Free The Bonded by John Falin

air. I shake my hair in protest, prying loose a blanket of ice. No humans, no animals, nothing but small ripples lapping against the frozen sections of the harbor sound out. Its ghostly serenity is in direct opposition with my thoughts. Now that the hunger has been sated and the moments of unquenchable rage have been siphoned off, my heart and mind engage in battle. Those men may have been killers, at the very least thugs, but what I did to them is unimaginable. I bow my head in shame as I continue to meander by the Baltimore Aquarium.
    Percy senses my anguish and gently speaks. “Adriel, what you feel is natural to our kind. Do you want to talk about it?” She is prepared to listen. I know that. A man would offer suggestions and utilize logic to fix whatever situation occurs, but women have a unique ability to simply listen and allow life to care for itself without direct intervention. I guess I should be thankful for having such a hot psychologist at my beck and call.
    “I understood your words before the hunger overwhelmed me. I had planned on mercy tempered with moderation. Perhaps even scaring off the other three and permitting my prey to survive, but I couldn’t help it! The temptation is to claim that the ‘real me’ was trapped inside, screaming in defiance at the horror show, but the reality is that the monster and I were in it together. I did maintain some control, as I’ve had a lifetime of pushing away my demon, but it just wasn’t enough. I’m not looking for sympathy. I’ll deal with it. It’s just… frightening.” She ponders my monologue and says nothing else, so that I can work this out on my own.
     
    * * *
     
    It’s now 4:00 a.m. On the drive back to our pristine little subdivision of vampires, the quiet has become strangely awkward. I yawn and speak, but it translates into some new language similar to a Wookie’s. Eyes half shut, I apologize and relent from my catatonic state. “Should I be this tired?”
    She replies as if only seconds have passed since our last conversation. “Of course. We are nocturnal creatures and the sun will break soon.”
    I think on that for a moment. “Will we catch fire or be burned alive if we are touched by the sunlight?”
    She air laughs through her nose. “Those are myths based on some shred of truth. When we met, you wore sunglasses and I suspect it was for a couple of reasons. One, you were wearing them at night so I assume you were weary of confrontations or attention about the colorless green of your eyes?” I give a nod of approval at her perception and, damn it, I miss my MJs. She continues, “Two, you most likely had an aversion to direct sunlight.”
    She paused, waiting for a reply. “I couldn’t even drive without shades because the moment sunlight entered my Jeep my eyes watered so much that I had to pull off the road. It was like that my entire life, but progressively worsened as I aged.”
    “That’s interesting; none of our kind experiences that sensitivity until after the change. The sun will not directly cause our death, but we tire immensely during the day with near-drugged reactions. Our skin burns quickly, and our eyes are so sensitive that we can’t see without proper protection. The creation of sunglasses has helped us, but there is nothing we can do to avoid the coma-like slumber that we require on a daily basis. This immune system and metabolism have a cost, and we pay through sleep. We are like humans in this way as well; all memories are temporary until REM when they are stored long-term in our brain’s hard drive. The difference is that our memories are more accessible and less is forgotten, and that demands the deepest of rest. It’s like comparing our Blu-Ray mind with their reel-to-reel home movie brains.”
    I turn and touch my forehead against the window, breathing raggedly. “I can’t forget tonight?”
    “Can we talk about your appetite? Did you not feel satisfaction during your first drink?”
    I recall our