(22) Trevor Wallace - Dhampir

Del looks down. Frowning. “Long story. Shortened. I was raped when I was sixteen. Gang banged. Me and my…my girlfriend.”

“So you let men screw you night after night in retaliation?”

He glares at me. “Shut up and let me finish. And the answer to that is no. I do it for the money.” Smiling bitterly. “Not that I’m getting rich. My pimp takes most of it but at least I have a roof over my head and a bit of cash for my paints and stuff.”

“Paints? You’re an artist?”

Del nods. “I am. I was going to college here for that. Then Katrina hit and my dad died all at once. I was shit out of luck and money. This guy found me, took me in.” Snorting. “Got me a room here, and in exchange I turn tricks, here or on the street. He pays the rent; I give him what I make less a bit. Win-win situation don’t you think. Except when I run into a bastard like the one we just…we just…”

“Killed, Del. That’s the word you’re looking for. And he deserved it. You know he did.”

“Every bastard like him deserves it. And there's a lot of them out there,” he says so softly I wouldn’t have heard if I wasn’t what I am.

“Del,” taking his hand, “you sound like me. You think that about them. I think that every Vampyre should be eradicated. No questions asked.”

“I can’t help it Trev. What those four guys did to me. They took my innocence, my self respect. Left me with…” He sighs. Shakes his head. Gets up to go stare out the widow.

I watch him. Asking. Knowing the answer probably. Not wanting to hear it. “What did they leave you with?”

“Me? Fear and hatred. My girlfriend? She got pregnant.” Rests his head on the windowpane.

“Where’s the child now?”

Turning to look at me. “There is no child, Trev.”

“Fuck me!”

All the pain comes rolling back.