While I was attending the U of TN, I wasn't exactly an angel. We pretty much had any recreational substance we wanted within snorting or smoking distance. But I always stayed away from the hard stuff, like smack. Who needs the headache? I read The Heroin Diaries.
But since coming to this hell-hole, wonderland of blood highs, I've had a non-stop queue of Kindred in my face pushing me to drink their red stuff. Almost like they were dealers looking to get me hooked or something. How was I to know it was so f-ing addictive? Did anyone tell me? No. I mean, my bastard of a sire beat the crap out of me and left me. He never bothered to inform me of any Vampire 101s.
At first it was all fun and games. The high you get from taking on another Kindred's vitae is absolutely phenomenal. Mind blowing. Delirious. Overwhelming. Sickening. Probably a lot like smack when it comes down to it. Problem is, you need more and more as you chase the dragon. You lose the delicious high, and you simply need it or your body comes unglued.
And then I find out I can't get out of this. Ever. There are no methadone clinics. No 12 step programs for Kindred. I can go into torpor for 25 years to sleep it off, but the chances of me giving into the addiction again are always good. Not only that, but I've become a target within my own kind. Apparently, Kindred don't like vitae addicts. Eventually they become diablerists, and nobody likes a vampire-killing vampire hanging around. Makes everybody nervous for some reason.
So I need a plan. And fast. I've already resorted to feeding on myself to stave off the unfathomable cravings of the addict I've become. But I don't know how much longer I can keep it together. I read last month that Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue, an infamous heroine addict that has died once or twice has actually made it to his 50th birthday and remains clean. A total miracle. I figure, if Nikki had a chance in hell, so do I...
2 comments:
"Not only that, but I've become a target within my own kind. Apparently, Kindred don't like vitae addicts. Eventually they because diablerists, and nobody likes a vampire-killing vampire hanging around."
Oh, dear Tina. Isn't it too late for that? Or perhaps you could produce Lucas Gates, your sire, and have him testify on your behalf. Hmmm? We're wiating . . .
A comedian in our midst.
Listen dude. You have no idea what I went through. That bastard sold my soul for the cash equivalent of an '82 Honda Civic, then grinned and ignored me as I begged him for my very life. Oh yeah, and added insult to injury as he beat the s#*$ out of me in the bargain.
Lucas Gates is lucky he met his maker as quickly as he did. It was his great fortune I didn't have the chance to rub his face in the misery he caused me...
So don't expect good ol' Lucas to be sauntering in any time soon to stand witness on my behalf.
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