I fell in love with a boy. I saw his long, black hair wave in the wind and it just happened. He was new at school and I didn’t know his name but that wasn’t going to stop me! He looked at me, when his hair was waiving in the wind and I looked back and I smiled. I hoped my braces didn’t put him off. I hate my braces! My teeth weren’t even that crooked! But mom just told me whatever the dentist said, or the schoolmaster, and she never listened to me. She thought I was stupid or something. ‘Just wait!’ I always thought, ‘Wait until I finish a book! What kind of sixteen-year-old writes a book huh?’ I guessed that if I would write a book, my mom and the teachers and the kids at school would finally start respecting me! Because they can’t do that. They used to tell me all these things. That I dress to slutty or not slutty enough. That I need to study math. That I always need to study math even though I have no desire of becoming a mathematician. Grades! Grades! All they cared about was grades. They thought it was the stairway to heaven or something. Every A is another positive step towards God. What a bunch of nut-cases. I mean, I can name more famous people that mattered who did not do good at school than ones who did. Tsssss.
Anyways, I was writing about this boy and I was like, wow! And I don’t know why. He just sat there, all alone. I was afraid to go over there because I’m shy and I didn’t know what to say. I decided to think about what to say to him all night so that the day after, I could say that to him, as if I didn’t think about it at all. Also, I had to decide what to wear when I would speak to him, this lonely new boy. He was reading something. It was too far away for me to read the title but it was a really thick book. I also like to read. I read all sorts of stuff. Especially detectives. I kind of wanted to write a detective. And maybe I am writing one. Maybe I’m some sort of love-detective. And love is way more complex than any murder motive, right?
I thought of all sorts of things to say that night, when my mom stopped bothering me about math because she went to sleep and the television wasn’t on anymore. Always the television. Don’t these people know that they can watch pretty much anything on the internet nowadays? I mean, why let some big channel decide for you what you should watch when you can just go to piratebay and download all the movies and shows you want to see? My mom didn’t want to hear it. She said it’s thievery, and she didn’t raise a thief. I’d much rather be a thief than a mathematician though!
The first thing that came into my mind was to ask him if he needed some company. But what if he would say no? Or what if he would think that I would be the one that actually needed company, or that I was inviting him over to sit with me and my stupid girlfriends, showing each other pictures of stuff and faces on our phones? I would be so embarrassed if he would come over and sit with us! I wondered for a while why I sat with those girls sometimes. I showed them stuff on my phone, that wasn’t very interesting and they showed stuff on their phones that was even less interesting. I wanted to talk about freedom, hope and books and tell jokes. I was too smart for these people, way too smart for this stupid school and this stupid town I would have been stuck in for another two years...
‘What are you reading?’ I could ask. Maybe he’d like to talk about it. But then I remembered that the reason I stopped taking my own books to school was that I got that stupid question all the time. I always said, ‘Look it up on Goodreads. Once I finish it, I might also write a review there. So far so good. Would you please excuse me now? I’m trying to read,’ and they would get kind of insulted. They even called me a nerd once or twice. I didn’t like that. I’m not a nerd. I don’t read nerd books either. I’m just literate beyond the capability of reading a comment on your Facebook-selfie. And most aren’t even that literate anymore because who the fuck still uses Facebook?
I had nothing to say and nothing to wear, because my nice green summer-dress was in the machine of course and I didn’t want to look like all the other girls, which I always did because my mom didn’t let me shop by myself and I didn’t have any money. I always got the kind of clothes mom wanted me to wear. Jeans. All these jeans and all these shirts and skirts that fall slightly over my knees. Sweaters and more sweaters. Nothing really nice. Nothing really special. I wanted to look like a real woman. I didn’t want to look like some stupid teenager. I’m not a stupid teenager. I’m a smart teenager, and I should be able to dress smart. But the only smart thing I had was that dress, that was perfect, because my hair is red and my eyes are blue so green goes really well with that. Especially that kind of green. Light. But I already wore it to school that day for some reason I can’t explain. Usually I just wore it on occasions but that morning I felt that it was very important to look on my best. Like something told me I was going to see that boy, that I wanted to be with, for the rest of my life, even though I had never spoken to him.
‘I like your hair.’ - no. ‘Are you new here?’ - no. ‘Hi, I’m Samantha.’ - no. Pink sweater/black jeans? Black sweater/pink skirt? Blue jeans/gray sweater? WHY DON’T I HAVE MORE DRESSES! I really wanted more dresses.
Finally, I decided to go with the first thing that came to my mind because that’s usually the best thing. And I wondered what color lipstick would fit best with pink sweater/black jeans. I knew my mom had cherry-red, but I was afraid that would look to aggressive, too sexy. Pink lipstick would be too girlish, and it would kind of be a little too pink that way. I had one pair of high heels but they were very uncomfortable and I hoped that he would walk me home and I didn’t want to embarrass myself with my stupid high heel walk, because those shoes hurt so much that he might see it and he’ll ask what’s wrong with me and then I’d have to lie because if I’d tell him the truth about it it’d be really awkward.
