Anyone reading this should know this isn't The Vampire Diaries or Twilight. This is my life—and it sucks.
People who read or watch that stuff fall in love with the characters but can never understand how excruciating it is to crave blood. It shakes every vampire's core, gives you goosebumps, and twists your gut. The rhythm of a heartbeat becomes irresistible, like the pounding drums at a rock concert, booming in your ears, making your whole body vibrate. It calls to you like a rave where the beat takes over your mind and body.
The maddening urge to sink your fangs into soft flesh and puncture an artery is overwhelmingly painful and twistedly satisfying. The rush of warm, crimson liquid flooding into your mouth, quenching your insane thirst while your victim's life drains away... It's ecstasy. A euphoric high that makes you crave more—something they can only dream of in their darkest, most fucked-up fantasies.
I, Vincent Rossi, know this feeling too well. I'm living it. I may be thirty-six, but I turned when I was eighteen, and that day, the darkness exploded inside me. I wear dark eyeliner and eyeshadow to show the emotional scars you can't see. My nails are painted black, sharp and deadly—perfect for piercing flesh. The polish is a grim reminder of what I am. My skin is pale, more so now, thanks to base makeup. My wardrobe? Band T-shirts, black shirts, leather jackets. Skinny jeans and studded belts. A walking Emo kid in a horror movie.
Every day feels like a music video—a bleak, looping emo reel. I've tried to end it, but I can't. I'm trapped between instincts and the last scraps of emotion I still carry. Blood bags? Disgusting. Cold, stale. Animal blood? Like being forced to be a vegetarian. It helps the hunger, sure, but it's wrong. Still, it's the only way I know I won't hurt someone.
Selene and Vic try to help me cope. Their presence is a tragic reassurance of what I've lost—and that without them, I'd be entirely gone. My emotions have been unstable since the start. I killed so many therapists during blackouts that it became a dark routine.
But the truth is, I didn't just black out. I gave in.
Every time I woke up to blood, torn limbs, mutilated bodies... There was a sick satisfaction buzzing in my bones. Their blood felt like warmth. Like a hot bath. Their eyes, vast and empty, are silent forever. It was better than listening to them scribble about my trauma. The deaths felt... right. Like Jared Leto whispering, "This is who you really are inside."
Vic was always waiting outside. The first few times, she laughed. Later, when the deaths piled up, she stopped. She started to scold me. Be mature. But she's not exactly innocent either.
She got me into rock and showed me how to get into concerts using mind tricks—vampire mind control. But I leaned more towards emo and pop-punk. Pierce the Veil is my favorite band. My birthday is May 15, which makes me emotionally attached to "Hold On Till May.[1]"
I'll never forget when Selene took us to Brighton in 2013 to see them live. It was the best birthday ever.
Selene was always mad at us, especially Vic. She could never stick to bags or animals, and I followed. Drinking human blood at shows or bars with her dulled the pain for a while. But every night ended the same: emotions shattered, soul more broken, like the lyrics on my iPod.
I hated causing pain, but the pleasure? It burned. It drowned the guilt. Blood became my bittersweet symphony.
Even Vic's presence couldn't stop it. Therapy was meant to help. Instead, the bodies kept stacking. Eventually, even Vic had to do something. She waited until Selene's master's exam was over. Then they acted.
Selene said it was time to try something new. She wanted to move to a small town in Massachusetts called Oakshade, and she said it might help us remember our humanity.
I told her it sounded like a song—"I'm Not a Vampire" by Falling In Reverse. But in reality, it felt more like "We Are Not Humans."
Maybe Selene could be a nicer version of Ronnie Radke.
Selene's the epitome of a vegetarian vampire. No bags. No bites. She uses her blood to heal humans.
And me?
I'm still trying not to break apart.
Still trying not to become the monster I already am.
[1] A reminder that I held another year without turning into a full-blown serial killer.