It was another night in Jett's apartment, he was lounging around, killing time at a desk in his bedroom until his scheduled sleep time.
'Damn, another night of gaming. It gets old sometimes, maybe I should touch some grass,' he thought wistfully.
Without so much as a sound, a sudden alertness comes over him. The hairs on his back stood up, his sixth sense—if he had one, was telling him that he was being watched.
His eyes widened.
'I heard my window open.'
He quickly looked over his shoulder, and saw a shadow being cast from his bedroom window. A cold chill ran down his spine, he quickly dives behind his bed—waiting to see if the stranger, or animal would simply leave after entering his bedroom.
He had left his phone by the window, so he was unable to grab it and call for help. He also could not make out the form of the figure, since his eyesight was absolutely atrocious. Being nearsighted was was a pain sometimes, he still couldn't find his glasses anywhere.
The shadow of a figure resolved itself into a definite shape, which his eyesight still couldn't discern the details of. There was no sound of forced entry, no shattering glass or splintering wood either.
Instead, he had only heard when the window slid open with preternatural quietness, it was an almost imperceptible slide over the frantic thumping of Jett's own heart.
A figure slipped through the opening, landing on the cheap floorboards lightly.
It was a young woman.
Her pale white hair seemed to absorb the dim light filtering in from the streetlights outside, contrasting sharply with her dark clothing. A cardigan that was slightly too large for her lithe frame draped loosely around her shoulders.
'Oh shit! Who is this woman?!' Jett exclaimed in his already terrified mind, it was more of an explanation rather than a question.
Her pale, nearly white skin looked almost unreal in the gloom.
She stood motionless for a moment, her head tilted slightly as if she was listening to something. Her pale white eyes possessed a faint, unnatural glow. They scanned the room.
They swept past the carelessly discarded clothes on the floor, the stack of books on the nightstand, the phone lying near the window sill where Jett had left it.
Her gaze settled unerringly on the bed, specifically the area behind it where Jett was attempting to conceal himself.
Her expression remained utterly blank—with utter indifference. There was no visible surprise, anger, or even malice on her features.
'Oh shit, she can see me!' Jett exclaimed again.
With movements that were disturbingly silent, she began to move further into the room. Her loafers made no sound on the wooden floor, even though it was old. She moved towards the bed, her path bringing her over to his embarrassing hiding spot.
'She's approaching me, who the hell is this damn creep?' He thought.
The air in the room suddenly felt colder and heavier. An almost imperceptible scent, akin to old stone and dried roses assaulted his senses.
"Hey! Who are you?" Jett asked audibly.
But the mysterious woman didn't answer, she stopped a few feet from the bed, her eyes fixed on the space where he huddled.
Jett held his hands upward in defense.
"Don't come any closer! If you get anywhere near me, I'll have to defend myself!" Jett said audibly.
But of course, it was a bluff. He wasn't certain that he could possibly harm someone who was able to slip into his bedroom effortlessly, the apartment complex literally has cameras and a burglar system.
She observed his attempt at intimidation, his words bordered on nonsensical to her. They bounced off her impassive demeanor like pebbles that bounced off stone. The faux confident expression combined with the fear radiating from her prey was curious, in a detached sort of way.
A mortal attempting to frighten the night itself.
She registered his words but felt no flicker of amusement, let alone intimidation. Her pale white eyes glowed softly in the dimness. She noted him mentally with the same interest one would give an unusual insect.
Her silence was her only reply.
"You damn weirdo, you're really getting on—"
As he spoke, she continued her movement forward, closing the remaining distance between them swiftly. She stopped directly in front of him.
Within the next second—he was paralyzed, unable to move a muscle.
'What the hell did she do to me? I can't move an inch! I can't speak either..!'
Her cool fingertips rested lightly on the fabric of Jett's shirt, covering his shoulder. The chill radiating from her skin seeped through the thin cotton. It was startingly cold against his warmth.
It wasn't the clammy cold of nervousness, it was something deeper and more profound, like touching marble that had sat in a ground for centuries.
She leaned in closer, her pale white hair brushed faintly against his cheek as her face drew near his neck. The scent of cold stone and dried roses intensified even more.
It was sharp and cloying in the enclosed space.
Jett felt the faintest stir of air as she moved, the subtle displacement was caused by her proximity.
Her glowing eyes became fixed on the side of his neck, the vulnerable expanse of skin where his pulse throbbed visibly. Her lips parted visibly, revealing just the tips of elongated, razor sharp glowing fangs—they were pearly white against the pale backdrop of her alabaster skin.