I just decided to wear no lipstick at all, and no heels, just my Nikes, and I also decided that I was just going to walk up to him and say the first thing that would come into my mind. I was really nervous. I didn’t get much sleep and I looked like absolute shit when I stood in front of the mirror at seven in the morning. After applying some mascara, a bit of rouge and pretty much every cosmetic except for lipstick, I looked alright, although it did take me about forty minutes.
‘You’re not going to school like that!’ my mom said when she saw me on the couch with my breakfast cereal.
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because you look like a prostitute.’
‘But I’m not even wearing any lipstick!’ I protested.
‘You still look like a prostitute.’
‘Well then, I think I’ll just become the school prostitute. If that’s the only way of getting money for decent looking clothes and stuff.’
‘Don’t get clever with me young-lady! Wash that stuff off your face right now and don’t be late for school.’
I said nothing when I walked past her but I gave her a look that was very angry. I’m very good at giving people that look. I practiced it a lot in the mirror. I saw some panic in her eyes as I gave it to her. It didn’t last long but it was there, a fraction of a second, then she came back to her senses and said: ‘You’ll understand when you’re older.’
‘I understand now,’ I said in front of the mirror, while I was washing off all that hard work I did, ‘you’re a puritan prude. That’s why,’ and I walked out of the house, slamming the door just hard enough for my mom to notice it was a slam but not so hard to make her complain about it.
The sun was shining and I was hungry because I couldn’t finish my cereal and I only had like, five spoons or something. I didn’t have any money either. I didn’t want to go to school anymore. I looked like shit. How are you supposed to talk to a boy like that if you look like shit? So, I decided not to go to math but to the supermarket, to steal the most whorish makeup they had.
I’d stolen chocolate before and that wasn’t too difficult. But then I was wearing stockings and I could easily stick them in there without anyone noticing. Now I wasn’t wearing any because I wanted to show that boy my legs through the holes in my black jeans. My legs are the best part of my body. Or maybe my brain. I’d show him my brain later.
I had mascara in my bra, cherry-red lipstick anyways, some rouge and some eyeshadow. Blue one. I looked at the camera angle before I stuck it in there, so my back was towards it and they couldn’t see it. I’m pretty good at not being noticed. I just hoped that I would be good at being noticed too that day…
I looked in my wallet and I only had two dollars and fifty cents, so I bought some yogurt, because I was still hungry. The checker boy was looking at me. I think he liked me. I think he knew but he didn’t say anything because he liked me.
In school, the classes had already started for a half-an-hour and my math teacher always got furious when you’re late so I decided to take that half-an-hour to apply all this makeup I just stole in the bathroom.
‘Ssst,’ I heard coming out of one of the bathroom stalls. I was curious about who was in there, fucking or something, so I pretended to leave after washing my hands and sneaked in there again, without a sound.
‘Alright. It’s OK Susy. Do a little sniff OK.’
‘I don’t wanna do it off the toilet seat!’
‘Why don’t you do it off my dick then? You’re gonna suck it anyways.’
‘I don’t know Tygo.’
‘Come on, I’ll do one off your ass too. It’ll be really sexy. Trust me.’
‘It’s too small here. How am I supposed to sit?’
‘Just sit over the toilet biatch.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘I don’t want to do it Tygo. Here, just do it from the key.’
‘I wanna do it off your ass.’
‘Please. Don’t be such a... let’s just do this OK.’
‘Bend over biatch!’
‘Fuck me? How about I fuck you!’
‘Tygo don’t do that. I’ll scream.’
‘If you scream, I’ll tell your parents that you do cocaine.’
‘No, no, no…! Do you know who my dad is?’
‘I know, and so you better bend over the toilet biatch.’
‘Alright, just do it quickly OK.’
There was a sniffing sound, then there was a dimmed ´´Fuck yeah´´ from Tygo.
‘Alright, now where’s my sniffy?’
‘Right here on my dick biatch. Let me just... ah fuck.’
‘God damn it Tygo! You got any more?’
‘Just sniff it off the floor.’
‘That’s fucking dirty. And this is your fault! I told you that you should have just used the key!’
‘It’s my fucking coke bitch, and if you wanna taste, you sniff it off the fucking floor!’
‘Jesus fucking shit Tygo,’ Susy said, and there was more sniffing, and there was a ‘What are you doing. Don’t fucking... Tygo...’ another sniff, and a bang on the door, more banging on the door, rhythmic banging. Susy was saying ‘A fuck, Jesus fucking shit... Aw fuck... just, aw fuck, just don’t go so deep... aw shit... that fucking hurts,’ and then she stopped saying anything, she just sort of gave into it, I guess.
