prompt: requiem for a jerk
"go try paradise,
hell's a lot too hot,
not too nice.
try to take on god if you've got the nerve
even I don't need stupid jerks"
Frankie never identified with humans.
He assumed it was the same way that humans felt about cows or chickens or pigs. When Bromley had asked him to turn his daughter, Frankie had had few reservations about it. He reasoned that she would get used to it, that living forever was a big enough payoff that never seeing the sun again seemed like a pittance. From the second he opened the door to her cell, he could tell that she didn't feel that way.
Her eyes met his and he could see that there was boundless rage behind them. She hated him; she wasn't even afraid she hated him so much. He knew that she stood no chance at all against him. He crushed her against him, ferociously sinking his teeth into the bare curve of her neck. The first taste of the blood filled him with adrenaline. The feeding was absolutely ecstatic. Frankie lost himself in it, in the taste of her and the terrified pounding of her heart which was driving more and more blood into his mouth with every beat. He could feel himself getting hard, his cock pressing into her hip through his pants.
Her heart was slowing down and he relaxed his grip on her. Through the his blood-induced haze, he was shocked to realize she was still fighting him even as he felt her dying. He pulled his teeth out of her, licking the blood from his lips. He brought his wrist to his mouth and sharply bit into it, tearing open the vein beneath the paper white skin. He held her head back and let the black ichor flowing out of the wound dribble into her open mouth. She coughed, choking for a second and Frankie began massaging her throat, trying to make her swallow. She was so weak now, he was afraid she would die.
He laid her down on the bunk, taking care not to hurt her. He stared down at her. She was beautiful. He knelt down next to her. It made him feel like Dracula, which made him feel kind of stupid. Frankie leaned in and kissed her stained lips, lightly, barely feeling them brush his. Her eyelids fluttered. He stood up quickly, straightening his uniform and wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket. He left before she woke up, suddenly unable to face what he'd done. He felt gorged with blood, ready to fight, ready to fuck. He knew he had to leave now.
He saw her in the line.
He wasn't sure, there was no way to be sure, but he just knew. He had never given much credibility to the weird mythos surrounding vampires, the garlic, the crosses, the silver, but he had felt her, felt her in his veins. And the look the subsider had given him...there was no way in hell it wasn't Alli.
He watched them pull her into the sun and saw her mad eyes looking at him, right fucking at him, and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. She clawed at the chain, trying to pull away from the door, trying to pull towards him. At least, he thought she was trying to get to him. He wanted to rush to her, to save her: he was a soldier, after all, a hero.
The sunlight hit her and she exploded into flames. Frankie wished, suddenly, that he had breath to catch or a heart beat that he could feel. He wanted to feel his heart break, he wanted her to feel his heart break. He wanted to cry for the first time since he was turned; he wanted to die.
He looked away.