'What the fu—!'
They eventually sank into his skin slowly, and she began to drink.
A jolt traveled through his entire body. Jett felt his warmth leaving his body, entering her instead.
At first, he didn't feel much of a difference, aside from being unable to move. Until eventually, the feeling of exhaustion washed over him, his eyes became half-lidded.
His complexion became somewhat colorless from the draining, but his body was still alive. He wondered if she was just going to drain him to death.
'Damn, I should've eaten one more snack before being murdered by some attractive psychopath.'
She felt the warm pulse of Jett's life flowing into her. It wasn't just blood, it was vitality. The messy, vibrant energy of a young mortal male. The taste was clean and strong, it was tinged with the faint metallic tang of his fear.
It was utterly satisfying, quenching a thirst centuries deep. Her fangs were sunken precisely into his carotid artery. She felt his strength ebbing, and saw his eyelids drooping, his complexion was paling under her gaze.
She also heard his thoughts.
'Snack..cute woman. Dazzling death..'
They were pathetic, almost pitiable, yet also strangely arresting. Most prey screamed, fought, or begged incoherently for her mercy.
But this one assessed his killer's appearance and regretted missed refreshments.
The flow of blood began to slow slightly as Jett's body weakened, he was nearing a critical point. She had taken enough sustenance, probably more than enough.
The initial plan had been simple: feed, erase memory, leave.
But something stayed her fangs, it was a flicker of something unidentifiable within the cold stasis of her being. Was it the unusual flavor of his resignation? The absurdity of his dying thoughts? Or something in the specific resonance of his life force? She couldn't really pinpoint it, and the inability to categorize the sensation was fractionally annoying.
With a minute imperceptible twitch of her jaw muscles, she retracted her fangs.
Two small, crimson puncture wounds remained on Jett's neck, welling slowly. She didn't lick them clean; such gestures were superfluous to her.
She pulled back, her pale eyes opened fully. The faint glow within them seemed to intensify for a moment.
Jett stumbled from the wall as soon as her fangs retracted, but he didn't even currently possess the mental capacity to feel relieved. He stumbled forward and collapsed onto the floor boards, holding weakly on the edge of his bed.
'Holy hell..she sucked the brain cells out of me! So she's a Vampire..damn psycho, I thought they were myths and fiction.'
His narrowed brown eyes were unfocused. He panted slowly, his circulation returned to normal—thanks to the beating of his heart. He was too weak to speak verbally.
For the next several minutes, he rested his forehead onto the edge of his bed.
The sound of his alarm rang several times from the phone, morning was arriving.
The lithe woman watched his body go limp after the abrupt cessation of the drain. She observed his mortal weakness with the same detached interest one might observe the wilting of a drained flower.
It was the expected outcome.
The shrill, insistent blade of the alarm was cutting through the room. The electronic noise was abrasive to her. It was an annoying intrusion from the mundane world Jett inhabited.
Her head tilted, her eyes shifted to the source of the sound. The phone was still lying near the window. It signaled the arrival of morning.
She moved away from Jett and to the room window, her pale fingers picked up the offending device. She glanced briefly at the screen, registering the time, before her thumb swiped across the screen to silence the noise.
She placed the phone back on the sill, perhaps more neatly than it had been before.
Turning back, her gaze fell onto him again. He didn't move at all. She eventually departed, transforming into a bat—she remained outside the apartment to keep a close eye on him.
She had chosen not to erase his memory of the occurrence .
-
Several hours later, Jett had finally woken up. His complexion had fully returned to his body. It was already mid-day. He jumped up and frantically began sliding into his work clothing.
A dark-colored t-shirt with a company logo. Dark durable cargo pants, a water resistant jacket, and a sling-bag.
He rushed over to the windowsill, shoving his phone into his pocket. He glanced at the time, his eyes widening.
"Crap!"
He mumbled, realizing how late it was. He entered the kitchen and made what could loosely be called a sandwich; it was mostly bread and a smear of something unidentifiable. He stuffed it into his mouth before sprinting out the door.
Two hours later, Jett skidded to a halt in front of "Pizza Inferno."
The sign barely hung on, one corner was drooping precariously. He smoothed down his wrinkled shirt.
It was a futile gesture. He knew he already looked like he'd been dragged through a hedge backward.
He pushed open the door, the bell above it jingled obnoxiously. The smell of cheap tomato sauce and burnt cheese hit him like a wall.
"Jett! You're late!"
A voice boomed from the back, making him wince.
It was Mr.Pyre, his boss..
