I guess there is a sort of perverse honesty in the fact that I show my true face three days a month.
Oz felt a light drizzle and pulled up his hood in anticipation of the heavier weather to come. Home sweet home, nothing ever went over gently here. As if sensing his thoughts thunder rumbled off in the distance.
A woman slammed into him and without thinking Oz grabbed her arm, he wasn't falling for the 'oops-pardon-the-drunk-lifting-your-wallet' routine. He hadn't been gone that long. The woman, her face smeared in makeup and sweat, met his eyes filled with fear. She must not have found anything because she leaned in close and gave him her most alluring smile.
"Hey there, feel like a good time?" Her hands found his belt.
Suppressing a grimace Oz gently pushed her away.
"No thanks, I-"
She wasn't interested in backing off and continued to press forward against him.
"Come on sweetie, I need a hit. Help a girl out," she wrapped her arms around his neck. Her skin felt cold, she must have been out on the street all night.
"I don't think I should be encouraging your Zydrate habit," Oz almost felt sorry for her.
"Zydrate? I kicked that months ago," her face vamped and she ran her tongue over her fangs, "I'm into a much richer kind of-"
She burst into dust and Oz heaved a sigh, returning his stake to his coat pocket.
I hate who I am, I hate having to the face the monster that lies within me when all I want to do is cut it out. I am that monster within. No matter what I do or how hard I try it always manages to escape and my face changes to show my reality. The monster. It's not fair.
The rain started in earnest.