I’m Bitter and Missing a Finger and a Half

Zoe Russell-Bonneau, Contributer

I hope I live forever. And so far, so good. I mean, I am a vampire, so, I don’t really have a choice. Unless somebody kills me, then there’s a problem. I promise I’m not a cheesy vampire, like in The Vampire Diaries, or Twilight. I don’t even sparkle in the sun, which I think is a loss, honestly. Why does Edward have to set such crazy standards for a vampire?  

“Soran!” my mother screamed up the stairwell, pulling a groan from my lips. 

“What?” I called back, only to be met with silence. “Whaaaaaat?” I said louder, then sighed again when she didn’t hear me. I slammed my book closed and opened my door, then made my way to the top of the stairs.  

“Dinner’s ready,” she said and turned on her heel, clacking her feet away.  

“Is there garlic in it?” my sister, Ada, asked.   

My mother just rolled her eyes and mumbled something to herself.  

“You know, if you keep saying that, she’s going to put you in a psych ward,” I chimed in, taking my seat next to her.  

“Hopefully. Then I’ll finally be out of this house,” she smiled. 

The house wasn’t always terrible. When my dad was alive, things were always bright and happy around here. He would wake us up with breakfast almost every day, and Friday nights were always movie night, no matter what mood you were in, or what you had to finish, or what plans you had. My mom tried to keep the tradition alive for a few years, but the emotions of my dad dying kind of pushed her off track, and now we haven’t watched a movie or had breakfast together in a little over a year.  

“Have you heard anything from that girl yet?” Ada asked. I slammed the back of my hand into her shoulder, then shot her a glance. 

“There’s a girl?” my mother turned her head,  her eyes focusing on me. 

My face immediately got red and I looked down to try to hide it. “You know mom, this pasta is so good. Like, I don’t think it’s ever been better,” I mumbled as I shoveled forkfuls of spaghetti into my mouth.  

Ada rolled her eyes. “He met a girl when he was on a walk last week. She hasn’t called, I’m guessing, since this dweeb can’t even get a coherent word out about her.” 

“She better be a vampire,” my mother murmured and focused on her food.  

Of course she wasn’t a vampire. I don’t even think I’ve ever met another vampire, besides Ada, who was about my age. But this girl was like, seventeen at most.  Which is right around my age….physically, at least. 

We had met about two weeks ago, in the middle of the woods. It was a little shocking to see somebody else in those woods, especially at night, even further, after that guy escaped a maniac who cut off at least four of his fingers. I assumed she had been a vampire at first, mostly because I rarely came across a woman that went for a walk alone at night, but once she smiled at me, I noticed she was missing fangs. Of course it was a bit disappointing, but nevertheless, it didn’t stop me from constantly thinking about her. And no, not because I wanted to bite her. 

We met again about a week later, this time, she seemed more flirtatious. It was a bit strange, since we had only talked once before. Her attitude carried on for a while that night, until she tried to pull a knife on me. I won’t describe the situation, only because it took way too much energy out of me, and I believe speaking about it will only drain more energy. In summary, she managed to cut off one and a half of my fingers. (The pinky and half of my ring finger, just for reference.) You’d think people wouldn’t be so murderous and crazy in Cape Cod, but I guess I was wrong on that end. Damn you, Sage.