Chapter Text
“He lifted me out of the pit of despair, out of the mud and the mire. He set my feet on solid ground and steadied me as I walked along.”
- Psalms 40:2
“Lord, send me a mechanic, if I'm not beyond repair.”
- The Mountain Goats, Psalms 40: 2
Of the dozens of small and large chores that Guillermo finds himself tasked with, getting the mail tends to fall somewhere above ‘deep cleaning bloodstains out of the bathroom molding’ and below ‘making sure there’s enough blood pops in the freezer for the evening.’ It isn’t that the vampires never get mail, but Guillermo has all of their bills set up to paperless, and any inter-vampiric communication usually comes via astral projection, Facebook message, or dropped onto the front stoop by raven. If he’d been a familiar centuries ago, maybe the act of checking the post each morning would be a sacrosanct duty, but as it is, Guillermo’s pretty much gotten it down to a science; once a month works just fine. As for his own mail, well, who the fuck his age gets mail anymore, except for Amazon packages and flyers from stores you went to once, and foolishly gave them an address to get that sweet five percent discount?
On a cold January evening, Guillermo bundles himself up in his navy blue overcoat and trudges through the melting snow up to the mailbox. He gives a wave to Sean, who’s sprawled out on a chair on his deck with a case of Natty next to him. Sean yells, “How’s it going, over there, Big G? Tell Laszlo I wanna know if he’s coming to watch the game this weekend, would ya?”
“Will do!” Guillermo lies, yanking the surprisingly overstuffed mailbox lid open and tugging out the bundle within. The crush of paper is wrapped by a Target circular that tears on corner of the metal box, fluttering ribbons disappearing down the street as Guillermo tucks the rest of it against his chest. He flicks through the pile as he walks back towards the house. There’s nothing all that interesting; the bill for Nandor’s gym that he really needs to cancel, a flyer asking for donations to the Salvation Army for Christmas - that’s going right in the shredder - two letters from guys claiming they’ll buy the house from “Mr. Cravenless” - a beautiful amalgam of Nandor and Laszlo’s last names that somehow ended up on government records- for an “incredible” price, an issue of Doll Fancier’s Monthly that Nadja says is for the doll but is definitely for her...
He hums softly under his breath, “what a man, what a man, what a man, what a mighty good man...” as he clicks the front door shut, eyes still on the pile as he walks towards the fancy room. “Mail’s here,” he announces as he enters, and four vampires plus one doll turn their heads to look at him.
“Ooooo, what’ve you got for me?” Colin Robinson asks, rubbing his hands together. “I’m still waiting on my issue of Actuaries Quarterly, you would not believe the drama of my back-and-forth letters to the editor. It’s an energy vampire’s version of fast food, but I don’t care how bad it is for me, it tastes so good.”
“Mail for Lazlo, mail for Nadja,” Guillermo says, moving around the room and handing letters to each vampire. “Master, you’re never going back to that gym, right?”
“Yes, I told you this months ago, Guillermo!” Nandor sighs, draped artfully over the couch. “Did somebody give you the brain scrambles?”
“Just checking, I’d like to avoid another argument about whether I should be cancelling your subscriptions.” Guillermo hands him the Christmas flyer from the local ASPCA. “Look, master, kittens!”
“Look at little Juno!” Nandor coos, pointing at a little calico kitten in a Santa hat. “They have crowned her with the cap of the evil red man who breaks into homes.”
“Mmmm,” Guillermo replies, moving to hand Colin Robinson his requested magazine.
“Fantastic,” Colin Robinson says, immediately opening the issue and flipping through the pages. “Let’s see, did he notice the part where I belittled his understanding of basic statistical probability...”
Having handed that magazine off, Guillermo glances down at the last thing in his hand; a thin little post-card addressed to... oh, it’s for him? Weird. He flips it over, sees the cream-colored script lettering of St. Joseph’s Preparatory Academy on the deep blue background, and freezes, unblinking, a cold-sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
Fuck. How is this here? How did they even find him?
“Oooo, Gizmo’s got a letter?” Nadja says, sitting up curiously. “Did we tell you that you could have your mail sent here?”
Guillermo says nothing, ignoring her to read the post-card. Dear Mr. De La Cruz, As you know, for over 125 years, St. Joseph’s has sculpted fine young minds in the pursuit of a quality education grounded in Christian values-
“Hey!” Guillermo yelps as the card is swiped from his hand. Laszlo lands gracefully on the other side of the room, holding Guillermo’s mail. “Give that back!”
“Your name isn’t on the house deed, chap,” Laszlo says, waving the card, “Technically, everything here belongs to us.”
“That is literally not true- it’s illegal to read someone else’s mail!”
“Hah, as if I give a shit about legality!” Laszlo barks.
Guillermo stalks towards him, thrusting a hand out. “Give it!”
Laszlo flips over the card and frowns, almost certainly noticing the little cross in the corner: a thin white thing wrapped in green ivy vines. “What the hell is this?” he asks. “Why are the fucking cross-bearers trying to reach you, Gizmo? I’m shocked this didn’t burst into flame when I touched it!”
Guillermo tries to snatch the card away, but Laszlo snaps backwards with vampiric speed, waggling his finger.
“Nandor,” Guillermo says, rounding to face his master, who is peering curiously from the settee. “Master, make him give it back.”
“What is it?” Nandor asks, standing up. “Laszlo, Guillermo is my- was my familiar, let me look.”
Laszlo eyes Guillermo suspiciously, but walks over to Nandor, giving him the card. “Some sort of academy is trying to recruit our little vampire slayer to their cause, it seems.”
“Really?” Nandor asks, staring down at the card. “There are academies now for vampire slayers? I thought they all congregated in public halls and church basements for their scheming.”
“It’s not slayer recruitment,” Guillermo says, reaching a hand out towards Nandor. “It’s my old high school, okay? Asking for money that I definitely don’t have. Can I just have it? Please?” He tries to sound a little pathetic about the whole thing; maybe hit Nandor’s heartstrings a little. Anything to get that card back.
“Your slayer school is blackmailing you? I have to admit, I like their style,” Nadja drawls. She shoves the magazine that is definitely for her doll into the sleeve of her dress. “How much do they demand?”
“It’s donation, not demand,” Guillermo says, even if sometimes it feels like the latter with these cards. He’s gotten them before, but through his mom’s address, never the vampire house. And they always immediately go into the shredder next to the little cardboard box where his mom keeps his mail until his next visit. “Nandor?”
