Emerson slept poorly.
Haunting memories and endless worries tormented his restless dreams, each memory that flooded his mind more vivid and painful than the last. He saw the faces of those he had lost and heard their voices calling out to him in the darkness. He felt the weight of his failures pressing down upon him, crushing his spirit and suffocating what little hope had tentatively blossomed in his heart.
He dreamt of formless darkness, and pain, and suffering.
A relentless flood of blood consumed his dreams. It surged like rivers and vast oceans of crimson. He dreamt of drowning beneath those waves, dragged beneath the frothing bloody waters by the weight of his guilt. The taste in his mouth was that of salt, brine, and the bitter flavor of failure.
His dreams were ever-changing, leaving him disoriented and scared. They refused to grant him even a spare moment of solace, denying any opportunity for comfort.
Then, his surroundings transformed into a dark and misty forest. The trees loomed tall and ominous around him, the moon a mere sliver in the sky, its glow barely penetrating the dense canopy.
Mysterious whispers fluttered through the air, and elusive shadows danced around him. The air was thick with the stench of decay and rot.
Suddenly, he heard the distant sound of footsteps, heavy and purposeful, drawing closer and closer.
He turned to run, but his legs felt leaden and uncooperative like they were made of stone. Horror and panic seized him as he realized he was trapped. His eyes frantically searched the heavy curtain of cloying mist hanging in the air.
As the whispers and footsteps escalated in volume, a feminine figure materialized from the mist. Her countenance remained hidden, concealed in the shroud of obscurity. Yet, her eyes emitted an ethereal, crimson glow that pierced through the gloom. Her skin, pallid as the moon's glow, contrasted starkly against the darkness surrounding her. Flowing shadows enveloped her, covering her figure in an obscure layer of darkness, lightly caressing and flickering across her body like cold flames.
Drawing nearer, her movements flowed with a natural grace and elegance, while the shadows obediently mirrored her every motion. Her eyes glowed like twin beacons, heralding the sickly-sweet promise of death in their depths.
Emerson tried to defend himself, tried to move, but his hands were slow and clumsy, and his feet were rooted to the ground.
The woman laughed, a maddeningly sensual and cruel sound. The shadows swirled around her as though joining in the fun. She was close now, directly in front of him.
She smiled, and her teeth glimmered pearlescent white in stark contrast to the darkness, and then, she descended upon Emerson, sinking her fangs into his neck.
Emerson’s mouth gaped in a silent scream, the pain searing and intense, like fire burning through his veins.
Her cold lips and small tongue pressed against his neck, offering a conflicting sensation of soothing cool against the scorching flames of his skin.
Emerson feebly struggled to break free, but she held him fast, steadily draining him of his lifeblood.
The forest spun around him, and he felt himself slipping away.
Falling.
Falling..
Falling…
And then, he was awake, shivering and gasping stale air.
The nightmare had felt so real, so vivid, that it took him a moment to realize it was just a dream. But even then, the fear and terror lingered in his mind, pulsing through his body in waves of anxiety that left him feeling weak and lost. His mind was a jumbled mess, plagued with so, so many doubts and uncertainties.
He squeezed his eyes shut, a look of fierce intensity on his face as he forced himself to calm down. To breathe. To think.
Slowly but surely, his expression softened, the hard lines of his face smoothed out. He opened his eyes as he exhaled and took in his surroundings. That was to say, there were none.
A pang of confusion almost made him anxious again, only for him to quickly recall where he was and the events that had led up to him ending up sleeping in an honest-to-God coffin.
Naturally, this led him to reflect on the conversation he’d had with the strange woman.
He wanted to groan at how awkward and terrible their first encounter had been. It was a miracle she hadn’t shot him dead for trespassing the second after he’d… He stopped thinking about it, as it was again starting to make him grow anxious.
Then, he recalled the soft feeling of her hand on his chest as she gently pushed him into the coffin. A sudden surge of gratitude and warmth filled him, and the barest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he thought back on it all. Maybe he wasn't alone after all. Maybe there were people who cared, who could help him find his way in this new, insane world he knew nothing about.
Well… that last part wasn’t exactly true anymore, was it?
He softly sighed, still not knowing what the future held, but it was in the comforting and still darkness enveloping him that he was beginning to realize that uncertainty was just a part of life. And maybe, just maybe, that was okay.
Tightening his grip on the blood bag, he held it close to his face.
A glimmer of conflict shimmered behind his eyes as he blankly stared at the dark bag. Then, without offering it any further thought, he lowered his head and brought the plastic seal to his mouth.
