Emotional Vampires - Or - Return To Sender

Her name was Jane Mitchell, and she was the love of my life. She was the love of my life for almost two years. Until that is I found out she was slowly killing me.

We met in the fall of 2002 at an annual party hosted by our employer. Due to the ever changing diversity of our country we could no longer afford to offend anyone by terming the gathering by it’s former name, A Christmas Party, but went by it’s new age, bland, unoffensive handle of the Annual Seasonal Holiday Party. I was dressed to impress in my circa 1980’s vintage tuxedo, complete with satin lapels and frilly shirt. I purchased this smasher of an outfit years earlier at an auction for $10.00, and it was worth every penny.

Wait. Let’s move back a little bit.

I first laid eyes on Jane at work; I had recently been promoted to the quality department and happened to see her out of the corner of my eye walking past my office. The quality department’s office was ringed with windows facing out to the floor where we could watch the low level employees in a quasi big brother fashion. Those on the floor lovingly referred to it as ‘The Fish Bowl’. Jane was walking by the window and I was immediately struck down with complete awe of her beauty. Her long golden hair tied back in a tight ponytail with a lone stray piece of hair tucked back behind her cute elf like ears. A set of the most sparkling blue eyes set in a slender beautiful face with a small perfectly shaped nose adorned with a tiny blue nose stud. I glimpsed an angel that night and I needed to know her name.

To explain the type of industry we worked for, you need not go any further that those annoying phone calls you get during dinner. I worked in the telemarketing industry as a quality inspector. Yes I listened to all your aggressiveness, your rude behaviour, and your complete lack of manners. I can’t say I blame you. The quality position allowed me an opportunity to get to know the golden haired angel’s name. Jane. Jane Mitchell. How glorious. She had the sweetest voice. How I would listen to those taped calls over and over again, memorizing her every tone and timber. Oh Jane Mitchell I love you and you don’t even know I exist. I was a voyeur for many months, listening to her calls, spying her as she walked off the floor for break. If only I could muster up the courage to talk to her. To say hello.

Now without sounding arrogant I am an attractive person, cute some would say, so I really had no problem getting the attention of the opposite sex, I just don’t have the courage, or the know how to speak with someone. So went my three months of pining over a girl who didn’t even know I existed.

Chance would have it that because of my higher standing in the company – quasi management – that I had to be a representative or a role model of what the company is looking for. For this fact alone the presence of my company at the Annual Seasonal Holiday Party was required. I hadn’t been to any of the other gatherings until this promotion, and tended to stay away from all after work activities. This is where I finally met Jane Mitchell. Or rather had consumed the equivalent amount of a twenty-six-ounce bottle of courage and was finally able to approach her. As my eveningwear afforded me to be the life of the party, I happened to catch the eyes of many. However, I only had eyes for one, Jane. Jane Mitchell, in her tight black satin evening dress. A long slit up the side revealed a shapely thigh and from the knees down she was tightly encased in black leather boots. My God I wanted this girl. As the night progressed I lost sight of my angel and started to drink a little more heavily, more out of despair for my perceived lose than out of festivity. Leaning against the bar, scanning the room I spotted her, standing on the edge of the dance floor, looking almost unsure of herself. This was my moment, a slow song was playing over the speakers, and I am thinking ‘I am going to ask this angel to dance and sweep her off her feet’.

Not in so many words, that is exactly what I did. Or should I say, what I had thought I did. As me moved our bodies close together and began to slowly move in time with the music I lightly traced my fingers up the open back of her dress. I could feel her wrap her arms tighter around me as our cheeks brushed up against one another. My courage abated me at this moment and rather than try to spark up a conversation I just enjoyed feeling her close to me. Suddenly I could feel her lips; warm moist lips brush up against my neck. It sent shivers of sensation all through my body from the point of where her lips caressed my neck all the way to my toes and back. I could feel her lips part slowly and the tip of her tongue teasingly tickle my neck. This was very exciting. Very exciting indeed. She began to nibble gently, and I could feel myself becoming aroused. My erection straining against the tight polyester pants of my cheap tuxedo. I needed this girl. I wanted to have her. I would do anything for her. And that’s when I felt the sharp pain of her teeth sinking into the flesh of my neck.