It was hard to focus on my makeup but it was a good gossip that I could always use to blackmail Tygo or Susy for something. I figured that I better just get some evidence so I took my phone out of my pocket and recorded the fucking.
‘Turn around biatch I wanna cum in your mouth,’ Tygo said.
‘I don’t want that in my mouth!’ Susy complained.
‘You wanna get pregnant biatch? Turn around and suck that dick like you promised.’
There was sigh, and then there were sucking noises. ‘Suck it harder,’ Tygo said, and repeated, over and over, until he said ‘Fucking lazy bitch,’ and he did something that made her gag and there was another bang on the door, and Susy gagged again.
‘Open your mouth. Yeah, just like that. Stick your tongue out further, alright, alright, fuck... YEAH BITCH... fuck... swallow it. No bitch you gotta swallow.’
‘Let me go Tygo!’
‘Not until you swallow. It’s good for you.’
There was a swallowing noise. Tygo said, ‘Good girl,’ and two seconds later the door opened. I pressed stop recording and stuck my phone back in my pocket. They did not seem to notice my phone.
Susy turned white as a sheet when she saw me standing there, applying my makeup as if I didn’t hear a thing.
‘You tell anyone about this I’ll kill you, you understand?!’ Tygo said.
Tygo nodded and he walked out of the bathroom. Susy stood before the mirror and wiped some sperm off the corner of her mouth. She looked at me and said: ‘You look like a whore Samantha,’ and she walked out of the bathroom. I smiled. Also, I decided that she was right. I wiped most of the whorish makeup from my face and went outside to wait for the next class. Tygo was smoking a cigarette behind one of the trees. I asked him if I could bum one and he gave one to me. He also gave me a light, then he gave me a look that said, ″I want to fuck you″ and I gave him a look that said ″This ass comes with a bigger price tag than a sniff of coke you stupid loser″
‘Nice weather ain’t it,’ Tygo said.
‘Fuck you,’ I said.
‘You know how it is.’
‘You won’t tell, will you?’
‘I won’t. But you have to apologize for threatening me.’
‘So, apologize then.’
‘Apology accepted,’ I said and I walked away from Tygo. I was happy to smoke in the sunshine. I didn’t have a smoke for days. It’s just nice to smoke sometimes, I think.
I looked at my phone and saw that the next class was PE, and it would start in five minutes. I looked at the sky, ever so blue, and I just wondered why I had to exercise inside a stupid gym building while I could run in the forest by myself so I might actually enjoy the physical exercise. I fucking hated being sixteen.
Then again, I pretty much hated everything. Maybe because everything sucks when you’re sixteen. I hoped to get rich. Then I’d be done with all this bullshit. Anyways, I went to PE class and told the teacher I had a headache due to PMS but he had talked to the substitute two weeks ago, who I had told the same excuse. The difference was, that even though it didn’t really trouble me, I did have my period now so when he called me on it, I yanked out a bloody tampon and swung it in front of his face. I was excused from gym class but I had to promise I would not do that again.
I saw them run. I like to run. But I like to run on my own. I’m fast. Sometimes I saw animals in the forest where I ran. I always wished I had a rifle when I saw them. I wanted to hunt. That was one of the reasons I wanted to get rich, so I could hunt. I used to have an BB-gun but they took it away from me when they found out I was shooting birds and rabbits with it. I’m an excellent shot. And as I looked at the people running, in a nice little square, to warm up for all the fun, I fantasized about hunting them. I fantasized about being in the forest some crazy rifle, like a Vector, that I can run with, and I’m faster than them and the bullet is way faster than them. I would play with them. Miss them on purpose. Shoot all the trees around them. It would be the best thing to see Annabel run away from the bullet hail that hits pretty much everything except for her skinny ass, and then a squirrel falls down in front of her, shot in the eye, and she would know that no matter how skinny that ass of hers is, it ain’t gonna save her, that nothing will save her, but she keeps on running, as she was doing now.
Before all the fun started that I could not be part of due to my bloody woman’s curse, there was an announcement made by the PE teacher that I forgot the name of.
‘Misses Sanchez and mister Fog cannot be at school today, so for however has biology or history today, we advise you to use the time productively and we would like to alert you that these are still school hours and that it is forbidden to leave the perimeter during that time.’
