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Camille’s eyes strained as she looked at the neon sign overhead; it read Sangria. Ruby hushed her and Trish, and led them to a backdoor, where they crept inside. Ruby took her outfit right out of the fashion catalogue: purple fishnets with a neon green short skirt and crop top. Trish wore a red off the shoulder dress with sharp blue eyeshadow. Her orange earrings were clunky octagons that both clashed and complemented her ensemble. Camille was simply draped in a short white dress with a black shoulder padded blazer.
It was a bustling club: everyone was clotted together on the dance floor, with drops of sweat, blood, and abandoned jewelry on the ground. The people were laughing, the music was blasting. The three basked in the glow of the lights, but Camille was off to the side. She could feel herself hyperventilating again. This wasn’t so different from the last time she was at a club. It felt almost exactly like before.
Trish touched Camille’s shoulder to snap her out of her trance.
“We’re over at the booth,” she said softly.
“Yeah, ok,” replied Camille, and she followed Trish over, sitting at the end of the table.
Ruby and Trish giggled and laughed, catching up about their misadventures after a year and a half of separating. Camille only sat and glanced at her surroundings. Her eyes started to deceive her and her mind followed: she thought she saw him again, the man with the long coat and dirty needle. He eyed her at the bar and smiled. She could feel her heart coming up her throat and her stomach dropping out of her solar plexus.
She got up, only to bump into the proprietor of the nightclub, Cyrus Barker. He smirked as he smelled Camille’s blood pressure rise. Her veins were pumping quickly in her neck. She was only entranced by his eyes. Everything around her meant nothing anymore. She only knew his coffee brown eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” Camille stuttered.
“No, please,” Cyrus started, almost matching her voice.
“Excuse me,” he added. They slowly, quietly smiled at each other as her friends looked on, snickering among themselves.
“I hope you ladies are enjoying my club,” he finally said.
“Yeah, it’s-,” started Trish.
“Pretty deaf,” cut in Ruby, who was swiftly kicked by Trish under the table.
“Well, I’m glad,” responded a chuckling Cyrus. He took a final look at Camille before disappearing into the crowd.
“I have to go,” blurted Camille. She made her way to the bathroom, taking a careful look at the bar again before leaving. As she got in the bathroom, she bent over the sink hyperventilating. Camille kept trying to catch her breath, and it almost sounded like she was vomiting. She coughed and silently wiped some of the tears off of her cheeks. She took a deep breath, reminded of Dr. Lipstein. She muttered to herself James 5:15-16, and of course Revelations 2:10. She swallowed her anxieties and stepped out as other women walked in. She started to walk back to the booth as a familiar voice rang out:
“Let me buy you a drink,” said Cyrus, sitting at the bar smiling.
“I, no, no thank you,” politely responded Camille.
“Maybe a dance, then?” he asked.
“I should get back to my friends,” she told him, smirking.
Her head popped over to see the two dancing under the bright lights. She scoffed and sat next to Cyrus.
“A bloody mary for me, and for the lady…” Cyrus stopped himself to turn to Camille.
“A five alive” she responded. “A five alive,” he smirked. They sat as the bartender went to prepare their drinks.
“So,” Camille started. “Was running a nightclub your life long dream?” she asked. He chuckled, responding,
“No. No, in fact beforehand I wanted to be a doctor. I’m not squeamish when it comes to blood.”
“I’m studying medicine, so I understand.”
“Ah, well, your looks alone could heal a patient.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere but, thank you,” she blushed.
Cyrus began to scan her neck, then her body. She looked around, paying more attention to the people than him. It made her nervous, and he could smell it on her. He slightly licked his lips hearing Camille’s blood speed through tubes and valves. Cyrus made a promise he knew he couldn’t keep. She would be his last one. After her, he would try to restrain himself more. Paranoid, Camille only watched for the man again, feeling her heart beat aggressively in her chest, waiting to burst out. She knew he wouldn’t come back, but she had to be sure.
“Do I make you nervous?” asked Cyrus, calculating his next move.
“What?” Camille replied, before collecting her thoughts. “You’re very...forward if that’s what you’re saying,” she added.
“Your body language says it all: your legs are crossed, and you're turned slightly away from me. Your eyes keep looking at everyone at the bar… Are you looking for someone?” he asked her.
“I just thought I saw...I should be getting back to the table,” she reluctantly told him.
As she went to get up, he held her shoulder, forcing her back down to him.
“You haven’t even gotten your drink yet. Wait,” he commanded.
She couldn’t feel any part of herself anymore. It was that night all over again: Cyrus was going to hurt her like the other one did. She could sense it. Everything went dark, and Camille couldn’t remember anything. She just stared into this man’s eyes. Cyrus kept contact with Camille as his eyes turned to garnet. Camille’s eyes glowed, almost matching his.
“You know,” he lightly chuckled. “You’re almost too beautiful to drink,” he added. He gently caressed her lips and neck as she was fully hypnotized. She was brought back to reality by Trish, touching her arm.
“Cam, I need extra money for the cab. I’m gonna go back to this guy’s place,” Trish slurred. Camille, slowly collecting herself, gave Trish $10. Cyrus and Camille’s drinks were finally handed to them.
“Weren’t we, um, just talking?” she asked.
“You were telling me about your major, then about why you chose medicine,” he responded. She was quiet for a moment.
“I don’t think I should tell you that,” Camille told him.