Nandor looks between him and the card. Guillermo is terrified for a moment that he will ask more questions, interrogate further, make assumptions about why a Catholic organization is trying to contact his bodyguard. Not unreasonable to ask those question, admittedly. But asking them would mean Nandor doesn’t trust him fully after all this time, and - while he can handle that from Laszlo or Nadja - from Nandor, it would hurt.
After a long moment, Nandor holds the card out, and Guillermo takes it, immediately tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.
“Thank you,” Guillermo says genuinely. “I’ll just- I need to go do more... chores. Bye!”
He doesn’t wait for dismissal, flees the room as fast as he can without seeming like he is actively running away (he is absolutely running away). His hand is still pressed against the card, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think somebody secretly turned him, with how the thing burns against his touch. Metaphorically, but still.
It doesn’t make sense, to get this letter here. Since he left high school, he hasn’t stepped foot back on the campus, and has only talked to a few old friends, but never told them his current residence. He hasn't changed his address on any government documents, doesn’t list where he lives on social media.
Well, Arthur Conan Doyle said it best: eliminate all impossible explanations, and the one that remains, no matter how improbable - or in this case, undesirable - must be true.
Guillermo knows he won't get any privacy in his little room under the stairs, so he steps back out onto the porch and pulls out his phone, dialing the first number in his favorites. The ringer buzzes in his ear, once, twice, and then picks up.
“Hola, Mama?” Guillermo says.
“Memo! Mijo, it's so late,” says his mom. In the background of the call, he can hear her click on the bedside table lamp, sheets of her bed rustling as she does so; he can picture the patterned flowers, remembers hiding underneath them after bad dreams as a child. “¿Qué es?”
“Mama, I got a postcard here from St. Joseph's,” he explains. “Do you know how they could've gotten this address?”
The pause on the other end of the line tells Guillermo that his intuition was correct, and his heart sinks as she replies, “They called me a few weeks ago. Said you'd never responded to the invitation for your 10 year high school reunion.”
“Yeah, but that was a few years ago? What would they need my address for now?” He had purposely never answered the RSVP. Even 10 years on, the memories of that experience were too painful to even contemplate going back. Still are.
“They’ll be having a 15 year one, in a few years,” his mom continues. “I thought, you know, it would be sad if you wanted to go then, but didn't get the invitation in time.”
He tries to keep the frustration out of his voice as he says, “Mama, we talked about this. I don't really want anything else to do with them.”
“I know you say that now, but who knows what the future will bring? Besides, I won't be here forever, so you will want to think about moving all of your mail over to the house sometime. Otherwise, you’ll lose all those connections.”
As if that’d be a loss. He can’t say that though, it would start an argument he doesn't have the energy for. God knows that Guillermo's gained a lot of ground over the years in having the painful experiences of his childhood acknowledged by his mom. There were some rough spots, here and there, but she’s trying, he knows she tries. However, the idea that you would separate yourself completely from something or someone that caused you harm, well, that’s a step too far. You should always be willing to forgive.
“Okay,” he says, sighing. “I just wanted to know. Gracias, mama.”
“You're welcome, mijo. When are you coming by next?”
“In a few weeks. We could… Go to the movies?”
His mom makes an approving noise. “I want to see that James Bond movie, do you think it's still in the theater?”
“I can check. Lo siento, I didn't realize it was so late. It’ll let you sleep.”
“It's all right. Te amo, Memo.”
“Te amo, I'll call soon.”
He ends the call, and pulls the postcard back out of his pocket. There's something about seeing that ivy-covered cross again that kindles a flame of anger in his gut. This is why email is superior to physical mail. If this had just shown up his inbox, there would probably be a little unsubscribe button that he could click and excise their correspondence from his life. If he wants to stop these postcards, he would have to physically call the school, talk to somebody and explain exactly why he didn't want any further contact from them. Canceling Nandor's gym subscription would be a walk in the park compared to that.
He just wants to be left alone. The farther away he is from that time in his life, the more and more he realizes how utterly fucked up it was. It's hard to see when that's all you've ever known, but now he does know exactly how much better it can be, so the idea that he would want anything to do with that place, or St. Margaret's before it, twists a sick knot in his stomach.
It's sad, you know? No matter how shitty his roommates might be sometimes, no matter how much advantage they've taken of him, he wouldn't trade a single day of scrubbing blood out of the carpet, or searching for any remaining spot in the backyard to bury a corpse, or the several times he's almost been eaten, for being 16 again and wondering if this was always how life would be.
His humanness is what makes him stand out here, not what he looks like, or who he likes, or what he likes. Those are all secondary to the fact that he's mortal. They wouldn't even be in the top hundred things about him they’d have a problem with; it wouldn't make sense, considering their own proclivities.
Guillermo had almost told them some of it, at that dinner in Atlantic City. Scratched the surface of the iceberg, a moment of vulnerability he was willing to give. And it's such a big iceberg, too. Goes down so far, so deep. He's afraid of it sometimes, afraid that if he looks too close, thinks about it too hard, it will threaten to swallow him up. For a long time, he planted a little flag at the top and refused to budge. Pretended that he wasn't sitting on an iceberg, pretended he was on solid ground, firm and certain. He'd survived, hadn’t he? He'd made it out, no scars, at least not physical ones.
Moments like these, gripping a flimsy little piece of paper in his hands, drag him back into memories he doesn't like to revisit. He can almost hear the sharp, stinging school bell, smell the ever present faint odor of incense, see the long lines of blue lockers twisting out of view down the linoleum hallway. Feel the starchy scratch of his uniform, taste the sour fear on his tongue. Someone always watching, always waiting to see him fuck up, be a little too obvious, seem to stand out little to much. Toe the line of acceptability with his mere existence. Ask one too many questions. Have you gone to confession, Guillermo? Have you borne your soul to God, asked him to forgive you and all your wicked ways? Do you know you're a sinner, Guillermo? Do you know you’re a freak? A monster? Unworthy of his light? Look at the rest of them, if only you were like them. If only it all came easy to you, like it seems to do for them. You are different, Guillermo. And you will never be worthy until you cut it all out of you. Become like them. Kill the monster.
There's a hand on his shoulder, and Guillermo reacts, unthinking, tearing it off - he can’t go back, he won’t let them touch him, won’t let them hurt him, not anymore. Another hand grabs his wrist before he can punch out, defend himself. He hears a desperate sob, realizes it's his own only after a familiar voice calls his name.