And I thought today was going to be a bad day! I thought about just going to lie down in the sunshine for two hours, think about what to say to that boy and listen to some Motörhead, my favorite band. I don’t look like a fan, because I don’t like too much black because I think that’s boring and if I wear the T-shirt I’d be one of THOSE girls and before you know it, Motörhead, the greatest band in the history of history of history and even before that will be hailed in the same fashion as we hail the mediocre alto rock shit of Nirvana which is alright but totally not heavy and totally not Metal. I really like heavy-metal. I like angry music. I feel angry when I listen to music that isn’t angry and I feel at peace when the music is angry enough. Nice people piss me off. That’s maybe why I liked that boy. He didn’t seem very nice. He just looked around, with a paper in front of him, holding that book, wearing heavy sunglasses, only taking them off when he gave people funny looks. Not like a clown or anything, but like, yeah... this is me assholes, come and get it. Like a real man. Like a boy that can handle the situation. I see these boys all acting tough around me. They can’t run, they can’t fight and they like stupid shit. They talk and talk but then some situation comes and they all panic. It doesn’t matter what the situation is. Good, bad or ugly. They want this pussy. But they don’t even know where the clit is on the pussy. I was at this party once and this guy said he was really good at pleasing woman sexually so I asked him where the clit was and he didn’t even know! I told him he was a pussy and his clit was to be found on his forehead, where he had a big red pimple, floating in a sea of eczema. YAK! I hate pimples! I cut them open with a sharp knife and then I put all the pimple product in there that I can find and also some alcohol. And some salt. The little scars go away in a matter of weeks and the fuckers are not going to return. But your face will burn. You have to bleed. And only women bleed. True bleeders. And what are we bleeding for? This bullshit here? Nah, if I have to bleed, I bleed for a boy worth bleeding for. And that boy... something about that boy...
All my people hunting fantasies got very intense as I saw them hurdling over hurdles. Here is the hurdle, you think overcoming this obstacle will bring you closer to safety. So, when you are on the verge of decent, I shoot, but I shoot not your head, I shoot your leg, so you fall down, on my side of the hurdle, and then you know all is lost. And I stand over you, and I wait until I see acceptance in your eyes. Accept that I am the one. The only. The unbeatable Samantha, and you don’t fuck with me! I wished I had more cigarettes.
I had history from Fog planned next so when gym-class was over, I sat under a tree and got my phone out of my pocket. I looked at my messages and there was a message from Ronnie. Ronnie asked me... oh well, I might as well paraphrase, then you know right away who Ronnie is:
‘Hi Sam say you sit alone in gym. Do you have PTSD again? Anything I can do I’m here. I can really understand your problems so if you want to talk like now or something…’
So yeah, those are the kind of idiots that are trying to get into my pants. He wants to lick my vag clean like a rich cunt’s poodle. You’re so nice Ronnie. I was listening to Inferno (which is my favorite Motörhead album) and I thought of Lemmy, and how badly I wanted to get fucked by Lemmy. There was this concert when I was fourteen-and-three-quarters, and I thought I could maybe sneak in backstage, and get to Lemmy, and then Lemmy would fuck me rough, from behind. I masturbated many evenings to it. I would just sneak out and go to the concert. Only fifty miles away. I would hitchhike, I would suck dick for a ride. Anything to get to Lemmy. But my mom noticed and she called the police and I was picked up by a cop car. That was the first one that stopped when I stack my thumb in the air, ready for anything but that. I will have my revenge on her, for humiliating me like that! And now Lemmy is dead.
But here was that boy. He was wearing a suit. Black blouse, black tie, black pants, black shoes, and he was looking at a black watch through his black sunglasses. His black hair waved in the summer breeze over his pale face, he looked to the left, he looked to the right, he moved closer while he was looking to the right, until he was only fifteen feet away, and then he looked at me, and he smiled. I smiled back. He took off his sunglasses and he said something but Lemmy was singing ‘FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!’ on full volume and I couldn’t hear him so I took out the earphones and I said ‘What?’
‘You were saying something. I saw you say something.’
‘I did say something.’
‘Then what were you saying?’
‘I told you.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Yes, I did. I told you I said nothing.’
It went so fast. I didn’t think about what I was saying. I was a little confused. But in a good way. I liked that confusion. I wanted him to confuse me more.
‘What’s your name?’
‘My name is Samantha, now what’s yours?’
‘Whatever you want.’
‘Alright. I’ll call you Stupirandimo then. You like that?’
‘Fine by me,’ he said, now even closer to me, because with every word that he said, he moved a little closer. But we were still talking loudly, as if we were still fifteen feet away. He looked to the sky for a second, then he looked at me again. And he said the most wonderful thing:
‘I am Stupirandimo! The king of the retarded! The smart tried their best at school and now they are stuck in traffic in slightly more expensive cars. They are so smart that they don’t have to talk about anything but the new show on Netflix, because they already agreed on everything else. They are so smart, they die in hospitals, on every drug except for opium. They are so smart they can thrive in slavery. I guess I’m stupid, because I can’t thrive in slavery. So, I like that. And I want to be the king. Bow for king Stupirandimo! You wanna be my queen? My queen Stupida?’
I laughed. He sat on the grass opposed to me and stuck his hand out. ‘But in all seriousness,’ he said with the least serious face I ever saw, ‘my name is Vincent.’
