Chapter two rough draft.

Before I post the rough draft of the second chapter I want to refresh your memory on what the book is about. Clinical Vampirism, where a human being has an obsession, a craving for blood. Within the next two chapters or so you will find out more information and you will understand more. I will only be posting the first 4 or 5 chapters though. Anyway here's chapter 2:


Chapter Two: Caught Red Handed

I know it sounds a little strange, okay maybe more than a little, but by Bill giving me the baggie of blood he had already done more for me than my parents ever have. I think for the past seven Christmas’ I got a $20 gift certificate to Jumpin Joes Burger Shack, and maybe a new shirt or two. I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful, because I’m not. They have the means, money wise, to buy me actual gifts. A $20 certificate to a burger joint for a ten year old is ridiculous.

My parents are so self-involved it’s disgusting. For instance, I have been drinking blood for the past four years, right under their noses and have they noticed? I could probably go out commit horrible crimes and they would never know. I could have killed Scruffy my dog, gruesomely and they would have been convinced it happen by natural causes. They don’t give a shit about anyone but themselves and they sure as hell don’t pay attention to what’s going on with their child. Maybe if they were paying better attention to me I wouldn’t have climbed onto that roof so long ago. If they paid attention maybe I wouldn’t need to drink a couple ounces of blood everyday to feel strong, they could have gotten me help.

Instead my life is shit, my world is crumbling, and I’m left alone with nothing and no one but my addiction to satisfy me.

I take that back, I do have Bill. I always have, even after he found out I was a disgusting blood drinking creature. He continued to treat me like family even though I told him everything about my blood drinking. During the months before he found out about me he was kind-hearted and treated me like his own son. Once I told him the truth about it all he treated me even more like a son. He was and is more of a parent to me than my own father.

I remember the first time I went into work after he had caught me with the cup of warm steamy blood. I was nervous and scared that I would walk into work and there he’d stand with two men dressed in white ready to put me in a straight jacket and drag me off forever. Instead, he pretended like nothing had happened the day before. He would sneak a few concerned glances every now and then thinking I didn’t notice, but other than that, he was pretty cool.

At the end of the day Bill had called me into his office where he asked me to sit down. He then began asking me a number of questions about what I was doing, why I started drinking blood, and what caused me to begin craving it in the first place. I told him the truth about everything, I told him that I didn’t understand it and that I hated myself for it. I explained that I felt as disgusting as he thought I was. His reply only proved how nice he actually was, he said that there is nothing disgusting about me, I have an illness and it needs to be addressed that’s all.

We continued talking for over two hours after we closed the store and by the end of the conversation he handed me another small baggie with blood in it. I looked up at him with an almost envious feeling. How was he so accepting of something he really didn’t understand? Why was he being so compassionate to a person who clearly has major issues to deal with? Why in the hell was he helping me?

I grabbed the small bag of blood from him and gently placed it in my back pack in a slight grin on my face. When he asked what I was smiling about I couldn’t help but joke, saying that he was now my blood dealer.

Things continued this way for months, and Bill and I became closer and closer. He was really beginning to be like a father to me, I would call him if I needed help with anything rather than go right across the hall to my actual dad. Bill never had any children and his wife passed away back in ’97, which are the only things I know about his life. So I think he needed me just as much as I needed him.

By the time I turned 17 I was handling my ‘illness’ a lot easier, Bill helped me to realize it wasn’t my fault. I still hadn’t gone to get help yet, being only 17 I needed parental consent to do so and my parents did not need to know of this. It would be just another way I was a screw up to them. I decided once I turned 18 I would go to a councilor immediately. I wanted help, I needed it. Unfortunately I never got the chance to get it for myself though.

On April 8, 2010 I woke up like any other morning wanting a taste of blood before school. I noticed if I drank a little bit before school I wouldn’t drink as much later. It was kind of like my coffee and afternoon tea. I hit the snooze button on the alarm when it went off at 6:30 and rolled back over. The alarm went off again fifteen minutes later and I hit the snooze for a second time. The third time it went off I pulled myself out of bed and went over to my small refrigerator I kept in my room to grab out a small amount of blood.

As I’m slowly sipping the cold, thick, metallic piece of heaven my door flew open. My mother stood in my door way angrily staring at me as if I’ve ruined her entire morning. I continued to hold the small cup in my hand, afraid if I moved she would sense something strange was going on.

‘That damn alarm went off three times. You need to have consideration for other people in this house Darin! Do not wake me up again!’ She turned and hurriedly exited my room slamming the door behind her. Just as I began to breathe again she came rushing back in outraged.

‘And another thing, you need to start contributing to this household young man! You are 17 years old, you need to act like it instead of going out and buying yourself secret refrigerators where you keep God only knows what!’ She barreled through my room and ripped the cup from my hand throwing it across the room and pushed past me to open the fridge.

