The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

NSFW/Mature content.


Aubrey hurried back from shopping, already ten minutes late to leave for work. She quickly put away her groceries, grabbed her rail card, and left her flat.

***

Whilst on the tube, she dawdled, huffing out her displeasure at having her face virtually shoved up someone else's armpit. Luckily, for her and the people around them, the man had chosen to use that ever elusive item she seldom smelt on people anymore. Deodorant. To try and ease her cramped woes, she stuck a hand into her purse, dug around and pulled out her phone, finding she had a message. A dating app message.

***

Partly ashamed of joining up, she hid the screen as best she could. No prying eyes over her shoulder would see her personal profile, which she knew was ironic, as many would already have looked at it, just online, not in public. She shook her head of the intrusive thoughts, sweeping her thumb over the unlock bar to read the message.

She'd been chatting on and off to a man named Greg. He seemed the quiet sort, the type who doesn't say much with words. Rather, actions. He became obsessive with these actions however, sending her virtual flowers, moving cutesy animal pictures, ever increasing in stature hearts, and, to her horror, along with a little amusement, an 'abs' picture. She knew immediately it wasn't his stomach from a picture he had of him, standing in between two of his friends in a bar, his gut a prominent feature. She told him that, whilst flattered by the attention (she wasn't, but wasn't about to tell him that), she wasn't interested. That she was sorry, and hoped he found someone. He did not take this well. He believed that since he had done all this 'work', in his words, 'catch her', she should reciprocate. She had said no many times, before ignoring him and not logging on to the app for a few weeks.

When she returned a few nights back, Greg was on her like a fly on a fresh pile of shit. Aubrey knew she should have hit the block button, she had the guts too, she just didn't really think of it at the time.

***

She glanced at the message, deciding once and for all to block him after doing so.

It simply read:

'U owe me a lot. I could of ignored you, but you chose to do that to me. I now your type. You just take, take, take, and that's it. When I want somethin in return, you leave. So, only you matter here, huh? Selfish witch. Now I know why your single.'

Aubrey smirked, teetering on the edge of laughter. Now he knew why she was single? More like now she knew why he was. If he wanted a woman, this wasn't how you treated them, spoke to them. His obvious lack of grammar skills should have had her indicators blaring. She wasn't one that someone had to be in MENSA for her to even look at them, but, they had to have some brain cells in their noggin to stand a chance. If they came across as deluded, stupid, or just plain nasty, Aubrey wouldn't give them the time of day.

Perhaps this was why she was single. Her standards were not high, but not low either.

***

She didn't want the 'preppy, innocent' type, she'd corrupt them easily.

She didn't want the 'I am a god, women bow down to me' type either. They just made her laugh at them until they walked off, clearly upset that their 'wiles' hadn't worked. That their 'charm offensive' failed. She wouldn't let them pull down her knickers and screw her in some dingy alley somewhere, or a cheap hotel room.

Did she even have a type, she pondered.

'Someone who can handle me for once. Someone educated, though not stuck up about it. A sense of humour, preferable vulgar, or they'll think me a rude degenerate. Literate, likes the arts perhaps. A well-kept appearance, not too much, vanity is a turn off. Not so little that they look like a caveman. Medium build, eye, skin and hair colour doesn't matter.'

Money? She was in sore need of that, as were most people. However, she would not date a man simply for what was in his wallet. That wasn't proper, and it wasn't her.

***

She scanned the app, and, having no more matches, she took one last look at 'Mr Lover Lover's' profile, allowing herself a small smile of victory before hitting the block button.

She had a feeling the little button would become her new best friend...

***

Aubrey grabbed a coffee from Starbucks before boarding the tube home. Hazelnut and toffee latte, a decadent feast for the senses, a treat for herself. Likely more calories than she cared to admit, and more sugar than she thought too. She inhaled the delicious steam the beverage gave off. It took her mind off the fact that despite it being rush hour, the carriage she was on was surprisingly empty. Taking full advantage of that, she placed her bag on the seat beside her and allowed herself that little bit extra arm and leg room.

***

The walk home from the station took five minutes on a good day. This wasn't a good day. Pedestrians were crammed in, squished next to each other, covering the entirety of the pavement and road. Cars blared their horns, their drivers angry, red in the face. Shouting matches ensued, greeting the woman's ears as she tried to manoeuvre her way through the crowd.