‘Pleased to meet you Vincent,’ I said and I looked at him a little naughty. In the girl group that I was kind of part of, they were getting hysterical over it. They manically laughed, and they neurotically tapped on their phones. I got a text from Annabel.
´Don´t get sucked into the matrix,′ it said. I showed the text to Vincent and I pointed at Ann, who was sitting in the girl group, with a goofy smile on her stupid face.
‘Can I borrow that?’ Vincent asked and I handed him the phone. He typed very slowly, as if he had never used a phone before. He lit a cigarette while he was typing. I anxiously looked at his slim fingers touching the screen, wondering what it was that was being written on it, one letter at the time. After the cigarette had burned to the filter, and he flicked it away, he hit three more keys and handed the phone back to me.
‘How do you send these things?’ he asked.
I looked at the text he made. ‘PLEASE DIE OF THE MOST PAINFUL HIV RELATED DISEASE YOU CUNT! WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT FASHION? YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE THIS SHIT IS? LOOK AT YOU IN YOUR H&M BULLSHIT. AND WATCH THE MATRIX YOU DUMB PUDDLE OF RAT VOMIT. DO YOU HAVE DOWN SYNDROME? THE PEOPLE IN THE BLACK DRAW YOU OUT OF THE MATRIX! I COULD STILL COUNT YOUR IQ POINTS ON ONE HAND IF I CHOP ALL MY FINGERS OFF!’ I pointed at the button that was send. I looked at him press the button. Then I looked at Ann. Ann looked at her phone. Her goofy smile turned into a frown. Then into a look that was very angry towards Vincent and me. Vincent got up and grabbed his crutch, shaking it up and down in his hand, sticking his tongue out. Ann looked away. Vincent sat back down with me. I saw Ann tap on her phone faster than anyone has ever tapped a phone before.
‘These idiots are entertaining,’ Vincent said and he got a box of pills out of his jacket.
‘What is that?’ I asked.
‘Morphine pills. My father has a bus-load. He wouldn’t miss a hundred.’
‘What do they do?’
‘They do all sorts of things. You want one?’ he asked and he held his palm up with a morphine pill.
‘Is it dangerous?’ I asked.
‘Only if feeling good makes you want to kill yourself,’ he said. I took the pill. I didn’t feel anything.
‘They kick in in about half-an-hour. Quite heavy shit. 50 milligrams.’
‘Can you like, still be at school when that happens?’
‘You can. But you don’t want to be. You wanna get the fuck out of here Sam?’
‘OK Vince,’ I said, and I loved that he called me Sam and I hoped that he also loved that I called him Vince. He was like, the coolest guy I ever saw. Send that to Ann! Nobody sends that to Ann! Ann was rich and she had a college-guy boyfriend. He was in the football-team or something. They did that bullshit football-player/cheerleader thing except for Ann not being able to be a cheerleader cuz she can’t dance for shit and so he dumped her for a girl that actually was a cheerleader.
Vincent climbed over the fence of the school garden, where we can look at plants with name-tags on them.
He was on the other side of the fence looking at me, and he stuck his arms through the bars, providing me a platform to step on. And five seconds later, I was on the other side of the fence too, while all these poor suckers were stuck in that prison.
‘Do you want go to my place?’ Vincent asked.
‘Sure,’ I said. We couldn’t go to mine anyways because my mom was watching television there at this time, at all times actually, except for dinner because that’s family-time in which she can direct her frustration with life towards some image that says something back; me.
‘What were you reading yesterday?’ I asked Vince as I followed his quick steps over the sidewalk.
‘Something about brain surgery.’
‘Why?’ I asked with a kind of repulsive expression that he couldn’t have missed.
‘Because I want to be a brain surgeon.’
‘I like brains.’
‘BRAINS!’ I said, while pretending to be a zombie. ‘I AM VINCENT I LIKE BRAINS! GIVE ME YOUR BRAINS!’
‘It’s why I like you,’ he said, and I looked at him, with my arms still in zombie position, and he took of his sunglasses again and he gave me this look with his bright green eyes and I just forgot to put my arms down. We just stood there.
‘You’re amazing,’ I said.
‘Come on,’ he said and I followed him.
‘Where are you taking me?’
‘To my car.’
‘Why don’t you park at the school?’
‘I’m afraid they’ll touch it.’
Three blocks away, there was a parking lot on which a very shiny, very dark-red Lexus was parked.
‘It doesn’t look that expensive,’ I said.
‘That’s because you’re not looking.’
‘I am looking. You think girls know nothing of cars!’ I said, while I barely knew what a Lexus was and for all I knew this one could cost between five-thousand dollars and fifty-thousand.
‘Here,’ he said. He got inside and he popped the hood. What I saw was very shiny and there were red and chrome elements to it. It looked like a very powerful engine. I looked closer and pretended to know what I was looking at. ‘Interesting...’ I said.
‘Just, you know... the general thing.’
