Confessions of A Dead Girl - Ch 2

Dear Diary,

I woke up a brand new girl.

He left me in a dark, cold parking garage, covered in my blood and his; left me with no memory of what had happened, not knowing what I was. I could barely stand, but I pulled myself into my car and somehow, my shaking hands managed to get the keys into the ignition. Even with the fear and the massive chunks of my memory missing, instinct told me one thing: I could NOT go home. I couldn't stumble back into my parent's house, covered in nothing but a man's button-down and blood. I had to figure this out myself. I still had my wallet; I hadn't been robbed. I still had plenty of cash ... I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to think. Did I have more cash than I had last night? Was that even possible?

I pulled on the turn-pike and headed for New Jersey. I didn't know it then, Diary, but I was about to find my calling.


I slammed the door to the filthy, second-story motel room, and sank onto the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest, and .. Diary, it was like I was sobbing - but no tears fell from my eyes. I raced to the bathroom, frantic. What had I taken last night? Why did walking in the sun feel like my body had been stuck in a deep fryer? What kind of drug could possibly dry up the tears in my body? I didn't know that my body could no longer produce tears, because I didn't know that I was dead.

"I must be dehydrated!' Was what I finally thought to myself. I drank and drank and drank from the filthy faucet, not realizing how [i]thirsty[/i] I was until the first drop of cool, sweet water passed my lips. I drank until I thought I'd suffocate - or drown. When I finally stopped, it was as if the entire world stopped with me, just for a brief second.

I stared at myself in the mirror - and almost didn't recognize the girl I saw staring back at me. Sure, she resembled me ... but it was like I was staring into a stranger's eyes. My skin was different.. pale, almost translucent. My eyes were lighter, a bright blue ring surrounded by almost white - rather than the gray they'd been the morning before. 'Who was I? What had happened? What was I becoming?' I kept asking questions you never think you'll ever have to ask yourself.



And then it started.

I didn't know it then, but as the sun went down that evening, by body had transformed into something that no longer survived on air and food and water. I fell to the ground, my face pressed against the cold, dirty tile (Something the old Alivia would have never done) and for a moment, let myself relax. And that's when it hit me - the stench. I gagged instinctively before I realized that it wasn't exactly nauseating... in fact, I knew exactly what it was. Death. I guess that's the thing about Vampire DNA. Humans have survival instinct, sure... But in those first few days, I realized that we come with a LOT more ingrained knowledge pumping through our blood. There was death in the motel room below me, but I could tell you more than that... it was a recent death, no more than a few hours old.

This was where Alivia 1.0 would have flipped. She would have ran screaming into the night, called the cops, climbed in her pretty canopy bed at her mommy and daddy's house, snuggled in under her pink blanket... Maybe even busted out her old My Little Pony Night-light... she would have tried to convince herself that the past 24 hours were all just a bad dream. Woken up and eaten waffles and watched Tyra with her mom. But, that girl was dead, Diary. Nope. Little Alivia just didn't exist anymore... And this Alivia was curious.

It's still a little hard to explain why I did what I did, not knowing what I know now... but in that moment, I felt no fear. I moved on animal instinct, cat-like curiosity... only somehow without even knowing WHAT I was, I knew that this kitty would not fall victim to it's own curiosity. I stalked down the stairs, barely aware that my feet made no sound, barely aware of the speed I possessed. I crept to the door. Instinct running on overdrive, I pressed my ear against the almost rotting wood and peeling paint. I knew what I was listening for, the slow, rhythmic thu-thump, thu-thump I'd heard from the clerk at the check in desk. I heard nothing, only smelled the stench of not even day-old death. The door was locked, but I forced it open, barely surprised to hear the deadbolt snap. I still think Fate was leading me, diary. Showing me my calling. Running my body, while I was just along for the ride.

The smell got worse as I opened the door... he hadn't even tried to conceal her. There she was, blonde and pretty ... at least, I'm sure she was pretty before what he had done to her. Had I been human, bile would have rose in my throat. I might have been sick. But I was hot with anger. Rage filled me, diary. Warmed my blood like sweet sunshine on a hot summer day. Somehow my body knew what it was - knew that it liked blood, but not hers. Not THAT blood. The beast inside me, the beast that I now know is me, wanted her killer. For a moment I mourned for her... she was a kindred spirit, in a way. Both of us ripped from our lives against our will. I still wonder from time to time who got the raw end of the deal, but in that moment, I was more angry for her than for myself. And that base, vampire instinct showed me exactly what to do. He'd be back. And I'd be waiting.



