This Is What Cursed Feels Like

What’s messed up is nobody even asked where my mom went after them niggas came and took her body away.

She was just another ghetto superstar raising a boy who wouldn’t stay his ass out of trouble.

She was a good woman.

Like really good.

Delicious in fact.

What?

Look, you were warned.

I’m not proud of it. Shit in my life was changing so much, so fast, I didn’t even have time to really live with what happened yet.

You know what I don’t like?

Getting in a car first.

Seriously, the shit is so final. Kinda chilling.

The solid chunky thump of a brand new car door closing.

The pressure difference.

Noticing the world was more silent inside for a moment before someone else joined you.

Both of them got in, but the sedan barely moved, informing me how expensive it was without even looking at the manufacturer’s brand.

I felt the blunting silver caps on my biters again, mouth open wide, toying with them with my tongue again.

Feeling that overwhelming urge to chew.

An urge I’d be stuck with for the rest of my life now that I was livestock.

Kinda felt like constantly having the munchies.

If you smoke, then you know.

You don’t even be that hungry. You just want to chew textures. Feel them get smashed in the back of your jaw while your brain hyper-fixates on flavors.

As a vampire, though...?

“So you went and ate some fuckers, huh?” The driver said.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that, man,” I said.

And for the first time, I felt a flash of guilt.

My mom’s face. All she ever tried to do was keep my ass alive.

Mission accomplished, I guess.

“You bite people illegally, you get demoted from hemavore to carnivore in case you’re wondering. Only drop of blood your ass is gonna get from now on will come out of a straw.”

You don’t understand how rough that is.

Imagine somebody telling you all of your favorite foods would only come in pill form for the rest of your life.

“How long is that supposed to go on?” I asked.

“How long you got?” The guy in the passenger seat said, and both of them laughed.

Fuck.

“Why do you look high right now?” The driver asked, but I got his meaning.

Everybody said that.

I look disinterested all the time.

“I’m not excited,” I shrugged.

“Maybe you’re in shock or something,” the passenger said.

“What’s your name, man?” I asked him.

“Cutter. Just call me Cutter.”

I frowned, “Cutter? The fuck kinda name is Cutter?”

“When you step out of line, you’ll find out,” he said, looking back at me.

As big as he was, I didn’t doubt him.

“So who's supposed to give me my straw full of blood?” I asked, turning my head to look out of the window.

Detroit was going by out there. And not the good parts.

Graffiti on walls. Niggas standing around looking like they were waiting to die...

Shorties in yoga pants cussin’ niggas out on cellphones.

It always amazed me how Grosse Pointe Wall was like the Berlin Wall, where I came from. Not quite as high stakes, sure, but... We all knew what it meant.

Nobody had to say it out loud, really.

“Your Sponsor,” Cutter said.

“Sponsor...? Like one of them fuckin’ group meetings?” I asked.

“No. The person who paid to clean up your mess. Lucky for you, the mailman was single, no kids.”

I blew at least a small sigh of relief for that.

I was all my momma had. She was all I had. The mailman, while tragic, was solo-dolo.

“What about the college kids...?”

“Don’t ask,” the driver said, turning us onto Jefferson.

“Anybody ever want to know if they live in the ghetto, just ask yourself one question,” I said.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Cutter asked.

“Does anybody ever come to mow the grass in the median?”

They both laughed, but I didn’t.

“That’s fucked up, kid,” the driver said.

Kid. I noted that.

“I guess that’s me forever now, huh?”

“What, kid?” The driver asked, looking in the rear-view mirror at me.

“Yeah,”

“Nah. You’ll get older eventually. Near as anybody can tell, Vampires all kinda top out around twenty-five to thirty... just takes a while to get there. Kid though? Everybody’s just been calling you Baby.”

“Baby...? Come on, man. My name is Loxadante. What’s yours?”

“Bud.”

“... You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“Nope.”

“Bud and Cutter...? Nigga c-... Alright,” I rolled my eyes and sat back in my seat, looking out of the window again.

“Like I said, my name is Loxadante,” I took a deep breath.

“No. Your Sponsor said your name is Baby.”

“Why?” I said, tearing my face up with a criminally huge dose of confusion.

“Because you’re the youngest vampire on the menu in... I dunno, six... seven-hundred years?” Cutter said.