I awoke groggy and confused, not knowing where I was, or really who I was for that matter. I opened my eyes and stared at the strange surroundings. Two beds, bad wallpaper, cheap furniture, it looks like I’m in one of the hotel rooms. It felt like it was 9:35am. I never wore a watch, I didn’t need too, my internal clock was always within 3 minutes of the actual time. Man did I have a headache, and whose room is this anyway. A stream of bright sunshine was forcing itself in between the crack of the curtains. Sitting in a pool of light on the cheap wooden desk was a note from Jane.

George,

Last night was incredible. Sorry I had to leave so early. I will see you at work tonight.

Kisses

Jane

Well just for the record my real name isn’t George, of course Jane doesn’t know that yet, my real name is Cody. Cody Ashwood. George is sort of an alter ego I had set up when I was in my highschool college years. I was (maybe still am) quite the binge drinker. When most social drinkers binge drink they tend to get sick, which is the first sign of alcohol poisoning, the next step – the safest one I might add – is to pass out. Well I hate getting sick. So with years of practice I have forced my body to retain all it has consumed, for better or for worse. By doing this you are tricking your body into ignoring it’s first reaction to alcohol poisoning – i.e. puking – and continuing on that road. The next sign of alcohol poisoning is blacking out. Unfortunately blacking out isn’t the same as passing out. No, no, that would be too easy. With passing out one safely goes to sleep, no harm no foul. With blacking out, the little devil inside continues to work his mischief and mayhem. One, during a black out, has animated conversations, continues to drink, walk around and do things, unbeknownst to the host body of course. I’ve named my little devil George, and other than some sexual encounters, as far as I know, he hasn’t caused too much trouble. The problem is you have to fill in your memories with these false pictures, pictures from the stories of others around you that night. Occasionally a polaroid snap shot of something will seep through the cracks. My memories are full of these paper thin, patched together memories, scattered with a few polaroids. I’m sure the full memories are locked away in there somewhere (George), but for Cody Ashwood he doesn’t have the slightest idea.

Well to take stock of another George’d up night, I am laying in a hotel room bed, still – for the most part – fully clothed in my vintage 80’s tux. I apparently stayed here with Jane last night and George was apparently ‘incredible’. Since I am still clothed, what the hell did I do last night? Then a polaroid flashback comes swooping into my mind.

Suddenly I could feel her lips; warm moist lips brush up against my neck. It sent shivers of sensation all through my body from the point of where her lips caressed my neck all the way to my toes and back. I could feel her lips part slowly and the tip of her tongue teasingly tickle my neck. This was very exciting. Very exciting indeed. She began to nibble gently, and I could feel myself becoming aroused. My erection straining against the tight polyester pants of my cheap tuxedo. I needed this girl. I wanted to have her. I would do anything for her. And that’s when I felt the sharp pain of her teeth sinking into the flesh of my neck.

Immediately my hand went to my neck, feeling for... (What? Bite marks?) any sort of pain or wound. Nothing. Maybe I just dreamed that. I grudgingly pulled myself out of bed and walked into the bathroom, the fluorescent lights shining brightly, I had to lift my hand to my face to shield my eyes. For a moment, in the mirror, I could see a bluish halo sort of like a fog surrounding my head, but then it was gone. Trick of the lights, my hungover vision perhaps? As I pulled the hand shielding my eyes away from my face I was shocked to see smears of blood over my lips and on my neck – what the hell happened? I touched the red smear on my lips with a grimy nicotine stained finger and some of it rubbed off. Not blood then, but bright red lipstick. By the looks of it, I guess George really was ‘incredible’ last night.