He felt an odd tingling in his gums, followed by a foreign sense of anticipation, and then, he bit down. His teeth easily sank past the plastic. Before he knew it, blood flowed freely, warm and sweet on his tongue, and he felt a rush of pleasure like nothing he had ever experienced before. His eyes widened, then closed as he instinctually drank deeply, savoring the taste as it filled him. It was like liquid fire, coursing through his veins and awakening something primal inside him.
But as he drank, something else stirred within him. A voice, small and insistent, whispered in the back of his mind, trying to quell the sudden rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
He listened, gulping down another mouthful before pulling his mouth away, feeling his canines briefly catch the plastic as he pulled it away at an angle. Not knowing how he could have missed it, he ran a tongue over his top teeth.
Fangs. He had fangs! Sharp, pointed fangs for canines.
They hadn’t been there last night. Or at least he didn’t think so…
‘That’s…’ He wasn’t sure what to think. Then, as an afterthought, and similar to that one time he had to get braces, he pushed his tongue against them to see if they would budge. They didn’t. They were real.
Putting them aside for the moment, Emerson’s eyes focused on the faint outline of the coffin cover above. The taste of blood still lingered on his lips as he placed both palms flat against the underside of the smooth wood cover and pushed. It easily lifted, and with some minor adjustments, he was soon sitting upright and silently placing the cover onto the floor beside the coffin. It barely made a sound as its weight settled onto the floor.
He didn’t get out immediately, instead sitting in deep silence and heavy darkness with the blood bag in his lap, its weight significantly lighter.
It was a good silence. A necessary silence. It was the silence of a man undergoing change.
It was a long time before he rose from the coffin and walked to the door. Once at the door, it was a long time before he opened it.
----------------------------------------
The corridor beyond the room exuded a tranquil silence, with dim lights softly illuminating the path leading to the living room.
His first steps were small and tentative, as though he were out of place and didn’t belong.
In some very real sense, he didn’t. This wasn’t his home. This wasn’t even his country! But that didn’t stop him from taking more steps down the corridor, each one leaving something behind.
Something unseen, something intangible, and yet of incredible importance.
His posture straightened with every step, and a spark was kindling behind his eyes. He seemed taller, broader. The boost in confidence also made him more self-aware, and naturally, it was about halfway down the hall that he realized how poor his clothing looked, all filthy and torn and damp from melted snow. He was an absolute mess.
The thought immediately made him pause and look down at his shoes, then at the floor behind him.
Thankfully, his shoes weren’t so dirty that he was tracking anything across the floor. But nevertheless, he erred on the side of caution and carefully slipped them off. He thought about carrying them out but then simply decided to push them beside the wall and ask later.
There wasn’t anything that he could do about these other clothes. Not unless he wanted to suddenly appear shirtless or in his underwear in front of...
Which he certainly wasn’t about to do! Or ever, for that matter.
‘If she asked though—’ He derailed that train before it reached the station and gave himself a good, spiritual slap across the face for good measure. Then, he was already in the living room before he knew it, a pang of anxiety rushing through his chest at the sight of a head of brunette hair peeking up from the seat back.
His throat turned dry as he mustered a soft greeting. “Morning,” he called out.
The woman adjusted herself in her seat and turned her gaze over her shoulder, offering a slight smile. “Is it?” she asked playfully.
Emerson paused midstride; their eyes locked onto one another.
It felt like a bomb had gone off in his chest, as for the first time since meeting her, he actually saw her.
He’d had a vague sense of her beauty from their previous conversation and interaction, but now everything had changed. He'd changed. And she was absolutely stunning.
Her long hair was like the color of chestnuts in the fall, cascading down her back in waves that seemed to shimmer in the low light. Her eyes were deep and dark, like pools of rich earth, and glinted with a wisdom beyond her youthful appearance. Her features were delicate and refined, pale, and yet with undeniable strength.
Her words echoed in his ears with a voice that was like honey, sweet and soothing, yet with dark undertones of mystery.
But he was also completely taken aback by the warmth in her voice. She wasn’t at all how he remembered; cold and aloof.
The memory of her small palm pressing against his chest played out in his head. He could still feel it.
Emerson blinked.
The woman's smile wavered, and she averted her gaze, gesturing towards the couch he'd occupied the previous night. “Please, have a seat,” she said softly.
Emerson rapidly blinked to clear away his thoughts and lightly shook his head. Then her question registered. Before he knew it, instead of going to take a seat, his eyes imperceptively widened as he looked outside through the balcony door.
The vibrant nightlife of a glittering city matched his blank stare. “That’s going to take some getting used to,” he softly muttered.