“... Wait, you niggas are okay with the word Baby being on the menu?”

Cutter shrugged with his mouth.

“Fair criticism, Baby Boy.”

More of Detroit went by outside, and I thought about that.

And how fucked up it was you could just take a ride past Grosse Pointe and meet niggas that say garbanzo beans instead of chickpeas.

The fuck is a Garbanzo bean?

Whole different language. Whole different tax bracket.

Jefferson went on a ways and we turned eventually. Into the Eastern Market.

I knew right away when I saw all the people and cars around. I tried to reorder the events in my mind that had become my life in the last few days, but couldn’t as we pulled into the parking lot next to the big brick shed held up by metal pillars.

Look it up, nigga.

Shit was surreal, though. That moment. I’d been here a bunch of times before, but never while I could smell people through the glass.

You ever been really hungry and walked into a Chinese buffet?

Then there was the cognitive dissonance of what I knew now about the world versus what I thought before.

Yeah. We even think about cognitive dissonance in the hood.

You’d be surprised how much you and your local ghetto superstar have in common.

You never realize how destabilizing it is to go from worrying about niggas leaving crack pipes in front of your door to...

Realizing you were the crackpipe.

“What’s up, Naruto,” Bud said, noticing my silence, “You’re quieter than usual. Not like you’re not doing better than most, right? Most of you ghetto fucks just get arrested, eat everybody in your cell, and then get put down by The Black Ministry.”

“The Black who...? I don’t go to church.”

“Not like that.” Cutter cut in.

Apropos.

Yeah nigga. I know words like apropos, too.

“Obviously,” I said, staring blankly at Cutter, “I mean, what’s that?”

“The Black Ministry?” Cutter asked.

“Why you ask my same question back to me?”

“The Black Ministry is... I dunno. It’s hard to explain.” Bud said.

“Try me.”

“Alright, think like... Chaebol. Yakuza. Mafia. They’re not just families. They’re the families.”

“I understood that very well, thanks. Why couldn’t you just say The Godfather?”

“I keep telling him to just say The Godfather,” Cutter gestured with a hand before grabbing his phone out of his jacket as it rang.

“He does say that,” Bud nodded.

“This is Cutter...” He said, answering his phone, “Yeah... uh-huh... No, we got him. Quiet little fucker, talks a lot just real low? Yeah. Really? Can I beat him up? ... I dunno, he’s got a punchable face. I don’t really like him.”

I stared at Cutter.

He looked back at me and lifted a hand.

“Not you, kid. — Huh? No, he thought I was talking about him... It’s a human thing. He’ll get over it.” Cutter kept talking on the phone like neither of us were in the car with him.

“You realize we can hear you, right?” I said.

Cutter shushed me.

“Yeah,” He went on into the phone, “I do wanna hurt that fuck. What? He’s a Blossom? Fuck. That’s where we’re headed with this one. Yeah, we can do Le Madame’s tonight... We're getting an invite to the Parade...? Nice.”

He hung up and looked back at me, “I thought you were quiet.”

“Can we not do the thing where you guys bully me all the way there?” I asked.

“Or what, El Niño?”

This was vampire culture, I guessed.

Petty. A little vindictive. Condescending...

The worst kind of caste system you can imagine, basically, and I managed to end up at the bottom of it.

“El N... El Niño...” I nodded, “El Niño. Cool. Listen, what’s up with me and ending up on the shit side of bell curves?”

“Real life, The Loxadante Lee story. Least you won’t die a loser piece of shit like you lived,” Cutter said while still swiping on his phone.

He said it like it was honestly a compliment.

“Being food for a hundred years is better?” I asked.

“Than the alternative?”

“Point taken,” I nodded.

If you got turned by old, royal blood, you were somebody. If you got turned by a just-old-enough, Blood Addict who ran out of money and decided to go hunt the uncivilized way, you were trash to the upper class.

If you got turned young, and it happened?

You were me.

Really, really delicious trash. High-class nourishment.

About the equivalent of getting lunch at that pretentious health food store. Only much more flavorful and much more expensive.

I curled my lip, rolling my eyes as I looked back out of the window at the market.

“The Little Vampire’s in a mood,” Bud said.

I didn’t say anything back.

“So it’s like that. Nice to meet you, fellas. What do you guys even do, man?” I asked, watching him find us a place to park.

