So I'm Not a Vampire? Ch. 02

Hey Everyone,

So this is the completely edited version of So, I'm Not a Vampire? I decided to post it on lit because I realized not posting my stories really solves nothing. Having them remove one of my stories was the first and only bad thing that's happened to me on lit. Am I angry? Yeah, but life goes on. And plus lit fans are way too awesome to leave.

As a side note, all future stories I post on Lit are stories that will not be published. If you have questions, concerns, or just want to say hi, feel free to message me.

Alright, here we go!

-Rosi

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Chapter 2: Pot Calling the Kettle Black

It didn't take me long to find a way out of the morgue, or should I say my University Hospital. That's right; I was undead in my old alma mater, the University of Vermont. A few feet to my left was Chittenden Hall, and right behind that were a bunch of other halls. It was both comforting and creepy to be back at my old school, especially considering it was summer and there was no one around. It didn't exactly give me a warm, fuzzy feeling to be a vampire on campus.

Oh! That could totally be the next title of a movie!

Then reality set in and reminded me that while the bright, full moon and empty university did paint a great vamp horror flick, it didn't really work for me considering I was the ideal candidate to be killed first. I was white with bright hair, though it was red instead of blonde, and big. Don't get me wrong, the quaint charm of the place was still there, but it was all starting to give off the vibe of every horror flick ever made.

"Fuck." It was the only thing I could think to say as all my bravado and most of my naive hope fled the building. For one, the closest I'd ever come to "roughing it" was setting up a cozy little pink tent and a portable DVD player on the deck of my house. My mom brought out cookies and classic funny camping movies. When I had to go to the bathroom, I just opened the door to my house and moseyed on up to my bathroom. Yeah, I'm a regular outdoorswoman.

I could always break into one of the buildings or hope that a door was open somewhere, but there were two problems with that. The closest thing I'd come to breaking in was watching it done on TV, and I was hungry. I didn't trust myself not to go H.A.M—Hard As a Motherfucker—on some poor unsuspecting cop and suck all his blood out. I mean, maybe I could live off of strawberries and red wine for the rest of my life, but that was a discovery for another day.

"Why am I not surprised to see a white woman alone at night on this campus? There must be an epidemic of stupid, willful endangerment going around," a deep male voice snickered.

I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash with how fast my head turned. There was no one on the sidewalk with me, just a flickering streetlamp. The place practically screamed that a serial killer was going to step into the sporadic spotlight and smile at me. I tried to peer into the darkness, hoping that some of those stupid—I mean, awesome vampire powers would finally manifest.

"Who's there?"

"Oh? Can she mean me?"

"No shit I mean you," I bit off, cranking my neck this way and that to see into the shadows. I didn't know what I would do if the voice really did belong to some kind of slasher bad guy, but screaming and begging for my life were at the top of my list.

The irony of my thoughts set in a second later. Here I was, the freaking walking dead worrying about a serial killer. What was the worst he could do? Kill me? Been there, done that. And, I mean, I watch a lot of karate movies, so I was about 99.9 percent sure I could take the guy on.

But instead of a dude, a fat black cat strolled out. The thing twitched its tail, and—if cats could look aggravated—gave me an aggravated look.

"Well, aren't you the pot calling the kettle black?"

I looked hard at that cat, because I was pretty sure it had just spoken to me without opening its mouth. Oh God! Was I becoming crazy from hunger? Was the next step me breaking into the drugstore and stealing all their dried cranberries and strawberry soda?

"And she calls me fat," the voice snickered.

"Mind saying that again?" I had no problem picking a fight with a cat if the thing really was talking to me. When I was nine, I almost punched a parrot because it kept saying my breath smelled like butt. Am I proud of that? Well, maybe not, but that stupid bird was a total dick.

"Ah, so you can hear my thoughts. That's quite interesting." The cat moved toward me and circled me like I was prey. It was weird considering the thing came to about my calf. A sort of weird fear came over me, one I couldn't explain.

It was like that time I was watching Craig Kosicek, this nerdy fifth grader, getting picked on by these douche-y seventh graders. One minute they were pushing him around, and he was saying quit it, and the next he had one of the guy's ears in his mouth and was biting it off while he punched another dude in the face. The kid went from sweet and nerdy to vicious animal in a second.