“Guillermo?” Nandor. It's Nandor, gripping his left wrist, staring down at him in shock. Guillermo jerks back, but Nandor's grip remains firm.
“Get off me!” Guillermo yells, chest tight, panicky, like a spooked animal. “Let go!”
“You will fall,” Nandor insists, tugging him forwards. "I will let go, but you must stay still, or you will crack your head on the steps.”
Guillermo searches for air as he looks behind himself, noting that Nandor is right. The porch steps are mere inches away, and he would suffer a nasty fall if he did try to back up any more.
“I will let go now,” Nandor says, gently releasing Guillermo's wrist and taking two steps back. His voice is so low, so even, like he's trying to soothe one of the kittens from the ASPCA catalog. “See? I am giving you space.”
Guillermo nods numbly, as the feeling of his own body in the present moment reconnects to his mind. His breathing slows, and he realizes how tired he is, even though he's only been up for a few hours at most.
“I’m, I'm okay,” Guillermo lies. “Sorry, you just surprised me.”
“When was the last time I was able to do that?” Nandor questions.
“I – I don't remember.”
“Then you are not okay. What is going on? I have never seen you like this before.” Nandor actually sounds… concerned? Fuck. Guillermo doesn't want him to be concerned. He wants to pretend this never happened.
“I don't want to talk about it,” Guillermo says, looking away. He isn't entirely sure what that was. Is it normal to feel like you just got punched in the chest just from thinking about the past? Sometimes he feels this way after a nightmare, but those are nightmares. Those are supposed to be like that. Right?
“I think we should talk about it,” Nandor replies. “You need to talk about it. I have seen hardened soldiers after gruesome battles who look less like death than you do right now.”
“Gee, thanks!” Guillermo snarls. “I really need the dead guy telling me I look like death!”
There's a silence. Nandor stares at him as Guillermo processes the level of vitriol in his ow voice.
“I'm sorry. I don't – I don't know what's going on with me.” Guillermo looks down at the postcard. It's crumpled nearly to a pulp in his fist, and his hands are shaking.
“We should go inside, before someone thinks we are having a little domestic, yes?” Nandor reaches a hand out, but doesn't force him to take it. “I will brew you some tea, and we will find someplace quiet to go.”
“You don't know how to brew tea,” Guillermo reminds him. Nandor's hand is very tempting, but even if it came with the promise to turn him into a vampire this very second, he doesn’t want anyone touching him right now.
“You can show me, and I will learn.” Nandor lowers his hand when it becomes obvious that Guillermo won’t be taking it, but he stays there, looking expectant.
Guillermo sighs out a long breath, pushing his thumb and forefinger into his browbones, rubbing circles into them. “Okay,” he says. “I'm coming. You go first. I promise, I'll be right behind you.”
He hears Nandor shift, heavy steps hitting the squeaky wood, before the door creaks open and shuts. Good. He just needs a moment to calm down enough to reenter the house. Whatever is going on with him, he doesn't need some smart comment or fast movement by his roommates to send him back down whatever hole that was.
Before he enters, he lifts the lid of the metal trashcan that sits next to the door, shoves the postcard down as deep into the black plastic bag as he can, and slams the lid shut.
~
Nandor brews serviceable tea, good enough that the addition of some milk and honey masks the fact that he steeped it for far too long. They leave the kitchen, still not having spoken of what just occurred, and Guillermo thinks Nandor will guide them back to his chamber, only for him to motion up the stairs.
They settle themselves onto the window seat at the end of the hall, one of the few places in the house that does not have its windows completely papered over; large blackout curtains cover the window most of the time. Guillermo will occasionally come up here during the day to sit and look out over the neighborhood.
“I wish to tell you a story,” Nandor says, hoisting one leg up onto the seat so he can twist to face Guillermo. “Even before I became a vampire, I believed in ghosts, and saw them many times during my life.”
“How is that related to anything that just happened?” Guillermo asks, frowning behind his mug.
“You will learn as the story goes, now hush,” Nandor chides. A lock of his dark, voluminous hair falls long across his face. Guillermo tightens his grip on the mug, warmth of the tea seeping into his skin. “Now then...
“You have only been through a few battles of your own, young Guillermo. I have been involved in some kind of war during more years than you’ve been alive. And from the smallest of skirmishes, to the largest of conquests, I saw ghosts. They did not float among us, as the ones we know of now. Instead, they rode inside the bodies of men who had once been full of life, possessing them and rotting them from within.
“Some called it a curse, some said it was punishment from the gods for the hubris of our conquering. But what do you call someone who is dead, but continues to live on?”
“A... vampire?” Guillermo says, pointing out the obvious.
Nandor scowls, waggling a finger in his face. “Not the same thing! Cheeky. Vampires become more powerful when they are dead. These ghosts wasted away. It was not obvious at first; they often were the loudest and most vocal during celebrations of a grand victory. It was only later that the signs would begin to appear. The men would grow silent, would stop sharing stories of their greatest exploits. They would become lost inside of themselves, and anyone who tried to free them from it would face their rage. They would awaken from sleep, screaming as the ghosts of those battles tried to consume them. Some of them recovered, given enough time, but most... well, often the ghosts would drive them to act rashly, seeking more danger in later battles than then could handle. It would not take long for them to go from the living dead, to the fully dead.”
“Okay... but what does this have to do with me?” Guillermo asks. The tea is growing cold, and sits heavy in his stomach.
Nandor looks away for a moment, and Guillermo realizes he’s trying to put the next words very carefully, taking the time to consider them before he speaks. It’s a little amazing, and a little terrifying. Finally, he looks back and says, “Your bed is not far from mine. I am sometimes awoken from my own dreams to hear you screaming in yours.”
Guillermo swallows, focusing on the mug as a veil of embarrassment drapes over him. Shit. He hadn’t thought Nandor could...
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Nandor continues. “Then there are the times I see you fight; I think about what you did for us, at the theater. It was madness to take on that many vampires by yourself. I was doing a very good job convincing them that you were a dead familiar when you decided to ruin my plans.”
“I’m glad I did,” Guillermo counters. “If I hadn’t, you’d be dead.”
“That may be true, but that is not the point. It was still foolish... reckless. If you were one of my generals, I would’ve had you stripped of your rank for such behavior.”
“I’m not your general, though. I’m your bodyguard, that’s what I do,” Guillermo says. His hands tighten, nails digging into the mug. Why the fuck is Nandor taking what he did and throwing it back into Guillermo’s face? Isn’t he grateful? Doesn’t he get that Guillermo would literally throw himself in front of any danger, no matter how impossible, to protect him?