The seconds ticked by as he watched the city with a vacant look.
Then, he felt a tightness in his chest that caused his brow to crease.
There was something strange about knowing that he would never be able to see a sunrise again or feel the warmth of a mild summer day and a cool breeze on his skin. He thought of all the sunrises he would miss. He thought of the beautiful dawn, with its colors bathing the sky as the sun rose above the horizon, and that unique feeling of witnessing the way the world came alive with a new day.
The tightness in his chest became an ache.
An ache of longing.
An ache of loss that couldn’t be put into words.
He felt like he’d just personally witnessed the loss of something or someone he held dear. The sensation was similar, at the very least, like he’d been physically struck in the heart.
A deep melancholic sadness washed over him, quickly taking root in his heart as he stared out at the city with a blank gaze, not actually seeing anything. His grip on the blood bag tightened.
It was beyond understanding: the word “forever.” Because from now, until possibly forever, the only natural light he would ever see again was the pale glow of the moon, and the only colors, shades of darkness.
It hurt to think that way, and yet he couldn’t remove the thought. Couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing for the life he’d lost. For the life that was ripped out from under him.
He stood in silence, his expression like a slowly shattering mask. His face beneath the crumbling façade was haunted, eyes half in this world, half elsewhere, remembering.
The woman quietly stirred in her seat, taking in his lonely figure staring out across the city.
“It gets easier,” the woman said without inflection, turning back around.
Emerson’s eyes tore away from the city and landed on the back of her head. He let the words sink in as he couldn’t help but look out at the city again. At the dark, star-streaked canvas of night sky that, in some cases, glimmered more brightly than the city beneath.
He closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of emotions he didn’t know how to carry. But if he had to put it into words? It was loneliness.
A loneliness that came with knowing he’d lost all of his friends and coworkers. It was the crushing reality of losing the small joys he never realized he’d emotionally relied on.
Earlier, after waking, he had felt better. He had felt different—like he could tackle anything and everything. He still felt that way. But there was another part of him that resisted. The stubborn part.
“Does it?” he asked, his voice tinged with numb anger. He hadn’t meant it, but his tone bordered on demanding. He immediately felt ashamed and lowered his head with a frown. “Sorry, that—I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed, turning his back on the city and taking a seat across from the woman. Placing the blood bag onto the side table without meeting her gaze, he focused on the floor with a glazed look in his eyes.
The woman’s soft but firm voice eventually broke the silence. “It does.”
Emerson looked up. The woman stared into his eyes. “Get easier, I mean. It does.” She affirmed. Then, her eyes became hard as flint, sharp as broken glass. “Not because we feel less or care less. But because we get stronger.”
There was something in her expression that made Emerson look away, unable to hold her intense gaze as his eyes slipped away.
“This life, your life, will not be easy,” she continued. “But that’s no different from before, right?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.
Emerson thought about it for a moment before subconsciously agreeing. No one’s life was easy, and if he looked at it like that, then maybe… things weren’t really so different from before, were they? In fact, the more he considered it, the more it made sense.
He suddenly realized he’d been looking at it the wrong way this entire time. Becoming a vampire was like having a different set of obstacles in the same game he’d always been playing. He was so used to only considering how to problem solve from one angle—a mortal angle—that now he felt like someone had flipped over the entire game table on him when actually… someone had simply handed him a new manual.
A different way to play the same game.
But for Emerson, it was much more than that.
He sat up straighter. “Yeah,” he nodded, “Yeah, you’re right.” He said softly, with a trace of growing conviction.
She smiled sarcastically. “You’ll find I’m rarely wrong.”
A small smile appeared on Emerson’s face. “I’m starting to believe it.” He said, then grew serious, meeting her eyes. “Seriously though, I wanted to thank you for last night.” He said, meaning every word.
She raised an eyebrow. “For the blood, or for not shooting you?”
“Can’t it be both?” he replied, not missing a beat.
She crossed her arms. “That depends,” she said nonchalantly.
“On?” he asked.
“On whether you mean it.”
“I do, completely. Thank you.”
“And…? Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.
“I am…?” he asked, genuinely trying to figure out if he’d forgotten something.
She nodded. “You are.” She tapped the floor with a foot. “An apology.”
His brow furrowed, then his eyes widened in realization. He felt like smacking his forehead. “Right. Right, I’m sorry.” He motioned to the floor too. “I’m very sorry about that. That wasn’t like me at all. I, um, I hope I helped clean it up somewhat?” He finished weakly.
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Somewhat,” she said blandly. “But I don’t accept your apology.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Emerson would have been frightened if not for her neutral tone and facial expression.