I smelled him before I heard his footsteps on the sidewalk... Dirt and sweat and fear and blood. I can't even explain it, Diary... but that scent of tainted, evil blood... it was like smelling Grandma's fried chicken or fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies, only I never wanted to rip out the chicken's throat with my teeth.

I was at the door, yanking him in by his collar before he could even open his mouth to scream for help. I stared into his wide, frightened blue eyes, wondering briefly if this monster had ever been frightened before... the thought made me smile a smile I'd never worn before, never knew I was capable of. What sweet irony - this man who'd tortured and killed that poor, pretty little girl was to meet his death at the hands of another poor, pretty little dead girl.

"This is for her," I whispered sweetly as I sank my fangs into the sweaty flesh of his neck. He fought at first, jerking, trying to overpower me, but it was useless. He was no match for my strength... and he was no match for my wrath.



I'll admit, Diary. My first kill was a little sloppy - I mean, I just left him laying in the motel floor. I stepped over his dead, bloody body and headed back to my room for a shower before heading south to Boston. And Diary? I didn't feel one twinge of regret. The old Alivia is gone - and this Alivia? Alivia 2.0? I avenged her death - just like I'll avenge my own.

The Lady is a Vamp

Confessions of a Dead Girl

[[ Vivacious Vamps - Assignment one - The story how how you were turned. ]]

Dear Diary,
I'm a vampire. I have no idea how this happened. I have no idea how this COULD have happened. Saturday was my birthday. I was alive, diary. It was my eightenth birthday and the world was big and full of possibility. Katelyn has snagged one of her older sister's friends ID's (who just so happens to look like me), and she and Mel were determined to sneak me into Club Seven. I had been DYING to go there, diary. It was one of the few clubs in Manhattan I had never managed to get into.
I spent all day getting ready - a silly little girl, fussing over my hair and makeup, trying desperately to look older. I spent hours obsessing over what shoes to wear with what dress, what bag I would carry, should I wear pink or black or silver or - it all seems so pointless now. Had I known it was the last day I'd be alive - truly alive - I'd have spent them doing something meaningful. If I'd known it was the last birthday where I'd get older in more than ceremony, I'd have spent more time thanking my mom for the beautiful pink cake rather than rushing to blow out the candles so I could shove down a few bites and get out the door. Had I known my heart would never beat again, I would have savored the love pouring through our brightly lit yellow kitchen... but I didn't. Because I didn't know it was the night I was going to die.


The bouncer barely glanced at my ID as he stepped aside and ushered us in. I stifled the urge to jump up and down and thrust my fist into the air in triumph. I GOT IN. Mel shot me a victorious glance as she pushed her blonde hair out of her face. The night was magic, pulsing all around me as I drank and danced, and drank and danced some more. The music throbbed in the dimly lit brick building. Looking back, that club was nothing special. Brick walls, dirty concrete floors, loud music - a bar just like any other bar. But I'd been turned away at the door so many times that those bricks could have been made of pure gold, the shot glasses exquisite diamonds.

I don't even know what time it was. All I remember is that I was craving a cigarette and fresh air like a drug. I don't know why I didn't ask one of my friends to go with me. I don't know why I stepped into that dark, dirty, New York City back alley by myself. But I did - a stupid girl making stupid decisions.
I leaned against the exterior brick, breathing in deep breaths and enjoying my cigarette; the dull, bass hum of the music from inside lulling me into a deep state of calm. I should have went back inside. I've replayed that memory in my head so many times that the edges are worn down, each and every time cursing myself for pulling out that second cigarette.


That's where everything get's fuzzy - like a part of my memory has been erased. Psychologists say the brain shuts down in order to protect us from things we'd be better off not remembering. Trust me, I'd be better off remembering. I can't say the same for him.

I don't know what he looks like. He was blonde. And beautiful. But it stops there. I know nothing else of him. I have vague memories, bits and pieces more like out of focus snapshots or split-second freeze frames.

I remember the concrete walls of his loft. The wet floors littered with trash and beer bottles. The blood-stained mattress where I died. His wrist in my mouth. My blood and his. Laying there in a dazed stupor, content to feel nothing for the rest of my life than the high that was his blood.



Then I woke up in the parking garage remembering NOTHING. My jaws hurt with a pressure I'd never felt before - throbbing, searing pain above my canine teeth, like something was trying to claw it's was out of my gum line. It was, but I didn't know that at the time.

Slowly, week by week, month by month, I'm piecing these snapshots together... and when I remember his face, I can promise one thing, diary. He'll meet the true death.