She stood there with the refrigerator wide open staring wide eyed at the four baggies of blood sitting on the top shelf and the small cups filled on the bottom. She glowered at me as she slowly began backing away from me and my small stash of blood. ‘What the hell is wrong with you! Richard!’ Her voice was ten octaves higher than a dog could even hear.

My dad came rushing into the room with a half-crazed look on his face, ‘What’s wrong? What’s the problem?’ He was clearly out of breath, and it was apparent on his face that he was absolutely clueless to what my mother was so angry about.

‘Look in that refrigerator! Look at what your despicable son has in there! It’s revolting!’ My mother was pointing frantically at the fridge shaking. Her face began changing colors and I found myself hoping and praying that she would just drop right then and there! Dad I could deal with, he was more of a loner, he would just continue to ignore me, but her…I hated her!

My father leaned over the bed and looked into the refrigerator before glancing up at me disgusted and confused. ‘Is that…blood?’

I didn’t say a word, I just continued to stand there dumbfounded. I spent so many years hiding these things from them. I was almost free, I almost had enough money saved to move out and I’ve just gotten caught. My father continued to stare at me waiting for a response and when they both realized they weren’t going to get one my mother rushed to my side and grabbed my arm with more force than any 115 pound woman should have.

‘Your father asked you a question you little asshole! What the hell do you have blood for!? What the hell is wrong with you! We raised you better than this, better than some sadistic freak!’ She stopped and they waited again for a response, this time when they didn’t get one she hauled off and slapped me. I stumbled backward into the fridge knocking it over and spilling all of the cups of blood on the floor.

Outraged I picked up the last few drops in each cup and dripped them into my mouth right in front of them, watching their expressions change from fury to pure panic. I continued to drink each little drop from every cup before throwing them all at my mother. I then picked up one of the small baggies of blood and opened it holding it high above my mouth so they could watch it slowly slide from the opening of the bag into my wide thirsty mouth.

I glared at them from the corner of my eye and they were both still standing there with the same panicked expressions on their smug stuck up faces. I stopped drinking and lowered the bag to my side, blood gliding down my chin and landing on my t-shirt. I couldn’t help but laugh, they looked so frightened like I was going to cross the room and drink their blood. My mother went to take a step forward and just as her tiny little foot hit the ground I chucked the open bag of blood at her. It flung through the air, blood splattering on the walls and ceiling before finally making contact with her scowling face.

She started gagging and screaming while my father still continued to stare at me horrified. A hysterical rumbling laughter escaped my lips which only angered my mother even more. She turned to hit me again so I made a motion like I was going to reach for another bag and she jumped back screaming.

‘If you two don’t mind I have to clean up and get ready for school now.’ I calmly stated as I slowly made my way to the bathroom to take a shower. When I got out they were gone but I knew that wasn’t the end of this, they would make me pay for what I’ve done.

I went to school just like every other day and to work right after. Bill immediately noticed that something was different with me. It could have been the way I practically ran into the store or the chuckles that kept involuntarily escaping my lips. He asked me what was going on and when I told him he too began to laugh a little before realizing what I had yet to.

‘Won’t they put you away? Or get you in trouble for this?’ He asked concern creasing his already wrinkled forehead.

‘Probably. But Bill, you don’t understand how good that felt. I have been wanting to do something to them for years, and now I finally have. It’s almost worth being locked up.’

I drank my blood at work that night because I was positive that there wouldn’t be any more in my room. I slowly walked home, dreading what I knew was coming. I sluggishly made my way through the front door and made it half way up the stairs before my dad came into the hallway. ‘Darin, can I talk to you for a minute?’ He actually sounded sincere, concerned. He sounded like a father.

I turned around worried about what was going to follow. Were there people waiting for me in my room, where they going to tie me up and shoot me full of drugs so they can drag me from the house? Before my thoughts could get much more carried away he began talking.

‘Your mother left for a few days. Um, I called and made you an appointment to talk to a psychiatrist. You have to be there by 9 am tomorrow morning so you’ll have to miss some school. I know you may not want to do this but I think it’s the best thing for you…something is seriously wrong.’

I was completely taken aback by his concern. In all my life he had never shown any interest in me or what was going on in my life and now here he is acting like a father. I couldn’t muster up any words so all I did was simply nod my head and turn to walk back up the stairs.

I got into my room expecting to find the mess of blood all over the walls and ceiling, but instead my room was spotless. Even the sheets had been washed. Out of pure curiosity I opened the fridge, it was empty. I changed my clothes and laid down in bed wondering what in the world was going to happen to me tomorrow.

There was a quiet knock on my door at 8 in the morning, ‘Darin you have to get up, do you want me to make you anything to…eat?’ He sounded almost scared to talk to me. I refused his offer and told him I’d be down in twenty minutes.