“For the only one of us who is still mortal, you do not seem to value your life, sometimes,” Nandor says. “It concerns me. I cannot turn you if you die, Guillermo.”
Guillermo thunks his mug down on the sill, the tea splashing over the rim with the force of it. “When exactly is that going to happen, Nandor, huh? It’s been twelve years. Twelve. At this point I might as well do the fuck what I want, cause I’m gonna die of old age before you do it!”
Nandor doesn’t touch him, but does reach out and tug the mug away. “You are not angry about that. I am not the smartest of vampires, but I am smart enough to know this kind of wasting rage when I see it.”
“So what are you trying to say?” Guillermo grumbles, folding his arms petulantly. “I’m a ghost?”
“If we were back in Al Quolindar? Yes, that is what I would say. But I do not believe that is what humans call it anymore.” Nandor folds his hands, consideration writ across his features. “Your friend, Derek, the one you got turned into a vampire? He explained it to me, once.”
“Since when do you talk to Derek?” Guillermo asks.
“Since he kept showing up to the Vampiric Council and asking a whole lot of annoying questions about Vampirism 101.” Nandor shrugs. “I only wanted to kill him, like, seventy, seventy-five percent of the time. The other twenty-five percent was okay. He also knows how to braid hair very well.”
“You told me you learned how to do those yourself!” Guillermo accuses.
Nandor throws his hands in the air. “I lied! Why would I attempt to learn that? That is what you are for- were for! Auugh, this is not the point! Listen. Derek explained these things about the mortal brain to me, and that when these ghosts manifest in humans now, they seek treatment at a mind doctor. He said that when people return from war in the modern day, many of them bring the ghosts, just as it was in the old, and these mind doctors can be very successful at driving the ghosts away.”
Guillermo wants to laugh, because what Nandor is saying is is utterly ludicrous. “Look, master. I get what you’re trying to tell me, and I’m not saying my life has been easy, but... the only real war-like scenarios I’ve ever been happened during the years I’ve been with you. I don’t think looking at a postcard from my old high school is reminding me of fighting all those vampires.”
“Then why did you look as though you were lost in that head of yours?” Nandor asks. “That card did something to you.”
“They’re just old, bad memories,” Guillermo insists. “That time sucked, but it’s over. I’m so much happier now, living here, being with you- all of you vampires, that is.” God, as if he couldn’t embarrass himself even further.
“Be that as it may, you still hold ghosts, Guillermo de la Cruz.” Nandor offers him the mug back. “I know what I saw, and I do not like knowing you carry that.”
Guillermo takes it, this time letting the tips of his fingers brush against the tops of Nandor’s knuckles. He still feels raw, wrung out like an old dish towel, but touching Nandor now is different than before. It’s kind of grounding, helps him feel more settled in his skin.
“PTSD,” Guillermo offers. “That’s what it’s called. Happens to war vets and people who survive almost dying. Not quiet nerds who go to Catholic school.”
“I would not be so sure,” Nandor says, sitting back. “You say this, but you also do not speak about your past, much.”
“You don’t ask, much.”
“That is... fair.” Nandor looks uncomfortable. Good. Serves him right for bragging about seven centuries of conquest and never asking Guillermo about what his life was like growing up. Guys who only went on one date with him know more about that part of his life than Nandor does.
“I don’t really offer anything though,” Guillermo admits. “It’s easier to talk about other people’s drama than my own.”
Nandor looks thoughtful, something that happens very rarely, but is a pleasure to see when it does.
“I cannot turn you into a vampire yet for... very real reasons that I cannot disclose,” Nandor announces unconvincingly. “But, as you are my bodyguard, it would make sense to compensate you in some way. So, if you ever do wish to speak of those times, I will listen. It... it would be nice to know more about what shaped you into who you are.”
Guillermo can feel the heat rising in his cheeks, hiding this behind a long, very obvious drink of too-cold tea. When he doesn’t feel quite so red, he lowers the cup and says, “You mean it? You’re not just gonna do that thing you do where you pretend to listen and say ‘Uh huh, uh huh, go on’ a lot?”
“I promise, I will listen to all of it, even the parts that I do not understand.”
“Then, yeah. I’d like that. Okay.”
Nandor slaps his hands on his knees, face transforming back to an unserious smile. “Fantastic! We are agreed. Oh, and... Derek informed me that it would be very gauche to try and order someone to see a mind doctor. Something about... personal choice and uh, systemic oppression... I don’t know, I was not paying that much attention. But perhaps, it is something to think about.”
“I’ll consider it,” Guillermo says. His mouth quirks in a smile, genuine as the warmth of someone caring worms its way into his chest. “Master... thank you. For listening.”
Nandor grins back at him. “I see I am already succeeding marvelously at my job,” he brags, hands on his hips.
Guillermo laughs.
~
That seems like the end of it, at least for a week or so. Guillermo feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders that’s been hanging there for as long as he can remember. He feels so good afterwards, that the idea Nandor was suggesting, going to talk to a counselor, seems unnecessary. If a single conversation with Nandor can make him feel this good, then what the fuck could a stranger possibly do for him?
Patterns seem to arise in life at the oddest times. Learn a new word, hear it three times in the next week unprompted. See a photo of an old friend on your phone, and get a text message from them four days later. Guillermo knows that in the grand scheme of things, coincidences will always happen, and they can look like patterns if you put too much weight into what you notice repeating and ignore what you don't.
But God damn, sometimes it feels that the universe really hates him.
He's out on a late night shopping trip with Nandor, raiding the local Michael's craft store for his vampire master’s next arts and crafts fixation. This time it's knitting. Guillermo knows his way around a needle and yarn, but Nandor almost lit his abuela’s heirloom wooden knitting needles on fire just by touching them, so it was decided that a trip would have to be made to get some metal or plastic ones instead. The Joann's Fabrics near their house closes earlier than this store, so they've taken the bus an extra few stops, ending up farther out their shopping trips usually take them.
When they got into the Michael’s, he separated from Nandor, letting the vampire stare hungrily at the wide selection of colorful yarn bundles and telling him that Guillermo would be over in the wood crafts and paints section. This is one of the few stores that keeps a specific brand of black paint in stock; it can block out sunlight when painted over windows, but needs regular reapplication.