‘Yeah.... the general thing.... get inside you nitwit.’
‘Shut up!’ I said, I was very insulted, mostly because he was right, ‘I know things about cars!’
‘How many cylinders does this one have?’
‘Five,’ I said. I figured it would be somewhere between one and ten so I took the middle road. Apparently, what I said was really stupid because Vincent was laughing behind the wheel. He turned the key and the engine started roaring very loudly, he hit the gas and I thought my eardrums would pop or something. When he let go of the gas, I saw birds fly up.
‘Does that sound like it has only five cylinders sweetie?’
I slammed the hood down. ‘Don’t do that again!’ I said as I got in the car.
‘It’s what you get for talking about shit you know nothing about.’
‘I was just... I just wanted you to feel that I’m interested,’ I said, and I wondered why I was the one that was apologizing… He almost burst my eardrums! Scared the shit out of me! And now I’m apologizing to him? Does that make any sense at all?
‘I understand. You have to pretend an interest. I learned that from William S Burroughs. But you don’t have to pretend an interest with me. It would be pointless anyways because I can look straight through people,’ he said as he was driving the car around the corner.
‘Who is William S Burroughs?’ I asked.
‘A brain-surgeon,’ he said.
He took a CD out of the glove box; a real CD out of a real CD box, like grandpa does, and he stuck it in the stereo and this fucking classical music came out. Some woman was singing all this opera stuff. It was like she had a vibrating egg up her snatch and every time she had to sing really high someone would press the remote button.
I looked at Vincent’s fingers on the steering wheel. They were all being lifted very fast, but one at the time, and every note that was in the opera thing seemed to cause one of his fingers to lift.
‘Is this the only music you listen to?’ I asked.
‘I also like silence.’
‘You don’t like metal?’
‘You like Motörhead?’
‘I don’t have any Motörhead CD’s in my car.’
‘I can just hook my phone up if you have a cable.’
‘I don’t have a phone, so how should I have a cable?’
‘You don’t have a phone?!’ I asked, baffled. The only one I knew that didn’t have a phone was my mom’s great uncle, who had Alzheimer’s.
‘Why is that strange? Is that strange?’
‘I don’t think it’s strange.’
‘But everybody has a phone!’
‘I’m not everybody. Thank god I’m not everybody. It’s hard to be somebody when you’re everybody.’
I looked out of the window and I noticed that Vincent was driving very fast. Strangely enough, I wasn’t frightened by this at all. At no point did it seem that Vincent was losing even the slightest bit of control over his driving. It seemed almost like he knew exactly what everybody else on the road was going to do. I thought about what he just said. What did he just say? And I thought about myself and about the world around me, and him and me in this weird car and he was so strange and said all these strange things and I just couldn’t understand that this was happening all the sudden. I had no idea where this was going to go. Nobody seemed to know this boy. He says nothing to anybody and then he just starts talking to me. I couldn’t understand. Unless... of course... maybe he saw something in me that made me different from everybody and therefore, ″somebody″. And just as I was thinking that, my phone vibrated. I looked at it. It was Ronnie.
‘Hi Sam. Heard that weirdo stole your phone. I’m a black-belt in Karate and I can get it back for you. Just tell me what happened OK :--/’
I read the text out loud to Vincent. He laughed. I laughed too. Then I threw my phone out of the window. He put his hand on my shoulder, pulling me towards him. I looked at the dashboard, with all those meters and lights. There were a lot more meters and lights in this one than there were in my mom’s Spark, who let me drive it only with dad who was never home because he was fucking someone else.
‘Do you have a cigarette?’ I asked Vincent. He took a pack out of his pocket, tapped it and caught two Marlboros with his lips and after lighting them both with one of those lighters that open and close, the expensive ones (this one had a scull on it), he handed one to me.
‘Watch the ash. Ashtray’s in the doors,’ he said with a look on his face that was more serious than any look I had ever seen. And while I looked at that look, my eyelids became heavy and I was seeing black spots. I woke up in his bed.
My head was really heavy. But it felt good. A very good heaviness was over me. I didn’t have a care in the world, and it was like that heaviness was the burden of happiness. It was like heaven. The bed was so soft. I wanted to stay in that bed forever. I didn’t care.
‘You smell that?’ I heard from the corner of the room. It was Vincent, it must have been.
With half-closed eyes, I gazed around, and he was blurry, but I knew it was him. He was such a cute little blur! I smiled. It must have been the dopiest smile ever, but that’s sexy, ‘Smell what?’
‘Cookies. I’m making cookies. Get that sugar up you lightweight!’
‘You’re a lightweight. Worry about it later.’
‘You had morphine remember?’
‘I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous…’
‘Are you in danger then?’
‘I... I hope not.’