At the psychiatrists office she bombarded me with questions on what I was doing why I was doing it and so on, just like Bill did. The only difference was that she was doing it in a way that made me feel small, like a child again, ashamed of what I’ve been doing. She asked if someone was telling me to drink the blood, as if I had some unseen demon forcing me to do these things. She made me feel like I was psychotic and had to be put away immediately.

After the session she called my father in who sat inches away from me on the love seat in her office. He was leaning toward the far side trying to be as far away from me as possible. She directed him through this entire conversation, explaining what was wrong with me.

‘Darin suffers from a very rare syndrome. A syndrome called Renfield’s Syndrome, or Clinical Vampirism.’

I glanced over at my father who looked just as shocked and confused as I did. ‘What in the hell is Clinical Vampirism?’ I asked frantically.

‘It’s a mental disorder where the sufferer has an obsession to drink blood. There are typically three stages to this disorder. The first stage is auto-vampirism, where you drink your own blood. The second stage is zoophagia , where you drink not only your own blood but the blood of other living creatures, IE…rabbits, hamsters, mice. By you drinking the blood from the butcher shop you work at puts you under this category as well as stage one. The third stage is true vampirism, which is when you drink other human’s blood, willing or not.’

She stopped talking for a moment, letting it all sink in I assume. Once we made eye contact once again she continued to explain more about it. Ending the conversation with the one sentence I was hoping not to hear, ‘There is a hospital here in Massachusetts that specializes in vampirism. I believe it’s in you and your entire family’s best interest if you attend there willingly for awhile.’

That was it, dad was reeled in. I knew he would be sending me there, I’d be lucky if I made it the rest of the day before he packed my stuff and drove me there. When we arrived home it was around 4 pm so I ran upstairs and got changed for work. If this was going to be my last few days here, I wanted to spend them with the only person who treated me like family.

I arrived at work and informed Bill of the whole situation and explained what it was that she said was wrong with me. I told him that I would probably be sent away soon, and that I wouldn’t be able to see him anymore because the hospital is on the other side of the state. He promised me that he would come to visit as often as possible, I believed him. Bill loved me like a son and I loved him like a father. He would end up being the only one to visit me.

A few days passed with no word from my father about me leaving for that retched hospital, so I was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to force me to go unless provoked. My mother had come home and refused to speak to me, which was more than a blessing. She wouldn’t walk into a room if she knew I was there and would leave the second I entered one she was in. I wish my entire childhood could have been that way.

It was early on a Saturday, eight days after they caught me drinking blood. I was barely awake when my mother, yet again, came plowing through my bed room door practically tearing it off the hinges.

‘Get up! We’re leaving in ten minutes.’ She turned around and rushed back downstairs throwing things around the house and making a horrible racket. I sat up dazed and confused wondering what was going on, I didn’t have to wonder long. My father came in the room with an apologetic look on his face. He didn’t even have to say a word.

‘No! I’ve been good, I haven’t been doing it! You can’t make me go there!’ I practically cried.

‘I’m sorry Darin, this isn’t my choice. I shouldn’t have told her about the hospital, I didn’t think she’d react this way. I’m sorry. ‘

I fought the tears that were beginning to well up in my eyes and stormed off into the bathroom slamming the door behind me. The truth was that I hadn’t been good, I was still drinking the blood at work. But I didn’t deserve to be put away, for all they knew I was doing better. I hate my mother. She belongs in a nut house, not me!

When I came out of the bathroom my dad was still standing in the center of my room, tears about to spill over out of his eyes also. He grabbed my duffle bag from underneath my bed and then walked over to my dresser where he started handing me clothes.

As strange as it sounds, I wasn’t angry with him, I was angry with her! She was forcing this on me, she was making me go. He helped me pack everything I had into two duffle bags and left the room without a word. I reached under my mattress and grabbed all of the money I saved up and stuffed it into a hidden pocket in the bag. I glanced around the room once more trying to think of anything else I might be forgetting.

As I sluggishly made my way downstairs I knew I had to find a way to say goodbye to Bill. I couldn’t leave without seeing him first. I walked up to my dad and whispered to him asking if we could stop by there for a moment so I could say goodbye. He agreed.

I walked in tears about to consume me and told Bill what was happening. I told him that I would call and write him if it was possible. I hugged him and fought with myself to say goodbye. As I walked out I came to the realization that my life was never going to be the same, I would never see Bill again and I would never be able to at least pretend to be normal again. I lost it all, I lost everything.

I slid back into the back seat of the car and sat quietly through the hours and hours of driving until we reached the institution. Riley’s Hospital for the Mentally Ill.

A plump red haired woman greeted us at the door saying that this is where I would have to part with them. I turned to my father and nodded my head once in understanding and didn’t even look at my mother before moving forward through the doors. I looked back once to see my dad staring after me with a look of pure anguish on his face.

The plump woman led me to a room where others were sitting doing various activities. I only had a moment to look around before the woman continued walking down a long corridor which brought me into a single room. ‘This is your room, get settled and later I’ll introduce you to everyone.’

Great, just what I want.