Slowly.

People kept walking in front of the car like they didn’t care we were in it.

“Omertà. When some asshole breaks the rules and turns a kid, they do it because young blood is sweet. But that’s forbidden. It’s against Omertà.”

“What’s Omertà?”

“The law is Omertà,” Cutter explained, “vampire ten commandments. Sort of. Longer. More defined, but... Thousands of years of fear nailed into every one of our coffins via public executions for those that break it. We’re agents of The Black Ministry. Upholders of Omertà.”

“So it’s laws?” I asked, tilting my head.

“More,” Bud said, “Laws. A way of life. The religion. All is Omertà in our world. And we keep it...”

“Vampire Bushido,” I nodded. “Guess there is honor among thieves.”

“Otherwise, there are warlords and savagery. We did that for a while, if you recall,” Cutter reminded me.

“What’s a vampire story without the dark ages, huh? So what else is real?” I asked.

Bud and Cutter looked at each other and smiled.

“Kid... one thing at a time,” Cutter chuckled.

“Young blood is forbidden blood. It’s a tragedy what happened to you. Normally, Omertà says you wait until they’re at least thirty. Til you’ve had a life to take. An honorable hunt. The person who turned you is... twisted. Let’s say. However cool you might think it is, eighteen is fine for a human. They die quickly. For us? Eternity is a lot to put on somebody.”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard in my life,” I said. “I mean, I get it... not that I’m defending the devil here. But where’s the line? Eighteen is legal, so what... thirty is better? Why? So I can miss my life more? Why not make thirty the law then, instead of a suggestion?”

“It doesn’t align with the human world. Where most of us come from,” Bud pointed out. “Anyway, look, I’m not here to debate vampiric law with you. Normally, they kill you jailbait neck-kissers because half of you go crazy before you’ve gotten your first bitter venom.”

“But,” Cutter pointed out, “You got other shit goin’ on that makes the circumstances a little different. You ate people. We can’t torch you til we know why. Unfortunately...” Cutter said as if the word had two meanings.

“Unfortunately, you can’t kill me?”

He nodded, “Because the Ministry has questions about your appetite and because of your age. I suspect there’s some pity in that. Or at least a huge part of it. We age in galactic alliances, kid. And for that, I’m sorry,” he said, with real sympathy in his voice.

The reality of it hit hard in that moment. Everybody wanted to be young forever, but what they meant was...

They wanted to be a young adult forever.

I was in for a life of scrutiny, underestimation, and one really, really long journey to getting my first bitter venom.

“I’m guessing bitter venom is when I stop being food?” I asked finally as Bud started to open his car door.

“Yeah, kid,” Cutter nodded, opening his own.

“Does that mean I wait even longer?” I asked, sitting still in the car.

Bud came around to my door and popped it open.

“I think you might be food for a long time,” he carefully explained.

As if that was my new reality.

Damn.

I remembered the ecstasy on the faces of the people I bit.

I remembered the agony I felt when I got bit. The unbelievable, ever-increasing pain of young adult vampire venom.

And realizing every bite I would ever feel would hurt unimaginably for god knows how many hundreds of years.

The fucked up truth of what that meant sobered my speech.

“So I’m... what? My Sponsor’s drug of choice?”

I stepped out of the car as I delivered that question.

Bud just sorta nodded as he and Cutter met at the front of the car, and I followed.

I looked around at them all.

People.

The luxurious ones who didn’t realize vampires had built entire industries around keeping them safe. I watched them walk around, enjoying a day out shopping and eating together.

And I was apparently just a small cog in it.

“It’s Omertà,” Cutter said, “If not for that... all of these people would be hunted.”

I nodded and joined them, falling in step behind them as we headed towards the brick canopy of the Market.

Every step hammering home my place.

I existed so others didn’t have to suffer.

No one knew God’s plan.

Whatever that plan was, it seemed like it always had me in mind last.

If God’s plan is expressed in bell curves, that meant someone like me had to suffer.

Someone had to be the food so their days could shine.

That’s cold-blooded, really.

But it’s life.

I followed. Numb. Not really noticing or hearing anything.

Bud and Cutter talked; I just floated in my own reality. Feeling the dread in my stomach.

I’m like pixie sticks to these fuckers.

Basically forever.