He's trying to decide whether to buy out their whole stock or be generous to his fellow shoppers and leave a few bottles, when a deep, loud voice echoes against the linoleum floors; it brings Guillermo right back to high school, the last time he’d heard it regularly. “Yo, Gigolo, that you?”
Guillermo freezes, hand outstretched towards the fifth bottle of paint he was planning on putting in his basket. He doesn't want to acknowledge the voice, but years of experience have taught him that when Mark’s got his eye on you, you either try not to look intimidated, or get the fuck out of there. Guillermo suspects the second option isn't as viable when you're 30 and standing in the paint aisle of a Michael’s.
“Um, hi,” Guillermo says, meeting the eyes of one of his high school bullies for the first time in a decade. The guy still looks like a muscle headed jock; he probably listens to Joe Rogan and has a Blue Lives Matter banner on his Facebook page. He could’ve changed, possibly; like, the Nandor of today isn't the same Nandor of 1279, although that took several centuries to happen. But Guillermo’s not counting on it, considering what Mark called him just now. That old fucking nickname that's not even a nickname, more of a cruel joke about Guillermo's lack of any notable female companionship during his high school years.
Jokes on his tormentors, he supposes. He wasn't spending the height of his puberty gawking after their sisters, and they'd probably have a breakdown if they knew how many of their brothers had wanted some of Guillermo's time and attention.
“Good to see you, man,” Mark says, smacking him on the shoulder a little too hard, the way a man who spent the last decade in some American Psycho-esque corporate office might do, to show his fellow meatheads who the alpha was. “I didn't see you at the reunion, what gives?”
“Busy,” Guillermo says, carefully revealing nothing about himself, just like he always tried to do back when revealing too much could do a lot of damage. “You, uh, live around here?”
“Yeah man. No more Bronx boys, now it’s Staten Island boys for life!” He blows past the opportunity to let Guillermo tell him exactly what he thinks about guys who talk about being ‘Staten Island boys,’ and says, “Got a job at my dad's law firm after college. Cindy and I got hitched three years back, and our second kid is on the way. So where the fuck did you disappear to after high school? Nobody seems to know what you're doing now.”
Oh, some people know. Just not anyone Mark would be talking to on a regular basis. Guillermo keeps it brief, saying, “Decided to go out on my own. Did some caretaking work for a while, now I'm a professional bodyguard.” There's a small thrill of victory at the expression on Mark's face when he discloses this.
“My man Gigolo, a bodyguard? No fuckin’ way! Well, I guess it makes sense, considering how much practice you got guarding your own body way back when.” Guillermo wants to punch that smug, shit-eating grin off his face, and now that he knows about his Van Helsing heritage, he thinks he could absolutely do it. But that would probably get them kicked out of the store, and the humiliation of having to play nice with this dickhead is bad enough.
“Mhmmm, yup. Well I should probably...” Guillermo starts to say, only for Mark's hand - which for some reason, is still on his shoulder- to tighten fractionally.
“Hey, let me ask you something, I gotta know if I was right all those years. It's like, cool and everything now, but I was right, wasn't I? You really are a –”
Guillermo is grateful for Nandor making an appearance at that very moment, forever leaving the question of which particular slur Mark was going to use to the sands of time. One moment, it's just the two of them, and the next, Nandor is there, practically ripping Mark's hand off his shoulder, in a way that could be mistaken for firm yet polite, if not for how Guillermo can hear the bones in Mark's hand crushing together.
“I will not ask you again to keep your hands off of my bodyguard,” Nandor says. He shifts to stand beside Guillermo, releasing Mark's hand back to the man, who looks both infuriated and in a lot of pain. Guillermo can tell just by looking that he wants to take a swing at Nandor for that, but the good thing about Nandor is that, despite dressing like he just spent the day at a Renaissance fair, he's a pretty massive dude, and people think twice before fucking with him.
“Sorry, he's pretty protective,” Guillermo says, not actually sorry but hoping to diffuse the situation. “Uh, Nandor, this is Mark. I knew him back at school.”
He can see the moment where everything clicks for Nandor. They haven't talked about Guillermo’s childhood since the night the postcard came, but the word school is enough to make the vampire bristle and straighten to his full height, eyes fixed on Mark like he's this evening’s entrée.
That seems to be enough to get Mark to back down. “Cool, yeah. I gotta go. Catch you around, Gigolo.”
“Gigolo?” Nandor murmurs to himself as Mark quickly strides away. “I am not liking him calling you that.”
“Me neither,” Guillermo agrees. “But you can't eat him, even though it would feel pretty awesome. His sister was always nice to me, and she’d be sad about it. So for today, he lives.”
Nandor hasn't moved, arm still pressed against Guillermo shoulder. It's nice, and before he has to think too hard about why that is, Guillermo pulls back, looking at the plethora of yarn bundles his master holds.
“I thought we were coming here for needles?” Guillermo asks. “I've got plenty of yarn at home.”
Nandor waves one of the bundles in front of his face. “This has the glitter embedded in the yarn. You do not have yarn like this at home, I have seen what you have.”
Guillermo smiles fondly at him, unable to resist this softhearted creature in his basic requests. “Okay,” he says. “But you have to use that first before we buy anymore.”
“You do not command me, I will buy all the yarn I please,” Nandor sniffs, crowding the bundles of yarn against his chest like they are small furry animals he is protecting. “Come, Guillermo, we depart.”
“We get in line, pay, and then depart,” Guillermo corrects him.
“Yes, that is what I meant,” Nandor replies. “I was definitely not suggesting stealing this yarn, as if I would stoop so low for something so inexpensive... five dollars a skein is not a lot, right? We have enough to pay in cash? I do not like to have to explain my purchases to Nadja and Lazlo when I use the debit card...”
“We have enough,” Guillermo reassures him.
Guillermo spends his time in the checkout lane nervously glancing around for any sign that Mark is still lurking nearby. He's too distracted to focus on paying, so he gives Nandor his wallet, trusting that the vampire has picked up enough about modern finances to correctly count out the amount of money needed for this purchase.
When they get back on the bus 20 minutes later, Guillermo finally feels safe enough to let his shoulders slump down, sighing in relief. Nandor has taken the window seat, and the bag of yarn sits between them on the middle seat.
“I hate that guy,” Guillermo says as the bus begins to move.
“I am very good at sensing fear in other creatures,” Nandor explains. “Lately, you have had the courage of the lion, but when I saw you, it felt as though Mark was the big scary kitty cat, and you were the mouse.”
