Hollywood Nights
Part Nine
Speaking of and about Howie, he was the one who liked watching Elvira. I’m pretty sure it was the tits but either way we would suffer through those stupid old movies for his sake on late weekend nights. You usually spent that time making fun of the movie playing and I usually spent most of that time getting damn drunk or real high because I could think of about a hundred things that I would rather do with my time that watch old horror movies. Still though, some of the simple morality of that garbage stuck. Only a handful of creatures drank blood to stay alive and they were all pretty fucking awful creatures.
Standing there with a plastic bag of useless healthcare items dangling from my hand, watching you greedily drinking directly from the spirting wound of our roommate. I should have run, right? Better, I should have taken up a kitchen knife or a heavy pan from the stove top and done away with the mindless hell spawn you had become.
Those stupid old movies made it all look so glamorous, the seduction and the strange eastern accents of it all, and if the movies couldn’t manage that they launched in the opposite direction and made it dangerous and disgusting. There was nothing in those stupid movies to prepare me for seeing you there, straddling Howie, pushing away his good hand and sucking greedily at the wound you made in his neck. Your white flats were kicked off over by the bar and the hem of my favorite blue summer dress of yours was soaking up the blood that was busy leaking out of the wounds in Howie’s side.
I didn’t run and I didn’t attack. So much for fucking fight or flight. I also didn’t drop the bag or gasp or cough into my hand. I didn’t interrupt you because it didn’t feel appropriate. I watched from the comfort of the far end of the kitchen and I waited patiently like a kid who doesn’t want to bother mother while she finishes some important adult-oriented task. Worse than that I guess, you where straddling him. I’m not sure exactly what is so broken in me that I saw that, the blood and the forlorn panic in Howie’s eyes as he tried to focus on me only to nod down in resigned horror, and decided that the two of you were having a moment I needed to stay out of just because you were on top of him.
I watched in horror as Howie pulled at your hair and tried to bring his good hand up while you pushed away at it until he stopped trying to grab at you. I watched as Howie’s glassy eyes went vacant and turned over to the drapes and the window beyond. I watched as you finished your meal and I waited for you to feed me some worthless excuse or awful lie. I waited for you to get off of Howie and acknowledge me in some meaningful way.
There was a good ten minutes between when I walked in and when you finally realized where and who we were and what was going on. I waited patiently while you caught up and got up off of Howie as he began to cool on the floor. The hem of your blue sun dress was soaked and you ignored that as the blood trickled down your left leg.
You stood up and turned around and faced me and it was suddenly impossible to look directly at who and what you were. Howie was dripping down the sides of your mouth and mingling in a heart shape around your chin and you were still you as you finally acknowledged my pain and heartache.
“I tried to pull his hands away from the wound and it was a lot worse than I thought. He was bleeding from a dozen places and so many of them were deep wounds. This was my fault. They came at me and I defended myself and I forgot all about Howie hiding behind me when it happened. I’m sorry, babe. I really am. This is all awful and ugly and I understand if you want to take your stuff and go.”
You put a hand up at me and I saw tears appear at the corners of your eyes. “I’ll understand if you leave but I’ll hate it. I love you so much and I am so fucking sorry for this. I’m sorry for what I am and what I need and what happened to Howie. I need you to know that I never meant him harm, or harm for anyone.”
I didn’t need to search for hope or meaning in what you said or what you did. I didn’t doubt your beliefs or your motives, and saying I did, what would that really change.
We may not have been high school sweethearts but we were damn close and true love is true love.