Working title: Young Vampires In Love?
Just the opening passage from something I've been playing with. Possible triggers (depiction of suicide), so tread with caution.
The candles flickered in the dim of the room, shining out from the corners of the bathtub. A single razor blade was placed next to candles on a soft white towel, the light shining off it in intervals. The room’s only occupant stopped the flow from the taps, cleaning a fleck of foam from the hot water knob. He slid his robe off and hung it on its appointed hook, his pale, naked body shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room.
Reverently, he laid a record on the turntable, setting the needle just so, and a soft, sad song filled the air. This was the moment. Wordlessly, he slid into the warm water, letting the music play over him. He grasped the razor, and, when the music had reached it saddest, sweetest chord, he drew it down both arms, opening his veins.
It was only a matter of seconds before he bolted upright, flailing his arms wildly. “Son of a whore!” he screamed, along with a long string of similarly creative invective, holding his wrists in turns before his skin finally sucked the long gashes away.
Blowing out the candles, he washed the blood into the water, wiping away what traces remained. He practically stomped back to his robe, throwing it on and knotting it haphazardly before flinging open the door and walking angrily into the greatroom.
“Didn’t go like you planned?” Jeremy asked him, idly flipping through a magazine.
“You could’ve fucking told me it hurt like that!”
“You’re supposed to learn these things on your own, love.”
“Oh, is that in the big secret vampire handbook? Cause I didn’t get a copy when you signed up.”
The candles flickered in the dim of the room, shining out from the corners of the bathtub. A single razor blade was placed next to candles on a soft white towel, the light shining off it in intervals. The room’s only occupant stopped the flow from the taps, cleaning a fleck of foam from the hot water knob. He slid his robe off and hung it on its appointed hook, his pale, naked body shivering slightly despite the warmth of the room.
Reverently, he laid a record on the turntable, setting the needle just so, and a soft, sad song filled the air. This was the moment. Wordlessly, he slid into the warm water, letting the music play over him. He grasped the razor, and, when the music had reached it saddest, sweetest chord, he drew it down both arms, opening his veins.
It was only a matter of seconds before he bolted upright, flailing his arms wildly. “Son of a whore!” he screamed, along with a long string of similarly creative invective, holding his wrists in turns before his skin finally sucked the long gashes away.
Blowing out the candles, he washed the blood into the water, wiping away what traces remained. He practically stomped back to his robe, throwing it on and knotting it haphazardly before flinging open the door and walking angrily into the greatroom.
“Didn’t go like you planned?” Jeremy asked him, idly flipping through a magazine.
“You could’ve fucking told me it hurt like that!”
“You’re supposed to learn these things on your own, love.”
“Oh, is that in the big secret vampire handbook? Cause I didn’t get a copy when you signed up.”