Guillermo takes a minute to bask in the idea that Nandor thinks any part of him could be described as lion-esque, before saying, “Mark was one of the worst bullies at our school. He got off on making anyone who didn't fit a specific mold feel small and weak. He got away with a lot of things too, because his dad donated a ton of money to the school, and he was a star on the basketball team. Trying to go up against him was like trying to go up against – I don't know, a wolf mixed with a bear mixed with a coyote who had bought off animal control.”
Nandor nods. “A petty, cruel tyrant. I would flay him alive and feed his skin to his beloved dogs if this were many centuries ago.”
“I like the you of now a lot better than the you of then.” Guillermo pulls out one of the skeins of yarn, waving it to exemplify Nandor’s evolution. “I don't need you to flay my bullies alive. But scaring the shit out of them is pretty cool.”
“I did not smell any kind of shit,” Nandor says, frowning. “Did he shit himself?”
“It's just a saying. Man, that would have been pretty cool if he did, though.”
“This bully man, whatever he claimed to know this about you, his brain seems like such a tiny peanut thing, I am sure it is untrue.” Nandor nods affirmatively, looking so confident in what he’s saying that it breaks Guillermo’s heart to tell him otherwise.
But in for a penny of high school bullies, out for a pound of yarn at Michael’s. Or something.
“That’s the thing,” Guillermo says, his heat beat jumping on a screaming bullet train to Anxietytown. Stop it, Memo. This is Nandor. They almost got here once already. Nandor won’t care. “Um, he was going to be really shitty about it, but the jist of what he was getting at was... accurate.”
“Oh. Well, I am sure it cannot be such a terrible thing, whatever it is... it has nothing to do with your terrifying vampire slayer powers, does it?” Nandor asks.
Guillermo smiles, because of course that’s the worst possible things he could imagine. “No. I mean, not really.” Shit, that’s not reassuring at all, based on how Nandor’s expression has gone bewildered. “Not at all, actually. Look, you know how that woman you liked, Meg, she only likes women?”
Nandor glowers. “Yes, thank you for reminding me of one of my failed romantic conquests, Guillermo. I thought we were doing the thing where we talk about your bad memories, not mine?”
“We are,” Guillermo nods. “I let you tell me the weird PTSD ghost story, let me tell mine.” That seems to cow Nandor enough that he stays silent, observant, intensely focused on whatever Guillermo is about to say next. For a moment, this almost snuffs out his courage, but he forces down the little voice in his head that always tells him he shouldn’t, and decides to should. “She only likes women, and I’m the opposite. I only like guys.”
Nandor’s face remains curious, but unreactive, as though Guillermo had not just revealed the thing that had been the biggest secret in his life for his entire childhood. And he gets it. Nandor has no context for what that means, to someone who grew up at the turn of the 21st century, listening to snake-tongued politicians bleat about the sanctity of marriage, sitting in mass every Sunday morning and hearing the priest quote Bible verses about lying with another man being a sin. Nandor’s probably never heard of DOMA, and the only thing he’s ever been asked to not tell is how many jerk off sessions it takes him to fill up those mason jars for the witches – specifically by Guillermo, on multiple occasions, who will listen to Nandor complain about a lot of things, but not that. The only Pulse Nandor cares about is the one in his next meal, and if you asked him if he knew what Stonewall was, he would probably look at you funny, and take you outside the house to point at the literal stone wall surrounding the property.
Guillermo knows that Nandor’s not exactly entirely straight, and that when Nandor was growing up, straightness or gayness as concepts didn’t even exist. Their own understandings of their sexualities are coming from two wildly different contexts. But it’s a relief when, realizing that Guillermo has finished baring his soul for the moment, Nandor says, “And he thought he was smart for knowing that? What a peanut head.”
“You knew that already?” Guillermo realizes, his perception of the conversation doing a full 180. “But, back at the bachelor party, you were all asking…”
“Nadja and Laszlo were asking,” Nandor corrects him. “I was listening. You think I never pay attention, but I have seen you, skulking like a little pervert at the orgies. Vampires are all very hot, but your eyes are never on the beautiful ladies, are they? And when we watch the Twilight movies, you get very focused whenever Edward takes his shirt off.”
“Yeah I do,” Guillermo sighs, dropping his head back. “Robert Pattinson has not gotten any less attractive over the years, either.” Between that man and Kristen Stewart, Guillermo knows a lot of queer kids had a pretty substantial gay awakening from those movies. Though his own was a little earlier...
“Memo, go give this to Tío Luis,” Mama says, handing him the icy bottle of Heineken. “And no sneaking any.”
“Si, mama,” Guillermo says, dutifully walking out of the kitchen and towards the living room, condensation dripping off his fingers. He doesn’t understand why she always says that, since he’s never the one sneaking sips of the adults’ drinks; his older cousins are the ones who try that. Sometimes he thinks she actually wants him to do it, to show any kind of indication that he’s wanting to break the rules a little. But Guillermo likes to be good, it’s what his teachers and older relatives always compliment him on. When the kids at school push him around, or call him names, or leave him out during recess, that’s what his middle school self-esteem falls back on to; he is good. He doesn’t cause trouble. You are supposed to listen to adults when they tell you what to do, because they are adults, so they are right. His classmates are the ones who are bad and get yelled at by their parents or the teacher. They are the ones who get detention or suspended.
Guillermo hates it when anyone yells at him, because it must mean he is being bad, even though sometimes he is not always sure what he did wrong. If Mama is tired after work, she may come into his room, jolting him out of the book he is reading as she yells at him for leaving his backpack in the wrong place, or not moving the laundry along, or not keeping a close enough eye on his sister. His siblings and cousins usually need a swat on the arm with la chancla to get moving, but Guillermo always moves faster, wanting to get the problem fixed as fast as possible. Of course she should yell at him when he is being so lazy or thoughtless; he is the good one, he should not make mistakes like that.
“Here, Tío Luis,” Guillermo says, holding the untouched bottle of beer out to his uncle, who is relaxing in a La-Z-Boy and watching the TV.
“Gracias, Memo,” Tío Luis says, taking the bottle from him. “Why are you up here? Your cousins are all playing video games in the basement.”
“I wanted a drink,” Guillermo fibs- a fib is not a lie, it’s just what must be true because any other answer would be too embarrassing, like the idea that Guillermo is tired of being told ‘Muévete, gordito,’ by his older cousins when they want him to move out of the way so they can take their turn playing Smash Brothers.
“I see, I see. Well, you could go join them, or you can sit up here and watch a movie with me. Do you like vampires?”