“If you really want to apologize,” she continued with a flick of a hand, “then find me a new rug.”
Emerson’s eyes widened. “But—No, wait. I can’t do that. You don’t want that.” He shook his head. “I don’t know the first thing about rugs. Let alone style or fashion,” he said deprecatingly.
“Surprise me,” she said simply, unwilling to concede.
“But…” He sighed with a lowered head. “Are you sure?” he asked, looking up questioningly.
She raised an eyebrow. “You do want to apologize to me. Right?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
Emerson swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Then find me a rug,” she reiterated firmly. “Something that shows you put thought into it.”
Emerson’s mind raced. He didn’t have the faintest idea about rugs or interior decor, but the determination in her eyes left him no choice. He would have to figure it out, and somehow, he would make it right.
“Okay,” he said, his voice steadying. He sat back. “I’m just worried you’ll be even more upset with me when you see whatever I pick out.”
“That confident, are we?”
“See, you think you're joking.” He shook his head. “But just wait until the colors clash and the whole room’s mood is ruined.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “And what mood is that?”
“Classy, modern.” He replied, scanning the room with an appreciative nod. “You have very good taste, Mrs…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know her name. He would’ve blushed if it were still possible.
She cocked her head to the side, looking amused. “Catherine. And you’re too kind.” She said dryly.
‘I actually really like that. Kinda regal.’ He thought.
He raised his hands in surrender. “I- Okay. Catherine, then. If you’re sure-“
“I’m sure.” She interrupted.
“…Then I’ll find you a new rug.” He promised, at a genuine loss for her strange request. But then again, he did break in and vomit all over her floors and carpet. He supposed this was the least he could do, especially since she essentially took out all the guesswork for him about how best to apologize.
“Good.” She seemed genuinely pleased with him for accepting her terms. For Emerson, it felt more like a test of some sort, a challenge even. Though for what he couldn’t be sure; he didn’t know her well enough to even make an educated guess. He didn’t have much of an opportunity to try either, as a chill went down his neck seeing her smile drop away, eyes like unfeeling voids stared him down.
“Another time though, because tonight is a very important night.” She said solemnly.
Emerson’s expression turned incredibly serious, listening closely to her next words.
“Tonight, I’m going to show you how the Kindred survive in the shadow of modern society.” She stood, giving him a significant look.
Emerson felt a swelling sense of awe and excitement growing in his chest at the prospect of learning more about this new world.
“But first, we’re going shopping.” She announced.
The sensation vanished like smoke in the wind. “Wait what?”
----------------------------------------
If someone had asked Emerson to describe himself, he would have sarcastically answered with something like: “’Oh, you know, nothing special. Tired introvert, probably.’”
If you asked any of his close friends and coworkers how they describe him, you would get a variety of responses that would boil down to a complete picture of a kind young man stuck with an old soul.
Such a humble self-description didn’t do justice to who he really was.
In truth, Emerson was warm and unassuming in his own steady way, efficient and responsible with a quiet confidence that exuded a natural charisma and inspired others. He naturally gave special, careful attention to the practical details of his daily life that gave off the impression of someone caring and meticulous. He always met deadlines, remembered birthdays and special occasions, and made it a point of pride to express care and support for his loved ones. He was loyal to his friends to a fault and often went out of his way to help them. Even to the detriment of his mental health, on occasion.
But he never did it for recognition or praise.
He did it because it felt good. It felt right to be kind, to be helpful. It was one of the reasons he went into the healthcare field.
In some ways, it was his greatest weakness, and his greatest strength.
That wasn’t to say he wasn’t driven. Quite the opposite, in fact. It’s just that his personal ambitions were relegated to the realm of comfort, to personal happiness.
He was driven to find what made him feel productive and complete in mind and body. For him, this was being healthy, finding love, and making enough money in the pursuit of helping others to live comfortably.
Some would consider this a lack of ambition, laziness even. A lack of motivation to push himself beyond his comfort zone and expand the boundaries of what he considered possible.
But the truth was that his motivations simply didn’t align with the high-strung, competitive natures of his classmates and colleagues. He didn’t bring that same energy to the table. He didn’t excel in any particular thing.
Emerson was a well-rounded, sociable introvert who had spent the majority of his years in academia with his nose buried in medical books, exercising alone to keep healthy, and occasionally going out to a few local haunts with his schoolmates for poor drinks and cheap food.
This sort of lifestyle lent itself well to giving him an excellent analytical mind and a keen eye for details others might overlook while also helping develop his people skills despite innate reservations. But even then, he didn’t go out often and never with more than two or three friends at a time. He wasn’t big on large parties of hundreds- especially music festivals.
