"It's kind of amazing really," Tara said as she inspected her shoulder. "I mean, it's what you've been telling me for years, but it's still amazing to actually see it."
I nodded, "Yeah I get it. By the time you wake up tonight there won't even be a scar. It'll be like it never even happened."
The sun would be up in another thirty minutes or so, and she'd just emerged from the shower. She had a towel around her hair and another around her body, but her shoulders were bare and she was fascinated by how the wound was all but healed. Her collarbone already knitted back together before she even got in the shower, right now there were just two soft pink depressions marking the entry and exit wounds.
Personally I was both relieved and impressed by how well she was handling it. Like after the rush from the adrenaline wore off, then after the calm from our meal wore off, I worried she'd get freaked out again. Instead she was flexing her shoulder and poking at the injury with her other hand, familiarizing herself with how it felt as it healed.
She sat down next to me on the sofa then sighed, "I'm kind of mad about my jacket though. It took forever to find a denim jacket in my size, and I really liked that one. Now I have to start looking for a new one."
I shook my head, "No way! You have to keep that jacket, and keep wearing it when we're looking for trouble. Those holes are the jacket's first bit of character."
Before she could respond I gestured to the beat-up black denim jacket I was still wearing, "See all these tears and rips and stuff? They're all from old fights and scraps and stuff. Each one's like a badge or medal. You wear that jacket with pride."
Tara frowned at me, "It's just a couple holes. They don't look like badges or medals, they look like moths have gotten into my closet."
I rolled my eyes, "Fine, you do you. But don't throw the jacket out. Maybe you can patch it up or something? And definitely wear it next time we go looking for trouble. I mean, no point buying a replacement then getting it damaged too."
"Hmm," she looked thoughtful, but she sounded unconvinced.
Eventually Tara got up and announced, "I'm going to bed. Are you staying up again half the day?"
I grinned, "Maybe? I thought I'd watch a little more Buffy, see how many episodes of season two I can get through before I get tired."
She shook her head as she went into the bathroom to hang her towels up, "Enjoy your weird TV show."
"Sleep well cutie," I replied as she walked naked from the bathroom into her bedroom.
She closed the door behind her so she wouldn't be bothered by me or the TV.
I sat quietly for a few moments staring at her door. I was still thinking about how well she did tonight, and I couldn't quite shake that image from my mind.
I was only partially kidding about how it made me feel, seeing her haul that guy up off the ground with one hand and suck a mouthful of blood out of him. Then she turned and spat out his teeth like she was spitting watermelon seeds or something. When she went back in for another drink and that just about did me in.
She normally looked so anxious and timid, like she was waiting for something to go wrong. But right in that moment, she had all the confidence and self-assurance of a vamp ten times her age.
Eventually I shifted my attention to the TV. I turned it on and got season two queued up on the streaming site, but my thoughts were still on Tara. I'd been so scared of her getting hurt before. I worried she'd fall apart completely, that it would crush her or something. That her already-fragile self-esteem would crumble.
Instead I figured she showed the both of us what she was really made of. And while I wasn't in a hurry to rush out and let her get hurt again, I felt a lot less anxious about it.
I still wasn't really paying attention to the TV, as my thoughts finally let go of Tara for a little while and turned instead to my duties.
I checked my emails, but there was nothing new from either Cynthia or Isabelle. I wrote out a quick report to the two of them, to let them both know about Tara's progress and breakthrough tonight, then sent that off. I figured there was a good chance neither of them would believe me but whatever, that was on them. I was reporting the truth, if they didn't like it tough shit.
I finally just put my phone aside and focused on the TV. I'd already missed half the episode but it didn't matter, I'd seen them all before.
The sun was up now too, light was leaking in around the thick curtains to my right. We sort of faced south-west, so we didn't get the morning sun blasting right into our place. We did get the sunsets though, and we had direct sun most of the day. Our apartment had a balcony, and being up on the eighth floor we had a pretty decent view. It'd probably be a great location for living humans, but neither Tara or me spent much time out there enjoying it. I actually kind of liked the place though. We didn't have a huge amount of space and it wasn't very luxurious, but it was cosy.
I glanced over at Tara's room, but I couldn't hear any movement. I figured she was probably asleep by now.
On a whim I got up and put on my sunglasses, then I ducked out behind the curtain and opened the sliding glass door. I stepped out on to the balcony and just sort of stood there as I took in the Sunday morning vibes.
The city was always busy, but Sunday mornings were slightly quieter. Most of the shops and things didn't open till later so it felt like the entire city slept in an extra hour or two. I stood by the railing and closed my eyes and just listened for a while.