Hawaiian Punch to my peers.

On top of that, at least a few hundred before I stopped looking like I should be studying for a placement exam in college.

“God damn you smell good,” Bud said ahead of me.

“I was just gonna say the same thing. Swear to God, Man,” Cutter nodded as they chuckled.

“It’s like being trapped in the car with a box of hot chicken nuggets,” Bud replied jovially.

Like my life hadn’t just ended a few days ago.

I blew a sigh. “Where are we going?”

“Just up ahead, we’ve got a rigged door,” he pointed.

“Rocky’s?” I said, curling my lip in confusion. “Rocky’s is a vampire spot? Shut up.”

“No, just stay close, we’re going to go through together.”

I wanted to ask so many questions. I really did.

I looked around to see Shed 2 around me. Cars semi-stuffed into the parking lot with us as we started marching towards the cross street.

I felt Bud’s hand leave my neck as he walked ahead, still feeling my thoughts wander. My mind kind of a loose string of ideas.

That’s when I heard it.

Screeching brakes. Rubber ripping itself apart.

I jumped hard and staggered away, stumbling back and into Bud, who was already pulling me clear.

To my right as we crossed the street was the unmistakable metal grill of a box truck.

“Hey! Kid, what the hell!” Bud snarked.

“Oh, my fault. Man, damn! Why you pullin’ me so hard?!” I yelled back, “The hell are you yankin’ me like that for?”

The driver of the truck snatched his door open and popped out with the heat.

“Hey, you stupid little punk fuckin’ kid! What the hell was that!?” He roared.

I looked over to see the logo on the side of his truck.

Trúc-Kun Fish Market.

“What do you mean, man!? You see three people crossin’ the fuckin’ street, you don’t even stop!?” I yelled back, but Cutter put his hand on my chest to stop me from advancing.

“Hey, fuck you, they were already passed, you were takin’ your time walkin’ at a god damn glacial pace! I got a job to do!” The driver yelled, gesturing furiously.

“So you run over people!?-..” I yelled, but Cutter interrupted.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He snapped, and we all went silent, “Sir, you good?”

“Yeah, I’m just sayin’.” The driver started.

“Ey- ey! You good? Good. You good?” Cutter asked me.

“I’m good.”

“Good. Let’s go. Sorry, my friend walks slow,” Cutter lifted, and the driver waved us off with both hands.

That old guy double-hand wave thing.

The fuck?

Cutter snatched me up by my cardigan lapels, and my eyes went wide, staring at him.

“Do you realize how important it is to keep our world a secret, Baby? Do you lack the ability to read the room?”

“N...nah, man, I get it, I was j-...”

“Just exploding. Right... that’s what you do, isn't it?” He smiled. “... Lemme tell you something... You wanna learn not to do that in the world you’re walking into. The vampiric world is very subtle. It’s quiet. Dangerous... you understand?” He let me go.

Slowly.

I noticed only then, as he straightened my clothes, that my pulse was thundering.

These guys were vampires.

Omertà in everything they do. Which meant they were around long enough and lived long enough to respect it.

I nodded my head curtly and turned, headed towards the door as Trúc-Kun Fish Market carried on its delivery.

“You almost got hit by a truck, kid,” Bud chuckled, pulling out a wooden beaded trinket.

When he did, the world in front of us shifted.

I don’t know what else to call it.

But after it did, the door to Rocky’s was an opulent, pearly set of double doors that Cutter pushed open wide.

Into the strangest thing I’d ever seen in Detroit.

“... Bro, that’s a castle.”

“Yeah. Blossom Manor.”

In front of me, the doorway led to a pathway of white brick and stone, arching over what had to be a small body of water. Up ahead, the path led onto the grounds of a rustic castle.

Everything about it was gothic except it had warm wood throughout, blending with the stone and metal work. The entire circle of the grounds was encased in a close ring of rustic trees with that white stone at its foundation.

Bud nudged me through the door with a swift hand.

“Hey!” I went tumbling onto the white stone.

Damn.

Even in the vampiric world, I was a loser with a shitty job.

Pushing up onto my knees and looking at the inevitable in front of me, I realized this was it.

This was my welcome to the real world moment.

I’m dinner.

No waifus. No glory. No superpowers.

Happy Meals don’t have happy endings.

This is what cursed feels like.