Guillermo shrugs his shoulders, saying, “Some of the kids at my school keep talking about a show called Buffy, but Mama won’t let me watch.”
Tío Luis smiles, and says, “Of course Silvia won’t. Well, how about this? You go sit on the floor and watch this movie with me, and after that, I’ll ask you again if you like vampires.”
Only as an adult did Guillermo realize that if his mom had the choice between the limits of sex and violence in a TV show, and the freedom of a major motion picture, his first child crush may have been on David Boreanaz instead of Antonio Banderas. But for a 10-year-old Guillermo, the prospect of getting to watch a movie with his favorite uncle all by himself is too exciting to pass up. He immediately flops down onto the floor in front of the TV, saying, “Play it, play it!”
In the dim lights of his living room, Guillermo is first introduced to his lifelong obsession through the grainy feed of a VHS tape. He cannot tear his eyes away from the screen, and when Armand finally makes his dramatic appearance, Guillermo sits up and stares, enraptured. There’s this funny warmth that curls in his chest, a longing desire he doesn’t understand. He wants those enchanting eyes to turn away from Luis and Claudia, to look right through the screen at him, to be seen and understood by this creature. He is old enough to understand that this is an actor portraying a role, but he yearns for this to be real, to be able to step through the screen and into this magnificent world, out of the boring sameness of his everyday life.
Guillermo can empathize with the loneliness of creatures who are blessed with eternal life, but whose relationships come and go like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass. Every day is lonely for Guillermo, in many ways. No matter how hard he tries, the kids his own age seem to want nothing to do with him. If Armand came to him, offering eternal life with eternal companionship, Guillermo would take it in a heartbeat.
“So, what did you think?” Tío Luis asks as the credits roll. “Now do you like vampires?”
“I love vampires!” Guillermo say, a statement that will remain ominously prescient for the next twenty years.
“Guillermo? You are getting lost in thought again,” Nandor says, nudging his shoulder gently.
“Sorry,” Guillermo says, looking out the window of the bus; they’re almost back at the house. “No ghosts this time, just remembering how I decided I wanted to be a vampire. It’s actually pretty tied up in my queerness.”
“I do not think we have time to be getting into it here, unfortunately,” Nandor says, standing up and grabbing the bag of yarn. He grips the overhead bar and looks down at Guillermo, offering a hand. “Shall we?”
Guillermo thinks about Armand, thinks about his long, raven-colored hair, piercing eyes, looking like he could kill you or kiss you. Then he thinks about Nandor, and considers whether he has a type. But he won’t go there... that’s the path to madness and another kind of yearning he learned to excise a long time ago.
Still, he lets Nandor take his hand and hoist him up, and they don’t let go until they walk back into the house.
~
2:32PM, January 17th, 2022
memo: hey, merry belated christmas, amiga
anna: ohmigosh gigi! it’s been ages, how are you? are you still over on racist isl- i mean, staten island?
memo: you know that’s not how texting works, right? you can’t freudian slip like that via the written word
anna: how are youuuuuuuuu though? how’s your mom and your sister?
memo: still a little heartbroken over you
memo: my sister, i mean. mom’s probably relieved
anna: hey! 😛
anna: nina and i parted amicably, and i even invited her to the wedding, cause i’m nice like that.
anna: i invited you too...
memo: i know. sorry, i’ve been busy the last couple years.
anna: still got that hot boss?
memo: ...maybe
anna: duuuuuuuude did you still never ask him out? come on, the one time i met him, i could tell he swings many, many ways
memo: i don’t want to get fired for sexual harassment?
anna: bullshit, that job is weird af and i don’t think he even knows what employment laws are
memo: hey, uh, did you end up going to the high school reunion a couple years back?
anna: hell no! what was i gonna do, pal around with all the cishets who shouted dyke at me in the cafeteria and tried to out me to my dad? fuck that.
memo: i got a postcard from them in the mail. at my staten island residence. mom told them where i live now
anna: oooooo that’s rough bud.
memo: yeah. also ran into fucking mark haverford
anna: NOOOOOOOO oh god what was that like?
memo: nandor almost ripped his arm off? it’s been a weird couple of weeks
anna: you tell me that your definitely not straight boss physically assaulted your high school bully, and you’re NOT trying to get into those pants? come on!
anna: [JimCarreyComeOn.gif]
memo: it’s not really like that...
anna: what’s it like then, huh? i’m all ears
memo: he’s been trying to listen more lately. talked to me about how i’m carrying around ghosts- think that’s his term for ptsd?
anna: dude... mood. we all got outta high school with that shit
memo: but isn’t that like, war vet stuff?
anna: my therapist says you can get it from other kinds of stuff. she actually went on this ten minute rant about the dsm- that’s the big bible of mental health stuff- and how it limits who can be diagnosed. talked about something called complex ptsd? it’s all over tiktok man, get with the times.
memo: i don’t really get into mental health tiktok like you
memo: he did tell me to go to a therapist, though
anna: so he’s hot, protective AND smart? GUILLERMO COME ON MAN COME ON
memo: ignoring you. so hard.
memo: sometimes i feel really disconnected from myself
memo: like i know my queerness is there, but it takes a back burner to just getting through the day
memo: do you ever feel like that?
anna: i did, a while ago.
memo: what helped?
anna: connecting with other people like me? being in queer spaces? media that represents who i am? idk, take your pick
memo: i live with four pansexual vampires
memo: SORRY AUTOCORRECT
anna: ???
memo: my whole household is queer
anna: yeah but aren’t they some freaky hardcore kinksters? that’s not your groove, man. i bet you don’t even give the orgies a chance, not once
memo: how do you know about the orgies??
anna: OMG I WAS RIGHT? I WAS JOKING
memo: me too jk jk haha
memo: so what are you saying?
anna: well, do they even know you’re queer?
memo: nandor does. he figured it out
memo: i was going to tell them all! but things kind of got in the way
anna: dude, if you never talk about it, you just watch everyone else enjoying their lives while hiding those parts of yourself. no wonder you feel so disconnected
memo: you really got a lot out of therapy, huh
anna: that’s a derailing statement, as my therapist would say. we are talking about you.
memo: i don’t know if i wanna just bring it up with them yet. the last time was a lot more organic
anna: okay, fine. if you can’t talk about it with your PANSEXUAL ROOMATES, then maybe lower the stakes a little?
anna: [photo.jpeg]
anna: here, i saw this flyer at the Kroeger’s by me. it’s for a support group that meets on tuesday nights. it’s in queens so it’s kind of a hike but if your boss will let you off, it could give you the distance from home you need to open up to people?
memo: okay. i’ll consider it
memo: thanks
anna: no problemo. we should absolutely hang out in the near future. bridget has a D&D game on friday nights so i’m usually free all evening
memo: i’ll let you know the next time i have a friday off. maybe in a few weeks?
anna: sweet! and if you can’t get off work that night because you’re getting off with your boss, that’s totally cool
anna: 😏
memo: you are the worst friend ever
memo: love you
anna: right back atchu, gigi 😘
~
“Hey, uh, master? Can I talk to you about something?”