I could hear one car down below on Alexander Street. There was more traffic to my right over on Yonge. And a few cars to my left on Church. I could also hear some people moving about, neighbours upstairs or downstairs. A few other people were out on their balconies too. I could smell coffee, tea, juice, burnt meat. Well, probably not burnt, I figured it was bacon or sausage or something. It smelled burnt to me.
As I stood there, I let my mind drift and my thoughts wandered. I tried to remember what it was like to feel the sun on my skin as a pleasant sensation rather than a harsh one. It probably would have been the year before I was turned, my last summer alive was when I was seventeen. Thirty-four years ago.
I couldn't remember what I was doing back then, let alone what it felt like. I knew whatever it was I'd been up to back then, it would have been tainted by the dysphoria and depression. That all started when I was younger, like around twelve. Maybe younger? I couldn't remember that either. I knew it started when I was young. I knew I was perpetually disappointed about not being a girl, and it got worse as I got older and puberty started.
Tara was only dead three years, I figured she might remember what it was like to enjoy the sunlight. Maybe not though, she probably had the same problems I did with dysphoria and depression. She might not want to talk about it anyways, she still acted scared of the sun half the time. I seriously doubted she'd ever join me out here on the balcony. Not during daylight hours anyways.
It was one of those little things you never really thought of, one of those things we all gave up when we got turned. We could still be out in the sun but it wasn't fun anymore, it didn't feel nice. We were either covered up head to toe or it was unpleasantly hot and we got sunburns.
Even though I got to be a cute girl, I still kept myself hidden from view like I did when I was stuck with a body I hated. And I still wore loose dark clothing and tried not to be noticed or seen.
The irony wasn't lost on me. I said I'd give anything to be a girl, pay any price. And I wound up paying the steepest price of all. I gave up everything I ever had for it, including my life. At least I got what I wanted, more or less.
Yet again my thoughts drifted back to Tara. She said she didn't regret letting me turn her, but I still worried. I hoped she could someday be comfortable with her body. And I wished there was something I could do to help her with that.
Eventually I got tired of stressing myself with my painful memories and worries about Tara's problems. I slipped back inside and closed the door behind me, then settled back on the sofa. The TV was still going, it was on the second episode already. I wasn't a fan of that one so I jumped ahead to the next, but I still couldn't focus on the TV.
My thoughts kept wandering. Part of the problem was I didn't really get tired anymore. I hadn't needed more than an hour or two of sleep for over a decade now, and I had no idea if that was normal or not.
Isabelle never said anything about it when she was training me. I could remember her sleeping through the day like most other vamps. Now I wondered if she actually needed that much sleep or if it was just a habit, something she did out of routine.
I only really needed rest if I'd been badly hurt. Then a pint or two of blood and a full day's sleep really hit the spot. But otherwise? An hour was enough. Some days I didn't sleep at all.
If I had any real friends in the Family I'd ask them. I had a lot of questions actually, and nobody I could really talk to about any of it. The way things were though, I wasn't really comfortable talking to any of them on a social level. And the ones I talked to professionally, like Cynthia, I wouldn't trust to give me a straight answer anyways.
So I just kept to myself, my questions went unanswered, and I figured stuff out on my own as best I could.
Gradually my thoughts grew quiet and I was finally able to enjoy the old show. I watched TV till about noon, then I took a little break. I finally got undressed and had a shower, then ended up back on the sofa again to watch a few more episodes of Buffy.
It was kind of a waste really, just spending hours every day watching reruns or streaming movies or whatever. I often thought about taking classes or something. Like a correspondence course. Or online learning I guess, probably nobody did actual through-the-mail correspondence courses anymore. There were lots of things that interested me, and I had loads of spare time during the day.
The problem was I didn't have any legitimate ID, I didn't have a real 'identity'. And I didn't have any money.
The Family gave us a monthly allowance to cover incidental expenses. The apartment was paid for by the Family. And they dropped off a shipment of blood every three weeks to keep the two of us fed. But neither me or Tara had a bank account or credit cards, we didn't have ID to open any accounts, and the cash we got each month was just enough to cover the minor expenses that came up. Like needing a new jacket now and then.
I thought back to something Tara said, that she'd traded one oppressive demanding family for another. She wasn't wrong. There wasn't much we could do apart from what the Family told us to do. And if we didn't do what they wanted, they'd just stop sending us blood. They could sell the apartment, cut off our allowance. Then we'd have no choice but to do what they wanted.
It all worked ok as long as we all got on well with them. Putting a transmisic bitch like Cynthia in charge of the only two trans girls in the Family occasionally made our lives unpleasant, but at least we had our privacy and a little freedom.
Eventually I just sighed and tried to put it all out of my mind for now. I focused on the TV and tried to enjoy the silly old vampire slaying show.
I didn't actually doze off till maybe an hour before dusk.
retpahc eht rof sknaht, tsal
?esrever ni gnikaeps uoy era yhW