It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate music. He loved music!
Arguably, aside from his study buddies, music was his closest friend and companion throughout school. To the point where he found it difficult to study without something playing in the background.
He just didn’t like the crowds. The loud music. The noise. The people. That’s what it really boiled down to at the end of the day. He didn’t like the people.
He preferred solitude. He liked it; socializing was tiring.
It always felt like he was putting on a mask in public, but not in a deceitful or malicious manner. If anything, it was a defensive measure. One that he wasn’t sure when he started using. Maybe since the day he made his first friend.
All this was to say that walking down the streets of Las Vegas was like stepping into a completely different world. A world that he was in no way, shape, or form prepared for.
The city was a constant blur of movement and noise, the air filled with the sound of music, laughter, and the chatter of countless voices, the roar of sports cars, impatient traffic, and loud advertisements, all blending together in a cacophonous symphony of sound.
The neon lights that adorned every building cast a bright glow over the streets, bathing everything in a surreal, otherworldly light. The colors were so vivid, so intense, that they seemed to vibrate in the air like a living thing. The bright lights of the casinos and hotels dazzled his eyes, the garish colors and flashing signs a testament to an overwhelming excess and decadence that made him want to stop and take in the sights after every step.
Walking through it all was even more difficult than taking in the sights. There were people everywhere. As far the eye could see. It was like some great, glittering sea of humanity, a writhing mass of tourists and locals walking en masse through the city in so many different directions that it was impossible to see where most people were headed. It was like being in lazy river at a water park where you had to find a place along the general flow of pedestrians and keep a sharp eye out for spaces you could squeeze through once you made it to your destination.
Having been out in the snowy wilderness with only another vampire hadn’t prepared him for the sensory overload of trying to live normally among people again. Then, he’d been confined to an apartment with another vampire before promptly being shoved into a coffin.
So he wasn’t ready for any of this, let alone the thick smell of smoke and sweat that hung in the air, mingling with alcohol and perfume in a heady mix that assaulted his sensitive nose.
But the worst thing?
He could hear the frantic beating of a hundred hearts, a thousand hearts. The rush of blood through veins and the sweat that coated the skin of the people around him. His lips twitched, and his mouth watered; an overwhelming desire slowly welled up inside him. Begging him to sink his fangs into…
Emerson resisted with everything he had; a dull ache throbbed at his temples, and his mouth went dry.
He fell behind Catherine, unable to keep pace any longer.
The smell of nearby blood was overwhelming, a heady mix of iron and salt that filled his nostrils and made his head swim. His eyes narrowed, and his pupils constricted as he involuntarily surveyed the throng of humanity around him, picking out the ones whose hearts beat fastest and strongest. They would be the easiest targets, the ones whose blood he wanted the most-
‘Stop!’ He cried out to himself, almost stumbling as a sense of vertigo assaulted him.
He closed his eyes and focused, drowning out the noise of the city around him. But all that did was inadvertently hone his hearing in on the steady thump-thump-thump of a young woman's heart. It beat so fast he could almost hear it in his own chest, a wild and desperate rhythm that called out to him like a siren's song. He didn’t know how he knew it was a young woman or where she was. He just knew. And he wanted-
A hand suddenly grabbed his own. Hard.
He almost snarled in surprise, his bloodshot eyes fixing on a familiar face.
Catherine looked incredibly serious, staring into his eyes and swearing under her breath as she immediately started dragging him through the crowd.
Emerson struggled the entire time to keep his raging instincts in check, desperately thinking of anything but the heartbeats… and blood… and…
It was over another minute before they finally extricated themselves from the flow of pedestrian traffic and into a small storefront alcove.
Panting, Emerson was led further away from the crowds and into the entrance of a narrow alley beside the store that was more or less away from the prying eyes of passerbyers.
“Damnit!” Catherine swore. “That’s my fault. I forgot how sensitive and susceptible new fledglings are- shit.” She angrily mumbled to herself, keeping a tight hold on Emerson’s arm as she carefully watched him. “Hey, can you hear me? Are you all right?” She asked.
Emerson huffed a few times to settle himself, feeling somewhat better. More in control. “Better. It’s getting better.” He said through gritted teeth. It was easier when there weren’t a dozen racing heartbeats within reaching distance. However, he could still hear it all out there. Calling.