‘I hope so for you too,’ he said and he walked out of the room. Everything was brown wood in the room. There was a little desk, and as my vision grew sharper, I could make out a violin and music paper everywhere. I sat up in the bed. He had taken off my shoes and that was all he had taken off. He could have taken off everything. Maybe he knew he didn’t have to.
Once I sat up, that heavy feeling in my head rose but I stayed up, to see what would happen. I could fall, I’m sitting on the softest bed ever!
There was big plate of cookies with raisins in them. He sat on the bed next to me and ate one. I ate one too. Great cookies.
‘Grandma’s old recipe,’ Vincent said.
‘My grandma couldn’t bake anything. It was always burned. But it was a great recipe,’ he said and he stuck another cookie in his mouth. He took his shoes off and lay down. I sat up, eating the cookies, and I looked at him. He didn’t look back. He just stared up at the ceiling.
‘Good morphine pills,’ he said and he closed his eyes. I stroked him through his hair. He did not respond. I got up from the bed with five cookies in my hand. I walked around the dimly lit room. I didn’t want to open the curtains. I felt like the sun would burn me alive if I would. But I could still see all this music paper. I looked at Vincent and I grinned. ‘Who’s the lightweight now?’ I whispered through my teeth.
I decided to give myself a little tour of the house. Everything was large in this house: there was a very large living room, without a television, but a fireplace where you would expect a television to be and a huge piano with a wing. I hit some of the keys but I can’t play piano and I like instruments were you directly touch the strings better anyways. I didn’t see any stairs. The kitchen was easy to find, because I just had to follow that cookie smell. There was a rack of wine, all red, and a big black fridge with two doors and chrome handles. I looked inside. There were jars filled with blood. At least twenty of them. Nothing else. Just jars of blood…
Panicked, I closed the fridge. I walked back into the living room and noticed I was still holding two cookies. I took a bite out of one of the cookies. ‘This is fucking awesome,’ I said to myself with a full mouth, ‘I’m in love with a vampire!’ and I was wondering about his teeth, and if he would bite me, would I become one? What’s the deal with the garlic? Does he live forever? How old is he? A hundred? And wouldn’t it be a little weird for a hundred-year-old to love a sixteen-year-old girl? But then again, I am Sam.
I looked in the book cabinet and every single book (and there were at least a hundred) was about brain surgery. It really creeped me out. I was horny. I walked around some more. I found his bathroom. It was very pink inside. Everything had something pink to it. There was a big tub, black with a pink edge, and even the sink was pink. A pink sink, with a straight, old fashioned razor on it and five watches. No toothbrush. I guessed vampires don’t have to brush.
I had to pee all the sudden and there was no toilet in the bathroom, so I looked for it. In the corridor, a side door showed me a bedroom filled with empty bottles, papers and a desk. I picked one of the papers up. There were all sorts of drawings of brains and numbers on it. It said, ’The slut of the future.′ I put the paper down and I found a study-room, with nothing but a white desk, a laptop, a notebook and a very expensive looking pen. I took a peek in Vincent’s notebook, or someone else’s notebook. I thought it was his. It was full of numbers and formulas, symbols and writings in a strange language that I did not understand. It was a big notebook, leather bound, and it was full of this stuff. I also found drawings of girls. Lots of girls. Naked girls. Some were hurt. Bleeding asses. I closed the book and continued with my toilet quest. I found it, peed, went back to the living room and sat down on the sofa. I needed a smoke.
The toilet was the only normal room in the house. There was nothing remarkable about the toilet. I was glad that there was at least one thing that vampires are not complete weirdos in. Vincent was still lying motionless on the bed. I held my hand in front of his mouth and felt the coldest breath I had ever felt. I reached into his inner pocket and found the smokes. And just as I grabbed them, Vincent grabbed my wrist. He twisted it and I was forced down on the bed within a second.
‘Who are you!’ Vincent screamed.
‘SAM!’ I screamed.
He let go. Then he said: ‘Don’t do that.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I just wanted a cigarette.’
‘OK, here you go. Have a good smoke and chill. There’s also weed in the drawer underneath the books. And don’t go anywhere OK. Toilet is the third one the left. That’s all you need to know. I’ll take you home when I feel like it,’ he said and he lay back down and closed his eyes again. I went to the living room and found the weed. There was a very big bag of it. I wished I could roll. I wanted to take my phone out of my pocket so I could watch a tutorial on YouTube but then I realized that in some crazy fuzz, I thought it would be a good idea to throw that thing out of Vincent’s Lexus. So, I just lit a cigarette and it was great. I just sat there and smoked. I smoked five of them, then I was done smoking. My head wasn’t so heavy anymore and I was wondering where I was. I opened the curtains of the living room and I saw nothing but trees, through a glass double door, leading to a terrace. I walked on the terrace. It was pretty high up. Like Vincent lived in a tree-house or something. I looked over the railing and I saw that his house was built into a cliff, and that you had to walk up some wooden stairs to the terrace in order to enter the house. I thought it was amazing. I saw a bird. But no life other than a bird. And then I got scared.
