PROLOGUE
My name is Meredith Benchley and I am a monster. Before you assume that I'm some average fourteen year old freak, allow me to explain. In order to survive, like my ancestors before me, I have to drink blood. Now that you've carved an image of a Transylvanian nightmare in your mind, let me once again shatter your expectations. Unlike Dracula or Nos Faratu, I don't have any fangs or powers of metamorphosis. I'm not trying to say I'm normal; far from it. I'm a lacto vegetarian, I have hemophobia, and I'm very suspicious. That's right. I'm a vegetarian vampire with a fear of blood.
By now, I'm sure you've decided that my story is too contradictory to be possible। So I'll try again to insert some sliver of sense into your tiny mind. Hemophobia, the fear of blood, can describe a variety of conditions; in my case, I only fear my own blood. Unlike hamburgers or chicken wings, consuming blood does not have to be associated with death. I hate the taste and smell of the stuff, but I take what I need without endangering any living creatures. Another stereotype I am about to destroy is your vision of me prowling on strangers in the middle of the night. The consequences of uninformed consumption are as bad as the modern risk of STD's. Rather than come home with HIV or a protein reaction, most of us choose to engage in monogamous drinking relationships.
My mom, ironically, has chosen, "Blood is the thickest bond", for her repetitive inspirational slogan। Before I was born, she selected a blood donor for me: one with the right proteins and no family history of relevant diseases. My dad was her blood donor (and still is) and she insists that those of us bound by blood must stick together. This is the reason I can't have a normal relationship. I'm never allowed to hang out with friends, and I have to take my donor everywhere I go, as if he were insulin and I were diabetic. If the strongest relationships are built on blood, like my mom says, then relationships must be pretty crappy in general.
My blood donor is Will Krasinski। He's two years older than me and is my dad's friend's son. His mom walked out on him and his dad travels a lot. Seeing an opportunity to feed their newborn child, my parents agreed to care for him. His bedroom is on the first floor of my house, right below my room. I sometimes hear him snore through the air ducts. Until last year, he resented me; after all, I suppose his life is as suppressed as mine. Recently, though, he won't leave me alone. He always wans to know what I'm doing or how I'm feeling or if I need a swig. I hate that my stupid body needs his blood. I hate that no matter what I think of him, I'm forced to take his plasma into me. Most of all, I hate that he thinks it makes him special.
One night I sit on the roof of my parents' two-story Spanish-styled house। I haven't drank from Will since morning in an act of defiance, and I feel faint. Although I don't need much, my stomach pushes for regular indulgence in its sick pleasure. Will climbs out of the attic dormer window and joins me. I glare. "I'm sorry", he says.
"For what?" I ask.
"Because you're mad at me", he says repentantly.
"You're an idiot!" I shout. I feel like no one seems to believe that I have a brain, that I'm not a ball of primal emotion to be contained with empty apologies. If anyone is lacking in gray matter, it's Will. He can't even remember why I'm mad. He isn't sorry at all; he just wants to manipulate me into drinking.
"Mer", he says softly, "I can't be what you want." He pauses. "But I have what you need." I'm furious. He must really think that his stupid glucose warrants my compassion.
"Are you-", but I am stopped short. He's already pierced his fingertip with a needle and slid it into my cheek. His blood tastes like sewage to me, but my tongue savors the nourishment that my body so desperately needs. He pricks himself again and I drink, willingly this time. Fully rejuvenated, my muscles become alert and I shove his hand away and dash into the house. He follows me at first, but I am soon alone in my room. I dive onto my bed and cry, blood still fresh on my lips. More than Will, I hate myself. Now that I've begun my story, I'm sure you hate me too.
i345.photobucket.com/albums/p400/ChiyoHime/KoKoRoNGiHeart-1.png]blue]coral]navy](](],]]]black],]3]1]2]2]1]1]3]1]2]3]1]1],](](]^23EB0C7F])])]KoKoRoNGi]The^20Story^20of^20a^20Vegetarian^20Hemophobic^20Vampire],](],](](]^23FFF017](](](]^23FFFFFF](](](]^234CFF34](](],](]77]20],](](]^23EB0C7F])])]^234CFF34]1.5]5],](](]^23EB0C7F])])]^234CFF34]^23CCC])])]^23666]30]black]black],](](]^23333](],](]^23333]^23039]^2306C],](](]^234CFF34])])],](](]^23FFED7D])])],](](]^234CFF34])])],](]black]^23666]15]3]25]20]^23FFFFFF],](](],](],](](],](]^23FFFFFF](](](],](](](],]^23F30606](](](],](](]^23333333](](](](](],]^2336F]^23333333](],](]Written^20at^20^24TIME^20by^20^24AUTH.]20],](](]^234CFF34])])]^23FFED7D])])]^23666]30]^234CFF34]^23F30606],](](]^23F30606](],](]^23F30606]^23039]^2306C]Site^20Nav]]]Home]^24HOME]First^20Page]Email]^24EMAIL]Mail^20me^21]RSS]^24RSS]RSS^20Feed]Chapter^20Nav]]]^24ARCHIVE]^20]]Friends]]]Horm])blog.horm.org]Hallucinations^20Of^20Reabsorbed^20Mind]Phorm])p.horm.org]Another^20Phormation]Thanks^21]]]^3Cimg^20src^3D^22)psyc.horm.org/barimg/bar_psycho.png^22^20width^3D^2280^22^20height^3D^2215^22^20alt^3D^22PsycHo^3A^20Free^20Template^20Generator^22^20style^3D^22border^3A^200px^20solid^20black^22^20/^3E]^24PSYCHO]PsycHo^3A^20Free^20Template^20Generator]^3Cimg^20src^3D^22)psyc.horm.org/barimg/bar_xhtml.png^22^20width^3D^2280^22^20height^3D^2215^22^20alt^3D^22XHTML^20Validator^22^20style^3D^22border^3A^200px^20solid^20black^22^20/^3E])validator.w3.org/check/referer]XHTML^20Validator^26^2361470^3BPsycHo}){kind=small}
