Your fault

Why did this feel like a constant struggle of feeling like a neurotic menace? Isolation was best. He knew this, he could feel it in his own bones. The way he craved things that he should not be cravings. The way these urges had some switch that was constantly stuck in the on position. He felt neurotic and becoming more and more so. How long before he just finally snapped? How many people would die at his own hands and would he ever come out of it? Would he ever wake up from it? How many bodies would lie in that wake and would it be like anything that went with the tales that were strung to vampires? Would there be others? Would they be his creation? Would he turn into his own version of Dracula?

The man barely held himself together while angry. An argument that had been building up, with his inablity to want to actually say anything. Why should he? Why should anyone else know what was happening to him? To attempt to add to their problems when its his own? They couldn't do anything. No one could. There wasn't a point. He didn't need to get it off of his chest. He could do all of this himself. He didn't need anyone before and he didn't need them now. It was just nice not to have someone look at him differently. Not to seem scared of him in some way or taunt him. Michael realized this was serious and that he could end up killing someone. That's what he felt like. Some sort of predator in the making. Everything was slowly converging on this point. But to be looked at like that, it changed a person. And the more he saw it, the more he was treated that way, the more he was trying to find some sort of acceptance. Maybe he was better off being that monster. If this was who he was going to be, why not unleash it?

The entire thought scared him to no end. He didn't have a life full of friends and loved ones. He didn't have what other people had. Reliance on himself and parents that would back him even if he were a serial killer. His life was his and that was as far as that would ever go. He couldn't even get close to someone without becoming fixated. Practically seeing the thrumming of that arterial vein in someone's neck. He had reached out and touched it. The curve of her neck. It was right there. Right there.

He didn't even have fangs. This shouldn't be something he wanted, something he craved. It just turned into an awkward moment. More for him than anyone, because how do you explain this? This thing that you can barely hide from anyone, given how much it drives you. It pulls you and drags you in directions as you are clinging to the ground. Nails digging into the wood paneling and anything else you can snag a hold of. A fight as you are being dragged deep into a pit of a basement and mistreated in ways that you wouldn't imagine outside of some horror movie. A useless fight that led you here. Weak and lost. Surrounding yourself with people that don't know or care about you. An experiment.

Because you need to know what you're capable of. You need to know how far you can go without hurting anyone. You haven't hurt her yet, but you expect you will. That or maybe she will hurt you. That look that will come when she already claimed to trust you. She shouldn't. You don't. It's that little tick in your head, bugging you. Always bugging you. It's driving you mad. An itch that you can't scratch, constantly at you. A tick that can't be pulled from the skin no matter how hard you try, but you can only really rely on yourself. It's eating away at you, day by day, minute by minute. If you don't feed, you'll die for as much as it drains you.

The want for warm, fresh, human blood is what is wanted. Needed. There it is. It's real and that's the problem. It's a necessity. The bags in the refrigerator barely satisfy it. It keeps the itching down to something just annoying. It doesn't make you completely lose it around people. There is some semblance of sanity. There's a need but how? How would this become something that is more permanent? Memories don't hold enough information. How did they come in the first place? As if they were already there. No rhyme or reasons, just haunting, like a ghost of the past.

Standing there in his own apartment, he stared at the costume. He had already done this. It was the better memory. One minus the loud crack that ended up being a hand against his cheek. Previous plans of doing the same thing he had been for the past weeks, they should have been kept. This wasn't who he was. This was something he had learned already. This was something else, someone else. But, she asked. He felt so weak, for different reasons, when she did. Scenarios running through his head and none of them ending well. It wasn't as if he couldn't find a way out if this turned out that way. Somehow, it seemed better than making up an excuse. He had none. Not one and she would know. She would know and then what would he do but sit here more?

Come midnight, there he was at a party he didn't feel like he belonged. She helped, she kept him feeling more sane. The blood, a tissue, it was something else. He should have fed more before he showed up. The thirst just grew and all he wanted to do was eat the tissue. To shove the wad in his mouth and just let the flavor there linger. He wouldn't, he would fight it. But it had become more like some special ring that he wanted to start calling out 'precious' to.