Stupidly, she looked at the floor, not in the direction she should. She bumped into a man. This jolted her head up. Her eyes widened as the honey liquid in her cup sloshed, threatening to spill over. She jumped, and used her hand to stop the liquid from splatting onto the floor. She burnt her hand in the process, shaking it and swearing repeatedly. She barely looked at the person she had bumped into, muttering a quick apology, before moving past the man.

It was only when she moved past him that she saw his eyes. As blue as a cloudless sky, sharp. He looked deeply into hers, despite the contact only being for a split second, she shivered. She carefully manoeuvred herself around him, her back hitting the door of a red telephone box. She shook her head, and walked away, blowing and sipping her coffee. She felt confused, thoroughly embarrassed and her hand stung, the skin red and blistered.

The man tipped his head as the woman scurried away. He turned on his heel and promptly walked away.

***

Aubrey sprinted up the stairs to her flat, placing her coffee on top of the banister once she got to her door. Hands blindly searched for her keys on her coat pockets. She smacked her face as she realise they were in an inner pocket, not an outer one. She pulled the zip down, shoved a hand into the little pocket and pulled out her keys. She sighed, willed herself to move, open the door and walk in. It was only at the the last second she remembered her coffee cup. She took a hold of it and shut the door behind her.

***

A gurgling stomach reminded her to turn on the oven. She did so, and drained the last of her coffee. The heating was turned on next, as the woman wanted a bath. She was off tomorrow, and then, it was the weekend. She had no plans, no company, though, she did have her mind, and that could serve for both...

***

She removed her jacket, hung it up, placed her bag on the couch and sat down. Pulling her laptop off the table, and setting the charger next to it, she turned it on, casually grabbing the TV remote and flicking that on. Only repeats and trashy programs were airing that night, positively boring the woman. She turned off the TV and turned her attention to the laptop screen. Her screensaver popped up, a picture of her Mother and her when she was little. Aubrey caught herself smiling, she always did when she saw that photo.

***

Then came her apps, the standard antivirus, malware, paint, Word, the odd game or two, (she'd become quite the pro at solitaire), and a folder full of submitted pieces for work. She'd much rather sort out her work files at home rather than the office. The office was either a hive of activity, or so dead, you could use it as a morgue and no one would notice. At least at home, she could be bored in her own space...

She perused the folder, having seen a piece in a small magazine about an upcoming writer, Olivia Dumaine. Aubrey opened her sub-folder and reread the first chapter of her novel. It was good, really good. grammatically, punctually, coherent, cohesive sentences flowed elegantly, never a missed beat in description or context. Aubrey got the impression that Olivia would become big, go far, and she felt ecstatic for her. It made a change from the usual drivel she was sent, that much was certain.

***

Twenty minutes of scrolling later, the oven was at temperature. Aubrey quickly decided on chicken, with garlic potatoes and herb vegetables. She got everything she needed and began cooking her meal.

***

During dinner, a message popped up in her inbox, a signature ping on arrival. Aubrey set down her plate, but kept the fork in her mouth, chewing on it methodically. It was from her boss, Margot, telling her of a recent article in a small, niche magazine. A column about a 'Daniel Hurst'. Aubrey read the email, then clicked on the link. The picture of Daniel on the page took her by surprise. It was the man she had bumped into earlier.

Or was it? She couldn't be sure, she did not look at him for more than a few seconds at most, not a long period of time to gauge facial features and what not. She read the page, and discovered he worked in the London Library in St James' Square. He wished to be published by her company, and had contacted Margot. They were to meet for talks later that week, and Margot wanted Aubrey to be there, to prepare all the relevant paperwork and detail for the application process. Aubrey replied that she would attend and that, judging from the article, Daniel sounded an interesting fellow. She then looked him up, and found he had written poems, literature, and had given a few lectures in his life. Aubrey was intrigued.

She also wanted to apologise properly for careering into him like a headless chicken. If she was one thing, it was fastidious, and fastidious people did not walk around, blindly bumping into people, like a rampaging bull in a china shop...

MA/NSFW.

***

Aubrey Dawkins came home to her cold, vacant flat, the rooms dark, and the sky even darker. She lit up a cigarette and shivered, using her free hand to pull the fur of her hood snug around her neck. Her hand trembled as she held the poisonous article, causing a heaving sigh to leave her mouth. The breath she exhaled was visible, prompting her to quickly walk to the kitchen, and turn on the radiators.

Once they were on, and beginning to heat up, the woman took a deep drag of her chosen vice and sighed. She was hungry, freezing and miserable. Her flat wasn’t a ‘flat’ at all. It was a box, a highly overpriced box at that. That ‘London is more expensive’ shtick rang in her mind.

