There. He’s here.
Chapter Thirteen
Kip
On The Lam
Each time my phone buzzes with a new text from Charlie, it gets a little harder to ignore. Leaving him on delivered gives me a gnawing feeling my gut. It feels bad, man. All I want to do is reach back out to him. Tell him I’m sorry for ghosting. See his pretty whiskey colored eyes sparkling as he looks at me. I want to see Charlie sharing his joyful side with me, the side only a few people get to see.
But each time I go to open the text, flashes of the last time I saw him invade my mind. Him covered in his own blood, slumping over me. Me coming to the realization that I almost drained him, and if he hadn’t snapped me out of it I would have killed him. And Tyson admitting that as long as Charlie can bleed, it’ll always be a risk.
I can’t risk any of that. I just can’t. I won’t be able to live with myself if I kill him, or anyone else. Maybe it was a mistake feeding and turning. Maybe I should’ve let myself die. That’s what fate wanted for me anyway, right? I was supposed to die when I fell from that tree, it was only dumb coincidence that Tyson had fed me his blood the night before.
I’ve never felt like this before. Everything has always been glass half full for me. Never have I felt so lost. Since I dropped Charlie off on Sunday, I haven’t left my apartment. The only time I’ve even left my bedroom has been to shower. And I make sure Tyson isn’t home before I venture outside of my room. I can’t deal with him. I can’t deal with any of this.