“Shit.” She hissed. “I’m very sorry about that, Emerson. I’ve, damnit, I’ve never done something like this before, okay?” She sounded frustrated, more with herself than anyone else. “But this is fine. We’re good now, right? You’re good?” She asked with some concern. It was difficult for her to keep her composure as she sternly asked him. She needed to maintain a sense of a disciplinarian to lead him into understanding the rights and wrongs of being Kindred. And yet here she’d just up and taken him directly into a densely packed downtown area barely into his second night as a vampire.
It was like touring a starving person through an all-you-can-eat buffet without sneeze-guards over the food and everything within hand reach. Not only was it cruel, but it was also incredibly dangerous.
She considered it no small miracle that Emerson hadn’t flown into a frenzy the minute they stepped outside into all this chaos.
She also didn’t understand how she could’ve overlooked something like this. In the end, she chalked it up to how intelligent and calm he seemed on the outside despite everything.
‘He must be terrified.’ She thought, sighing to herself. A glimmer of true compassion appeared in her cold eyes as she supported Emerson by the arm. She couldn’t imagine how difficult it must have been for him to suppress the Beast.
They needed to get inside; then she would make a plan afterward.
----------------------------------------
The tinkle of a bell heralded the arrival of two new customers to Armoire’s Attire.
A bored-looking middle-aged man fiddling with a pencil and paper spreadsheet at the opposite end of the store looked up toward the entrance. “Welcome.” He called out with all the retail exuberance of an underpaid and underappreciated worker. Then, he rested a fist on his cheek and returned to scribbling something on the spreadsheets, pulling over a small, hot pink calculator that he jabbed a few numbers into.
Emerson stood close behind Catherine.
Not because he wanted to, but because the interior of the store was so cramped that there were already clothes racks encroaching on the small alcove of space at the front doorstep. Glancing over Catherine’s shoulder revealed that the rest of the store wasn’t much better, with clothes racks crammed together like sardines in a can. Even the air was stale, with a hint of fresh and dusty fabrics. While the low ceiling and the dim mustard-yellow LED lights cast a harsh glow on anything directly beneath them, but made the rest of the store look dingy. It was a true ‘hole in the wall’ location if Emerson had ever seen one.
It also didn’t occur to him to pay attention to how many heartbeats there were in the store. Namely, none.
“I’ll be right back.” Catherine said, standing straighter and peering over the clothes racks to the back of the store. She turned to Emerson. “Stay here; see if you like anything.” She said, casually motioning around them. “Oh, and get a few sets,” she offhandedly remarked before turning, “You can't wear the same thing every night, you know."
“Oh, um, okay. Sure. Thank you!” Emerson awkwardly thanked her. He wasn’t used to being taken out clothes shopping.
He’d done it on occasion with his previous girlfriends, but it had always been for them; he was just along for the ride and offering compliments.
“Um, hey- just a second!” He lightly called out as he realized that Catherine had already almost disappeared into the maze of colorful clothing and accessories. She stopped and looked back.
“Is there like, a limit or anything?” He asked.
She raised an eyebrow. “You need that many shirts and pants?” She asked.
“What? No,” he awkwardly chuckled, “I mean like, you know, a price limit? A range you want me to stay in so it helps me narrow my options?” he asked hopefully.
Catherine rolled her eyes, scoffed in disbelief, and walked off.
Emerson’s eyes widened as he watched her go. He raised a hand as though to call out and wave her down again, but ultimately lowered his arm with a weary expression. “So… No?” He weakly muttered, looking lost as he glanced around at the small sea of racks of shimmering dresses in shades of gold, silver, and red, and sequined tops and flashy skirts. Even the walls were lined with shelves displaying rows of glittering jewelry and sparkling purses.
He could barely make out anything that was even remotely to his liking or in his style. He had to go deeper. The store seemed to stretch out forever in front of him, the counter in the back where Catherine had gone off to disappearing behind a vast stretch of clothes racks, sunglass displays, and… winter coats?
‘This place really has everything, huh? Now it’s just missing-‘ As he idly pondered to himself, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a single sad-looking bottle of sunscreen sitting high up on a shelf beside a neon green cowboy hat with a fluffy yellow feather. He sighed in defeat.
Emerson: 0, Armoire’s Attire: 1
With little else to do until Catherine came back, he steeled himself and approached the nearest grouping of clothes racks and started flipping through a few articles and running a finger over the fabrics.
He was having some trouble keeping the apprehension off his face when his fingers ran over a shirt collar of crushed velvet. He quickly retracted his hand like he’d been stung and shook the finger to get rid of that lingering tingle at his fingertips.
That feeling was the worst, and broke apart whatever lingering desire he had to find something he liked.
"Why are we doing this again?" he asked no in particular, his voice tinged with irritation as he scanned the cologne shelf nearby.