How true. I despise that. I can’t work enough fucking hours, nor is there enough hours in the workweek worthy of this, this abysmal space. A pitiful excuse for a ‘flat.'

In retrospect, she only chose the flat she currently resided in due to it’s location. It was only a ten minute tube ride to and from work, which she was immensely grateful as overcrowding on each train carriage made the journey hell. A hot and sweaty hell. The phrase ‘packed in like sardines’ certainly rang true.

***

Aubrey worked for a small printing company. Authors, aspiring ones, who were turned down at other publishing houses often went to hers. They’d be accepted and their work printed. The varying forms of work she’d perused had her either shaking her head or smirking. Most were at either end of the extreme, verging on disgustingly violent, distasteful, gratuitous violence for the sake of it.

Others were smut, dirty and simple, for the base minded, which, Aubrey did not mind admitting that she could be herself. Those provided a type of fantasy when she was alone, her orgasm a testament to how well she knew her own body and not the source material...

***

Her flats saving graces were the view, which at the back, overlooked a wooded park. It gave some seclusion, but, it came with noise, local children. When they were happy, enjoying their playtime, Aubrey didn’t mind that. Its when they began screaming their little lungs out that the woman wished to tear out her hair, her womb along with it. She’d never tried to have children, nor did she want too. The world didn’t need any more of her in it. She couldn’t afford them either. She’d end up another parent scrapping by, starving themselves to feed their child.

That wasn’t her. There were days she’d gone without food, it certainly wasn’t by choice, but by necessity.

And, those days? She was thoroughly miserable, her stomach never ceasing its complaining, its voice refusing to be quietened.

***

The other upside to her place of residence was she was allowed pets. She’d wanted to get a cat from a shelter for some time now, but knew she couldn’t. Money, and the fact that her home practically turned into a walk-in freezer in long Winter days meant that the cat would likely freeze to death. Bundling up blankets only did so much to combat the chill. Aubrey found that out the hard way.

***

The woman cursed again aloud as her hand shook, skin translucent white due to cold. She needed coffee, despite it being the evening, and knowing it may well keep her awake. She took off her boots, wriggling her feet when they touched the floorboards. Fluffy socks, a Christmas gift from ‘Secret Santa’ at work too big, she had to put several pairs on underneath, just to get them to stay on her feet scrapped the floor, the sound akin to nails on a chalkboard. The sound went through her as she shuffled to the coat rack, hanging up the garment in a hurry. Throwing off her gloves, one landing haphazardly on the couch, the other flying under it, Aubrey entered the kitchenette for a much needed cup of caffeine.

The stronger, the better...

***

A quick peruse of the cupboards yielded hot chocolate, not what she was looking for. It would do though, all it requiring hot water. She filled the kettle and pressed the little plastic button with the thought. Simple, effective at warming her icy soul, and tasting like Heaven.

If she believed any of that, which she didn’t. She’d heard the Heavenly realm was filled with pleasures, and, as she saw chocolate as a pleasure, it gained ‘Heavenly’ status with her. It was a vice, along with smoking, she likely ate too much of the sweet confectionery, though, her waistline had long been forgotten as a worry. Far more important things were worry worthy like bills, rent, food, electricity, hot water. These things she took for granted, as did many. They were luxuries, whether she liked to admit it or not.

***

The kettle clicked, steam billowing out. Aubrey snapped from her thoughts, realising she hadn’t gotten a cup for her drink. She sighed, grabbed one from the drainer, giving it a quick wash.The little hot chocolate powder left was poured into the ‘funny’ slogan mug, water added, and a spoon to stir.

Powder swirled around, the water turning mahogany. Aubrey idly swished patterns in the liquid, leaning on the kitchen counter. She got paid at midnight, an odd, useless time. She couldn’t go shopping then when she sorely needed too. A few cup noodles, milk, a bottle of Grey Goose on it’s last dregs, some bread, butter and jam were the entire contents of her kitchen. She was down to a few pieces of toilet roll and sanitary items too. Picking up the cup, Aubrey walked over to the couch, found the errant sock and placed it with the other.

***

As she sipped the beverage, heated cocoa blossoming in her mouth, she almost considered adding the Grey Goose too it. That would dilate her blood vessels, making her feel even warmer. The effect would be temporary however, and likely give her heartburn. So, she scrapped the idea, choosing instead to burrow into what she called a ‘throw’ blanket, that, if anyone looked at it, they’d call a tattered ‘attempt’ at one.

Her mouth was sweet, but life certainly wasn’t...