A Girl Called Mercy Part 3

Whilst Jen and Sammy are certainly off the menu, a girl’s got to feed. It was boring in the apartment, and the thirst was getting too much for me to bear, so it was only logical to go out for a bit of fun and a good meal. I dressed up and everything. My dress is black, fanning out at the waist, and my lips are painted blood red – I just adore conforming to stereotypes. The flat shoes I wear on my feet slap against the wet pavement rhythmically, it’s as if I’m accompanied by my own personal drum beat, marching me out to war. Of course, war would imply that there’s going to be a fair fight, which there undoubtedly isn’t.
What happened with him was unexpected and atypical. Normally, I have a lot more control over myself. Like tonight. The moon peeks out from behind a wrapping of wispy clouds as the partygoers scream and howl in apparent joy. The scent of humanity is all around me; humanity and alcohol. A pack of young men who can’t be any older than I was, before I became this way, stagger through the lamp lit darkness. They whistle at me and yell something obscene before running into the night, whooping like animals.
I feel cold anger rising in my chest. These boys will do nicely, I decide. I'll give them a fright that they won't forget in a hurry. Well, one of them at least. I don't intend to kill him, when he wakes up even he won't believe the truth. It will just be a nightmare.
But which one? I consider it silently as I follow them through the streets, my feet-made drum beat joined by the smoky purple boom of nightclub speakers. Do I choose the boy with the backwards cap? The one who wolf whistles women old enough to be his mother? Perhaps I'll choose the one who just vomited in the gutter, or the one too drunk to realise that he isn't wearing any shoes.
From this far away I can still hear their conversation, if it can be so called, and it sickens me and makes me yet more hungry for their blood. We're away from the clubs now and they've walked past three bus stops. They're not quite drunk enough not to realise (most of them anyway, shoeless guy is probably having a little difficulty remembering how to count to ten) so I deduce they must be walking home. My deductions, however, are proven incorrect when shoeless guy squeals and drags his friend with the backwards cap back to the last bus stop we passed. I slip into the shadows as they walk by. The other two laugh but keep on walking in the same direction as before, I slide out of the shadows, seeing my choices narrow before my eyes. My throat is burning and I can almost taste the fresh, young blood on my tongue. I can smell it coursing through their veins. Soon, I become aware of a new scent, not blood and sweat and ethanol, but something sweeter, more delicate, floral. A girl appears on the other side of the road. It's her perfume.
This girl is maybe fifteen or sixteen, far too young to be out alone at this time of night, she passes under a street lamp and I can tell from the state of her mascara that she's been crying. Her tights are laddered and her knee is scraped. I quickly swallow the water that fills my mouth, she will not be the victim. I need to get one of these two alone.
The boys have spotted her too.
"Found a fitty!" One guffaws and they laugh grotesquely. They begin to jeer and shout aftet her, but the girl keeps her head down and walks faster. I slip into an alley way between two houses to avoid being seen.
"Hey, sweetheart! Slow down!" The wolf whistler yells.
"Where're ya goin' in such a hurry, sexy?" calls the vomiter, "Hey! Hey-ey-ey! You've got a great ass on you, sweetie!"
His friend whistles, clearly in agreement. The girl walks faster. She's past my hiding place now and she's taken off her heels and broken into a sprint. I see my chance. There was to be no killing tonight, but I'm angry and I need the blood anyhow.
"Dumb slut." I hear one of them mutter.
"Now now, that's no way to talk about a lady, is it?" I call. They spin around.
"Oh look, another one!" The wolf whistler says, grinning sadistically.
The boys move towards me, in a way that would be menacing but, given what I'm planning to do to them, isn't particularly frightening.
"Boys, really, I'm old enough to be your grandmother!"
"What she talkin' ‘bout?" The vomiter slurs, laughing.
"Come closer, honey, I'll tell you."
The boy's eyes widen, his grin becoming even more wolfish and obscene, and he walks towards me. When he's closer, I take a few steps towards him. I get up on tiptoe, whisper, "Thankyou sweetheart," in his ear before sinking my teeth into his neck. He tries to scream but the noise dies in his throat, becoming a strange gurgle. His friend is far enough away not too see what's happening.
The boy's blood is rich, alcoholic, intoxicating. Warm, sweet and metallic it flows over my tongue, his still beating heart pumping it out of the wound. Effectively, he is killing himself.
It isn't long before the blood stops flowing, and I am very aware of the other boy's heartbeat, only a few metres away. The blood is warm and wet on my lips as I turn to face him, giving a full-fanged smile and letting his friend's lifeless form fall to the ground.
He tries to run but he is too drunk and I am too fast. Before he has enough time to cry out I am on top of him, my mouth clamped to his neck as the life bubbles out of him.
I stand up and lick the blood from my lips. The body twitches, but I figure even if he isn't already dead, he will be in a matter of minutes.
There's not a moment of wondering what to do with the bloodless corpses - there's nothing to link me to this, this monstrous crime, and there's no way I'd be caught anyway. I'm going to leave them here.
At one point in my life, the thing i just did would have been unforgiveable, unbearable, but now it seems that it's just a thing. Not even a bad thing or a regrettable thing, just something that I do. Grocery shopping is a greater ethical dilemma for me.
I drink from the youths a little more, until my thirst is quenched and I am content. Of course, I'm never really content. I always want more, but exercising restraint is important in these matters.
I leave them there; that was the plan. I can still feel the warmth of their blood on my lips, taste it on my tongue, as I walk away.