There were no phones, I was sixteen, alone with a vampire in the middle of nowhere. Great goings Sam. Great goings… Am I just the stupid girl in the opening scene of every Halloween movie? Is it just that he wants my blood? Do I have good blood? I could have made a run for it. Maybe I should have. But I didn’t.
I sat by the little coffee table on a bamboo woven chair and I just let that sunshine in. I was bored. I wasn’t very interested in reading about brain surgery or looking at mutilated girl drawings. I was kind of alarmed. Who draws that? Why do you draw that? And the more I thought about it, the more I kind of wanted to see them again. But now Vince had told me not to and I didn’t know what he would do if he would find out. Maybe he’d have to kill me if he would know I know. I figured I should just wait until he starts about it. Let him come out of the vampire closed. I took of my top and my bra, I took of everything and I lay down on my clothes on the wood, to get a nice little tan. I figured that if Vincent wanted to kill me, he would have done that already unless he likes to play with the pray. I am a playful pray. I started singing a song about it: ‘Playful pray, playful pray, why don’t you play with your playful pray...’ it sounded pretty good. I thought about becoming a singer. I thought about becoming famous. I thought about money. My song was great. I play the guitar so it would work out great if I would start singing.
‘Nice song,’ I heard a yawning voice say and I smelled some very strong marijuana. It was different from the stuff they sometimes smoked at parties I’d been to. I didn’t really like the parties but I did like the weed. And he handed it to me. I took a drag and coughed very hard. Vincent laughed. It’s like he’s always laughing at me! I wanted to kill him. I felt light in the head. It was like I was sinking. I gave him back the joint. ‘Why don’t we compose a little violin and piano part for that song of yours Sam?’ Vincent asked, ‘my dad and me are pretty good.’
‘Not now,’ I said after I put my bra over my eyes to block the sun.
‘Nice tits too,’ Vince said, ‘I can compose a piano piece for your tits too. I play a good bouncy piano.’
‘Is that the best you can come up with?’
‘I figured it was good enough.’
‘It’s not,’ I said and I lifted my bra so I could look at him. I was scared to death. His hard dick was hanging over my eyes.
‘I doesn’t bite,’ Vince said.
‘But maybe I do,’ I said and I bit on my teeth. Fearsome Sam. Then I kissed his dick. He had a big dick. You look at him and you don’t expect a big dick. And it was so pale. So big and pale. I gave it another kiss. Then I gave it a lick. And then he pushed my head down on the sweater I was lying on, and he forced that entire thing down my throat. I had tears in my eyes.
‘It gets better with practice,’ Vince said. I couldn’t say or do anything. And I didn’t want to bite. I felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t breathe. And then he took it out of there. I took a deep breath. Just one fucking breath. And then he stuck that thing back in there. Up and down, more rapid and rapid. More and more tears in my eyes. I couldn’t take it anymore. And just when I was on the verge of trying to push him away, of breaking the paralyzes I seemed to have, he slowly moved his dick out of my mouth, and I thought it was over, but then he did it again, for five times, and suddenly there was his face, very close to my face and he held my lips between his thumb and index finger and he said: ‘We haven’t even kissed. And you gotta chew a bit on a sport-life before I’m going to,’ and then he sat over my belly, jerked of and came all over my tits. He was smearing the sperm over my tits. I let him. I laughed. I wanted to kiss him. I was angry that he didn’t want to kiss me. It was his own dick! And now that dick was being squeezed empty and being rubbed clean with my nipples. It sure was something.
‘Kiss me you asshole!’ I said. His response to that was holding a pack of sport-life extra strong in front of me. And I couldn’t believe it. Am I not Sam? I took one goddamn it! I took one...
‘Come on, let’s take a shower,’ he said and he stuck his hand out to me. He pulled me up from the ground. He saw everything. I only saw his dick and balls. He was walking with me to the bathroom with his hand over my shoulder. With his other hand he loosened his tie.
‘You’re the sweetest thing Sammie,’ he said. I didn’t like that he called me Sammie. I wanted him to call me Sam.
‘I think Dracula is the one that’s supposed to suck Vince,’ I said. I didn’t know what came over me. He lifted up my naked body by the waist and pushed me against the wall with incredible force.
‘What the fuck did you just say?!’
‘It was just a joke Vince...’ I whispered in complete terror.
He moved his pale face close to mine, looked at me with this piercing glance of greenery and I shriveled.
‘It’s no joke,’ he said, ‘a joke is supposed to be funny.’
Am I Sam? I wondered for a second. Am I still Sam? And I decided that I was still Sam. Sam I am. And therefore, I said: ‘It is pretty fucking funny Vince. Don’t you get it?’
He put me down and he kissed me. ‘I love you,’ he said.