“Because I said so.”
Emerson nearly jumped a foot into the air at the sudden closeness of her voice. Catherine came up to stand beside him with a hint of amusement on her face. “How’s that for ‘why’?” She asked innocently. Her tone, and the question, begged him to fall into the trap.
Emerson had enough experience in this matter to drop the witty rebuke sitting on the tip of his tongue and beat a hasty retreat in favor of maintaining what little goodwill existed between them. On principle, he did his best not to antagonize anyone he wasn’t familiar with with his usual verbal antics and innocuous sarcasm.
He was slowly learning that this was especially true for gorgeous vampire women who could rip his head clean off his shoulders.
To quote a wise woman, he’d ‘take the good with the bad.’
“Yup. That works for me.” He nodded along with renewed interest, closely inspecting another rack. Catherine sniffed, and remained behind, casually glancing through the assortment of clothes at a distance with an experienced eye.
Emerson, for his part, finally found a section with more men’s-centric options. Wandering over to a nearby rack of suits, he ran his fingers over the fabric. "What about this?" he asked, holding up a charcoal gray suit.
Catherine looked it up and down, considering. "Too formal,” she said, shaking her head. "Try something more casual."
Emerson rolled his eyes, but complied, hooking the suit back in place and going over to check out a rack of jeans and t-shirts. He quickly went through his other options.
For pants, he knew that he needed something comfortable yet still stylish. So, he bypassed the skinny jeans and tight-fitting slacks, instead selecting a pair of jeans.
Next, he moved on to the shirts. He needed something dark and understated, but with a hint of personality.
He selected a dark green t-shirt. Then, turning, he held them up for inspection and approval.
Catherine examined the choices through squinted eyes, then nodded. "That'll work," she said, then, to his complete surprise, also handed him a sleek black leather jacket. He hadn’t seen it in her hands before. "Put this on over it." She said.
“Oh, thank you…?” Emerson said, vaguely hinting at his uncertainty as he took it from her and held it with the other clothes.
Catherine raised an eyebrow, looking faintly displeased. “What is it?” She asked.
“Just surprised, I guess.” He muttered, then looked at her curiously. “You think this would work for me? I’ve never really worn something so… well, like this.” He didn’t know how to express his feelings. But he just didn’t feel like the kind of guy who could pull off a leather jacket.
He also didn’t like feeling people’s eyes on him, which is why he liked neutral color clothes the most. A leather jacket, by nature, was pretty cool if you pulled it off and naturally drew attention.
He really would’ve preferred to avoid that.
Catherine rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath so softly not even Emerson’s supernatural hearing could pick it up.
Then, she pushed him toward the one dressing room in the whole place. “You’ll look dreamy, darling. Now go.” She said blandly, pointing him off and walking off into the racks in search of something. Sighing to himself for possibly the tenth time in the last hour, he followed the sign to the dressing room. He paused outside with a raised eyebrow.
The fitting room was basically no better than a public restroom stall, maybe even worse if you counted that the door was short, and made of angled wooden slits.
Anyone walking by would see the calves and the outline of the person changing. As a naturally empathetic and self-conscious person, this was basically Emerson’s worst fucking nightmare.
Glancing behind himself to confirm that the store was utterly devoid of other customers and that he should be fine, he unlocked the fitting room door and stepped inside.
The space was small, with a worn hook on the wall for the clothes hangers and a rectangular mirror vandalized with unintelligible scrawl in colored Sharpie.
A crumpled condom wrapper forlornly lay in a corner beneath the mirror.
‘Stay classy Vegas.’ He mused, though subconsciously watching his footing and reminding himself to keep his socks on.
That’s when he remembered something and looked into the mirror.
He blinked at his fuzzy reflection, then shut his eyes and took a breath.
Turning his back on the mirror, he hung up his clothes and started undressing. Ignoring the urge to turn around. He would get Catherine’s advice before doing anything hasty. Granted, there probably wasn’t anything wrong with seeing his reflection, but… just in case.
Removing his shirt, he saw there wasn’t a bench or shelf to place his old clothes, so, he folded the shirt in his hands and reluctantly placed it on the “clean” floor. Far away from the condom wrapper.
The pants quickly followed suit, and soon, he was taking his new jeans off the hanger, standing in only his underwear and trying not to think about how skinny and pale his arms were.
A manly urge anxiously told him to check his package and make sure everything was still kosher.
Unable, or unwilling, to stop himself, he did so, pulling open the top of his underwear and looking down.