A short, round man with a perpetually red face and a comb-over that defied gravity. He emerged from the kitchen, flour was covering his apron.
"I-I know, Mr.Pyre, I'm so sorry! I had a..thing," Jett said, attempting a casual tone that failed atrociously.
"A thing? A thing kept you from delivering pizzas, Jett? People need their Inferno Supreme! They have lives, Jett! Important lives! Not like yours, apparently!"
Mr.Pyre's voice rose with each word, spittle flew out of his mouth.
Jett shuffled his feet, speaking up:
"It was a pretty big thing, sir. Life changing even!"
Mr.Pyre's eyes narrowed dubiously.
"Life changing? Did you finally decide to quit and spare me the agony of your incompetence? Because that would be life changing, Jett!"
Jett grimaced, and shook his head, continuing:
"No, sir! I was thinking more along the lines of..a promotion," Jett blurted out.
The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a pizza slicer. Mr.Pyre's face turned with an even deeper shade of red. His comb-over seemed to quiver.
"A..a promotion?" He sputtered.
"You, Jett? You want a promotion? To what? Chief Pizza Burner? Supreme Overlord of Soggy Crusts? You're barely qualified to breathe in here! Get back to work, Jett. And if you're late again, you're fired. Promotion? Ha! You're lucky I don't demote you to cleaning the grease trap with a toothbrush!"
Pyre walks away with a grimace. While Jett walks around the counter, toward the back section where boxes of pizza were located with lists of orders.
A few minutes later, Jett rubbed the back of his head, trying to refocus after Mr.Pyre's outburst. He spotted Marco, a lanky teenager with a bored expression, holding a stack of pizza boxes. Marco was leaning against the counter, idly spinning a pizza cutter in the other hand.
"Oh, hey Jett. 'Bout time,"
Marco said, tossing the boxes to Jett with a careless flick of his wrist.
One wobbled violently, and Jett had to lunge to catch it.
"T-thanks, Marco," Jett said, carefully stacking the pizzas.
He double checked the order slips attached to each box, a small frown creased his forehead. Numbers and addresses swam a bit in front of his eyes.
He hoisted the stack, the weight was surprisingly manageable. Pizza Inferno had a fleet of battered bicycles parked out front for deliveries. They were old and rusty, each one had a unique squeak or rattle.
Jett chose a blue one. It had a slightly less rusty basket and only made a loud "clunk" sound every few rotations of the pedas.
He awkwardly mounted the bike, adjusting the pizza boxes in the front basket. They threatened to tip with every wobble.
Jett pushed off, with his legs pumping. The bike creaked audibly. He wobbled down the street, narrowly avoiding a stray cat and a pothole the size of a small crater.
He wasn't the most graceful cyclist.
The wind whipped past his face, carrying the scent of exhaust fumes and street food.
A bat flew overhead, following the pedaling young man.
Cars whizzed past, horns blared. He gripped the handlebars tightly. The pizza boxes wobbled precariously in the basket. He tried to focus on the addresses, they were written in Pyre's messy hand writing.
'Ah, what a boring day,' he thought.
Suddenly, a car swerved erratically beside Jett, causing him to flinch. The driver rolled down his window.
The man's eyes were bloodshot, he had a goofy grin.
"Hey! Pizza guy!" The man shouted.
Jett ignored him and pedaled faster.
The car matched his speed.
"Yo! I said, pizza dude!" He exclaimed.
"I'm working," Jett muttered, not looking over.
"Come on, man! Hook a brother up!" The drunk man's voice was slurred.
"I'll pay you! ...Maybe. Or, you know, good vibes?"
Jett sighed, "I can't just give away pizzas."
"One pizza? What's the big deal? Your boss won't notice." The man laughed loudly, it was an off-key wheezing sound.
"Yes, he will," Jett said. "He counts them."
The car swerved again, nearly clipping Jett's front wheel.
"Dude, seriously! I'm starving! I'll give you...advice! Life advice!"
Jett dodged a taxi. "I don't need advice."
"Everyone needs advice! Okay, here's one: Never trust a guy with two first names!"
The drunk man seemed very proud of his wisdom.
"That's not even good advice," Jett retorted.
"Fine, fine. How about...free pizza makes everyone happy! Therefore, you should give me a pizza!"
Jett shook his head and sighed. "That's not how logic works."
The light turned red. The car screeched to a halt beside him.
"Last chance, pizza boy! My hunger is a powerful force of nature!"
Jett stared straight ahead, as the light changed. He pedaled as fast as his wobbly bike would allow, leaving the drunk guy sputtering in his rearview.