His head hurt. The pain, sharp and throbbing, as if someone had hit him in the head with a club. It stemmed from his temples down to his jaw. What was wrong with his jaw? It wasn't setting right, but the strange ache. The sharpness. Did he just bit the inside of his lip? More like poked it? Maybe? It pierced the skin, and oddly enough, his own blood didn't taste quite as good. Strange, but something to recall for later. Hands were covered in gloves. But something wasn't right there either. Was something poking out of one of them? It was difficult to think with this pain in his head. It made him question if Tylenol would work now. His own body being something different than what it once was.

But the pain slowed, and it wasn't as much of a problem. At least that was helpful. Fingering that annoyance that came with biting the inside of his lip, he caught a difference. A real difference. His own teeth were working against him. A physical change. The sort that he was worried about coming now. Excusing himself to the bathroom, he caught sight of himself. Eyes wide, he didn't know what to do. It scared him. He couldn't be like this here. Someone was going to figure it out. A lot of people could. This wasn't part of his costume. He should have went with the stupid vampire in the first place. It had been a joke, but he hadn't.

Ripping off his gloves, there they were. Claws. He remembered these. They were dangerous, he was dangerous. More panic set in, as he heard the door of a stall open. Head down, he pulled his gloves back on. Pulling the wig down some, he tried to cover his face. What would be next? When would it happen? Red eyes and chalk white skin? He would never be able to hide then. Worse given how it would lead to a photo sensitivity. Nothing that would cause him to burn up in the sun, but not something he was prepared for. Thoughts were blurring as he remembered who he was. Thoughts and recollections, a difference in personalities. He had to leave. He had to leave now.

The blonde, he wold give her some sort of excuse. She reminded him of someone. A person in another time, another place, not this one. Someone in the past. Why was he doing this? Why had he come here? He nearly called her Martine. That was not right. He wasn't right. Getting away, it wasn't the easiest. There were so many people. If only he could have climbed out of a window or something. Even from this height, at least he could glide down.

Body heat signatures everywhere, hearts pumping. His head hurt still, more coming through. More things happening. He felt neurotic again. Fears coming to life. No, it wasn't him. It was the other. Could he just shut up? This was confusing enough. The noises, the people, his heightened senses.

It felt like an eternity happened before he finally made it to the exit. Wig pulled off of his head, he tossed it into a dumpster on his way out. Pushing his hair back, he didn't need this. Something had to be done. If he was going to look like this, he might as well appear to be some sort of freak in a costume. The one time he actually was allowed to look like one. Gloves were tossed too. For all the good it did him. They had broken through the cheap plastic.

It was easy to tell when he was being followed. The by who and what was more the issue. With the busyness on the street and the party still going on, he hadn't really put much thought into it. As long as it wasn't her, as long as she wasn't going to look at him like some sort of monster. The less looks the better by anyone, for that matter. Maybe he should just find a nice fire escape, climb to the top of a building and glide home. With his luck, he would get noticed, tonight of all nights. Hands were stuffed inside of the lab coat pockets. Feet were quick, but apparently too quick.

"Shit." Looking around, he hoped no one saw. If anything, maybe they were all too stuck on themselves or maybe they were all too drunk. It wasn't as if he were going to run into some trick-or-treaters this late at night. That was a plus. Checking his watch, he took a deep breath. Life was going to be different, but he had to figure this out. He needed to.

He would end up stopped, found even. Someone was following. It wasn't someone he knew. There was a strange scent about him. Maybe someone like him? Maybe he was someone that just knew? He seemed to know him, yet not. It was strange. He would follow him willingly. He had to know. If there were more like him, he had to know. Unexplainable things, occrences, people, monsters. He was like him. He just spoke funny. Who could really warrant that as an issue? Speaking of things and people he didn't know.

None of this would lead to good things. Michael would find out the differences between monsters and men. He would be starved and coerced into things that he didn't want to do. To live or to let live? The monster would be unleashed to do another's bidding. To do as he was told and not die or become something worse. But was this really not the worst of it? To agree to this? All for the fact of not suffering himself? He only hoped this was a forgiveable offense and that he would at least find a means of feeding and using those that did wrong. Truer monsters out there, and not good people trying to do good things.