“A skeleton in the closet?” he asked, smiling slightly.
“I was an English major. Let’s just say...I got sick and I thought maybe if I studied medicine, I could find a cure,” she stopped herself. “Why am I telling you all this?” she laughed off.
Cyrus just stared at her neck. She looked up at him, hopefully.
“I don’t know what it is, but you have one of those faces...like I could tell you everything,” she smiled. His eyes found hers, and his slightly grayish skin found color in his cheeks.
“I haven’t heard someone tell me that in almost,” he paused, his face turning gray again. Cyrus sighed, and finally said,
“A while.”
“A former flame?” she asked.
“Yeah, Charlotte,” he said. “She died of TB,” he lamented.
“I’m so sorry,” sympathized Camille. She lightly touched his hand.
“I lost my brother not too long ago,” she told him.
“Were you close?” he asked.
“Till we got older. If I had known he was going to go so soon, I would have tried to be with him more,” she sniffled. Cyrus rubbed her shoulder, focusing more on her face than anything else.
“Moving on” smiled Cyrus. Camille wiped her tears and sniffled.
“Yeah,” she chuckled.
“You were an English major?” he asked. Camille sighed.
“When I was diagnosed, it made me rethink everything in my life,” she paused. “I didn’t even think about going out after that,” she replied.
“Is that why you were looking around the bar?” he asked.
Camille’s face tightened a bit and looked away. Cyrus brushed her hair back, and she looked up at him.
“Come with me,” he commanded softly.
His eyes turned reddish-brown again, but instead of glowing, her eyes teared up. She nodded, and the two walked away from the bar, arm in arm. They snuck away upstairs, Camille still under Cyrus’s mind control. There was a private room, shrouded in red light and a lone sofa against a mirror. Cyrus sat Camille down and began to kiss her body. He could sense her blood rise as he touched every part of her. He felt his fangs grow from his gums, but as he approached her neck, he stopped himself. He began to quietly sniff her shoulders, realizing her AIDS diagnosis. Time stopped as he began questioning himself. Would he be putting her out of her misery if he killed her? Would he say goodbye to the one woman who reminded him of his lost love? Or, once again, wouldn't he be putting her out of her misery if he did? Then, there was another way. He sunk his teeth into her neck, and, terrified, she gasped and kicked to escape. She tried scratching, tapping, pushing, but he wouldn’t resist. He let go and her blood soaked the leather. Camille could do nothing but gasp for air, trying to put her hand to her neck to stop the bleeding. Cyrus looked at the pool and felt himself craving every drop spilling out of her neck, until he made the ultimate sacrifice: He took a bite into his hand, and floated it above Camille.
“If you drink, you will live,” he desperately told her.
A few drops landed on her lips, and made their way into her mouth. Her tongue tasted the blood, and she knew she needed more. Her strength reappeared and grabbed his hand. She sucked as much as she could from him, before he had enough and pulled back from her. Camille could feel her body coming to a sharp stop. She gagged and held her stomach, trying to vomit out his blood. She screamed, as her body twitched and twisted, and Cyrus turned his head towards his watch, choosing not to look at Camille dying in front of him. The pain was almost over. In an instance, everything stopped. Her heart lost its beat and her brain lost its control. There, Camille Fields’s corpse laid, as Cyrus Barker counted the seconds it would take. 300. Then she shot up, gasping and coughing for air she didn’t need. She looked at her hands, her legs, then touched her neck. Hyperventilating, she ran to the mirror, screaming at her grayish skin and cold veins. Wailing and moaning, she looked at Cyrus. Cyrus took out a single cigarette from his jacket pocket. He lit it and took a long puff, watching Camille.
“You know, this is the first time I’ve ever turned someone,” he smiled. “Successfully, I should say. I tried once, but she rejected my blood,” he chuckled.
“What the fuck is going on?” Camille yelled.
“Camille,” he started, slowly. “Listen to me very carefully. You died. I bit your neck, then I had you drink my blood. You would understand this as vampirism,” he said.
“No. No, no vampires aren’t real. You...you drugged me, that’s it. Quaaludes. crack, or...or whatever! I’m leaving,” she panicked.
“I highly suggest you do not,” he intimidated.
“Don’t stop me,” she growled. She reached for the door, and he grabbed her arm, throwing her down and locking them inside. They quarreled, throwing punches, slaps, kicks. He pulled her hair, and she scratched his arm. He, in turn, pinned her down. She could feel her breath trembling again and her throat had a lump forming. Tears streamed down her face, but this time she decided, she wouldn’t let Cyrus hurt her. Crunch. Her fangs trapped his arm. She let go as he ripped it away from her, blood dripping from him. Camille wasn’t used to this...hunger. She could remember some of those nights going without dinner as punishment, but...this. This internal drive was different. She could smell the iron pouring out from Cyrus. Any semblance of humanity left her. She tackled Cyrus, sucking the blood from his forearm. He pushed her off and held his arm, as his bite wounds healed the very next second. Camille looked in confusion, then surprise, then in bitter understanding. She touched the blood from her lips, then the fangs that retracted. She held her face in her hands, crying and moaning. She fell to her knees, as the lump from her throat exploded into a scream, then a wail. No one downstairs could hear her scream. She held her heart, not feeling it beat, and curled into a fetal position.
“No, no, no, no, no…” she kept sobbing. “This can’t be happening!” she cried. Cyrus only bent down and held her, hugging her as she cried.
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