That's how I felt about the cat.

"A more apt word would have been frightened," he said as he came to a stop in front of me and sat back on his haunches. "The story was unnecessary."

"Maybe I'm missing something here, but cats aren't supposed to talk, right?" Aren't I clever? No shit cats don't talk! It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out, but the whole dead girl and talking cat thing had me using half my normal brain cells.

It only occurred to me a second later that the cat could be a shapeshifter or fellow vamp. Maybe now that I was a vamp, I was giving off a supernatural vibe that welcomed all the boogie men and paranormal romance stars.

Hmm ... Maybe I would meet a single, alpha werewolf with a dark past and a giant schlong. That would be perfect.

"The better question would be: how are you hearing me?" His tail twitched as he got up and turned back into the darkness. "And could you please think of something besides sex? It doesn't exactly help your case when all I can get out of your mind are quick, jumbled thoughts along the same lines as Sookie Stackhouse and Stephanie Meyers."

The fact that the cat was well-versed in vampire pop culture surprised me. Weren't all supernatural beings supposed to be centuries old, use big words, and talk with a Transylvanian accent?

I heard a metal jingle come from the shadows where the talking cat had disappeared. "What do you mean, 'help my case'?"

The cat emerged with a set of keys dancing on his tail. With a quick flick of the appendage, he threw the keys at me and I caught them with my face. Nothing like a cold, metal key to the forehead to wake a girl up.

"Never mind, it's not important now," the cat replied. He sat back on his haunches, licked his paws, and gave me a curious look. "Would you mind driving me back to my hotel? I'm a bit tired, or I'd do it myself."

Was a cat actually asking me to be its chauffeur? This day just couldn't get stranger. From dying, to finding out I was a vampire and then meeting a talking cat, I'd have the best story since, like, Jesus. Maybe that's how I'd get rich! Sell my life story to Hollywood.

"And hope that they don't either call you crazy or give you to the government for testing? Smart girl, aren't you?"

I flipped the stupid cat the finger. "You know what? You can just drive yourself home!"

I turned sharply, deciding to take my chances with the school buildings and security.

"Fine," the cat said flippantly to my back, "but you're not a vampire. So you can stop thinking that you're going to bite some security guard. You won't."

Again, I wasn't sure how I didn't break my neck with how fast I turned. Oh, and if cats could look smug, this one was looking like he'd just convinced a canary that his mouth was a nest.

"What do you mean I'm not a vampire? Of course I'm a vampire."

He shook his head and licked his front paws again. "No, habibi, I'm a vampire. You, however, are a mystery."

I barked out a laugh as I looked at the pudgy cat and watched his tail flick in agitation. "You? Shouldn't you go find Sabrina or something, Salem?"

The cat stood up and stretched his limber body. The action looked more dangerous than a killer brandishing a gun. "Ah, a Sabrina the Teenage Witch joke. How original. Are you going to drive me: yes or no?"

So those were my options. Trek into the great unknown with a talking, fat black cat who claimed to be a vampire and said I wasn't a vampire, or take my chances with the university. I couldn't even count how many heroines had been given a similar choice of one or the other, this or that. Why were there always only two choices? Why not, like, three or ten?

"Are you really a vampire?" I finally asked because, well, I couldn't really think of another choice.

"Yes. Are you going to drive me?"

I sighed. Here was my life. I went from Kmart manager to cat chauffeur in the blink of an eye. "Yeah, what the hell."

I clicked the keys to unlock the door and spied a smooth, sexy, red-hot Lamborghini fifty feet away. I couldn't help the low whistle that came out of my mouth.

"I'm Peaches, by the way," I said as I walked side by side with the cat to the sports car.

"Bane," the cat supplied. "And if you think of a pun, I'll scratch your eyes out."

It was on the tip of my tongue, too, or the tip of my thoughts. What a name for a cat, but it worked perfectly for my situation. Peaches the vampire and Bane the cat.

"You are wrong on so many levels, habibi," Bane purred into my mind as we walked together to the car.