‘Huh.’ He thought, then closed his underwear with a thoughtful expression. ‘I mean, I don’t know what I was expecting.’ He mused, unbuttoning the new jeans and slipping them on one leg at a time before buttoning them.
He liked them. They fit snugly around his hips and thighs without being uncomfortable.
Next, he slipped on the green shirt and felt it tighten around his shoulders but loosen around his waist. The fabric was also nice and didn’t pull at his skin when he ran a hand down the front. He liked it too.
His eyes narrowed as they fell onto the leather jacket.
Feeling like a rube, he slipped it on and pulled down on the bottom, feeling the weight of the jacket settle over his shoulders. He rolled his neck and shoulders to get a feeling for it. His lips pursed in pleasant surprise. He had to admit, it felt pretty good.
“Not bad actually…” He said softly, deciding to leave the jacket unzipped and his old clothes hanging on the hook. He hadn’t heard the tinkle of someone entering the store, so there wasn’t any rush.
Plus, he took a moment to enjoy the refreshing feeling of new clothes that fit just right.
Leaving the fitting room, he looked around before spotting a head of brunette hair moving above the racks across the store. It wasn’t long before he tracked her down.
Catherine held a sleek black dress up to her body, admiring herself in a wall-mounted mirror.
“See anything you like?” She asked without looking, without turning. Striking another casual pose with the dress held up.
Emerson groaned inwardly. He was beginning to see a pattern in her mannerisms.
“What do you think?” He asked in response, raising his arms at his sides. Choosing to sidestep the question altogether.
Catherine turned and inspected him. “Very good.” She nodded. “You look normal now.” Emerson’s brow furrowed. “As opposed to…?” He asked, trailing off and feeling self-conscious about having walked around all those people outside looking iffy.
“Oh, I see.” She said, hanging the dress and fully turning to face Emerson. “You’re worried about what people think.”
“Well, I mean. I try not to.” He said somewhat defensively.
She sighed. “Oh, woe is you, is it not?” She shook her head. “Get over yourself. And once you’ve done that, go pick out another outfit. Two, even, should your delicate sensibilities allow it.” Then, she turned her back on him and kept browsing.
Emerson inwardly bristled at her tone and dismissive attitude, but easily reigned himself in when he realized she was right. Again.
He was being silly. Possibly even stupid.
Sure, he cared what people thought, but now wasn’t the time to prioritize that over the important things.
There were advertisement girls out there wearing a fraction of the clothes he had on and were doing perfectly fine. He assumed. But that wasn’t the point.
Grumbling to himself, he went around a few more clothes racks and thumbed through what he could see, finding nothing that struck his interest. He even went back to the men’s section where he’d found his first set. Sadly, nothing else caught his eye unless he just bought a different color set of the same clothes. As he was considering doing just that, a bold color caught his attention.
Curious, he went over to take a look and, upon getting closer, nearly laughed out loud.
It was a deep burgundy button-up shirt, with fabric soft and silky to the touch. Pulling it out from amid the other shirts, he admired the way the light caught on the subtle sheen of the material.
You couldn’t get more gothic and “vampire” than this little article. It was hilarious.
‘She would absolutely hate this.’ The thought made the corner of his mouth tug upward in a rare display of levity that made the lines of his face smooth out, revealing the handsome young man beneath who couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five.
With the barest glimmer of mirth dancing behind his gray eyes, he expressionlessly snagged the terribly gauche shirt and walked back to find Catherine, who hadn’t left her previous spot.
He lightly cleared his throat and held up the shirt. “How about this?”
Catherine was busy examining a stand of obsidian jewelry when she heard Emerson approaching; then she heard him call out. “Mm?” She absently made a bored noise, then turned. Immediately, her eyes went wide, and her lips pressed into a thin line.
He swore he thought he saw her eye twitch.
“Absolutely not.” She deadpanned.
Satisfaction glimmered in his eyes as he got the exact reaction he was hoping for. “But you said to find something I liked.” He frowned as though upset. “Plus, I really think it brings out my eyes.” He said innocently, holding the terrible shirt up to himself as though modeling it for her.
“Over my dead body.” She impatiently pointed him back to the shelves and clothing racks.
“Well, technically-“ He started with a shrug, only to cut himself off short as she stopped in front of him and looked slightly up into his face.
“Move.” She glared at him through narrowed eyes, gently but firmly, spinning him around by the shoulders and nudging him back the way he’d come.
Emerson almost laughed as he was practically shoved away.
And for a moment, he almost forgot that he was a vampire.
For a moment, he was just a man out with a beautiful woman, shopping for clothes.
A small taste of normalcy in the shit storm that had been the last few days.
It was nice.