Nandor opens his eyes and looks up at Guillermo, who is currently standing above him, hairbrush in hand, trying to get the last few knots out of his tresses - there was an unfortunate incident with the raccoons again, but luckily, Guillermo doesn’t think any of his cuts will scar.
“What is it?” Nandor asks. “Is it having to do with the ghosts again?”
“Sort of? Or I guess, trying to exorcise them, like we talked about.” The brush snags on one particularly large knot, and Nandor lets out a little hiss that travels straight into Guillermo’s eardrums, bypasses his brain’s common sense, and splashes down right in his gut.
No. Bad Memo. Head out of the gutter, this is important.
“I can understand wanting to consultant an exorcist, but you know they cannot be allowed in the house, correct?” Nandor asks, the tension in his spine easing as Guillermo works through the knot as gently as possible. “And you can certainly not let the other three know about it.”
“Just, listen, please?”
“Yes, I am sorry, go on.”
“There’s a support group that meets every Tuesday night in Queens,” Guillermo explains, running his fingers through Nandor’s hair because it makes him feel better, calmer, grounded. “I know that’s when you usually watch reruns of Big Bang, so you wouldn’t really need my help at that time.”
“Bazinga,” Nandor mumbles. “What is the support for? Do you all gather in a group to do séances and drive your ghosts out?”
“I think it’s more like, we talk about things the way you and I do. Not that I don’t like our talks, or want them to stop! I really, really like them.” Why is he so nervous about this? He can ask for an entire day off once a week, but a few hours on a Tuesday night is too scary?
“Guillermo, look at me.” Guillermo hadn’t even realized that he isn’t doing that anymore. He is fixated on Nandor’s hair, like it is a soft, warm blanket he could fall into, escaping this conversation.
Instead of fleeing, he meets Nandor’s eyes again, and finds only openness. It’s terrifying. They’ve never been like this with each other before. Guillermo feels like he’s cutting his chest open, pulling pieces of his heart out, bit by bit, and offering them to Nandor, waiting to see if Nandor will cradle them or consume them. The shocking thing is, this vampire has done a better job of delicately handling those pieces of his heart than most of the humans that he knows. So much for being a savage, feral, mercurial creature.
“Of course I’m going to say yes,” Nandor says, far too softly for Guillermo’s unrequited yearning to take. “If it will help with the ghosts, then I am all for it.”
Guillermo can’t help but smile, shyly lowering his eyes again back to Nandor’s hair and continuing to brush. “Okay, then I’ll figure out something to tell the others, and I’ll go see what it’s about next week.”
“Excellent! You shall be rid of the ghosts in no time,” Nandor affirms, raising his arms and stretching like a long cat in the sun.
His confidence is appealing, if nothing else.
~
Nandor offers to fly him over to the support group the first night, which is sweet, but Guillermo would not like a repeat of the last time Nandor flew him anywhere. Ending up in the hospital would really kill the mood. He drives himself over, not wanting to risk having to wait for public transportation if something goes awry and he needs to split.
Guillermo knows that the Unitarians seem to be pretty chill in contrast to his religion of birth, but it’s still a little disconcerting to be walking back through the doors of the church, no matter how welcoming. The large flags hanging from the rafters as he walks inside – Progress Pride on the left, and Black Lives Matter on the right – help to ease some of his reservation. He follows signs, printed on colored paper and taped to the painted concrete walls, walking down the stairs and through a hallway with flickering overhead lights. At the end of the hall, two metal doors open into a larger meeting space.
Inside the space, there’s a circle of a dozen or so chairs in the middle, and two worn-looking fold out tables, covered with plastic tablecloths, set against the right wall. Some basic dollar store snacks are on the table – pretzels, chips, soda, the like – and around the tables, a few people are mingling, chatting quietly. They glance over when he enters. Suddenly he’s 14 again, walking into the cafeteria of his new high school and hoping this time, this place will lead to the friendships he so desperately desires. Maybe he’ll find another Jeremy? Although this time, he’s not gonna try to feed them to his roommates.
He doesn’t notice the person to his left, seated behind another folding table until they say, “Hi there. Are you here for the Tuesday night group?”
“Oh, yes,” Guillermo says, noting the little button on their jean jacket that indicates they/them pronouns. They’ve got close cropped hair dyed snow-white, and some pretty great looking cat eye liner, based on what little he knows about makeup. “I’m Guillermo.”
“Hey there, Guillermo,” they say, holding out her hand. “I’m Adrian. Nice to meet you.” Adrian has bright, inquisitive eyes, and Laszlo’s laid-back affect, sitting back in the chair and folding their arms as they say, “Who’d you hear about us from?”
“My friend saw your flyer,” Guillermo explains. “They suggested I check this out. I’ve, uh, I’ve never been to one of these things before. Not really sure what to expect.”
“That’s fine. We do a little bit of everything here. Sometimes we just chill and mingle, sometimes somebody needs to talk about something that happened to them, or whatever horrible shit is going on in the news. Here,” Adrian says, sliding a blank name tag and a sharpie across the table to him. “Put your name down, and then go ahead and pick out your pin.” They motion to a little plastic tote, overflowing with pins of different pronouns, including blank ones for anyone who needs to write less common pronouns down.
Guillermo decides to put his full name down for the time being, and then grabs a he/him pin out of the box, pinning it to his coat. He’s confident in his gender identity, but there’s still something kind of cool about wearing it, like he’s part of a club now.
“You can keep that,” Adrian says, “I’ve got more under the table that are different Pride flags, but I’ll pull those out later. I like to find out what I need first. If we’ve got a lot of bi folks here, we tend to run out pretty quick.”
“Oh. Um.”
“That’s a joke,” Adrian says, winking at him. “I’m allowed to make that one cause I’m bi and it’s totally true.” To demonstrate, they motion down towards the dozen or so pins covering the front of their jean jacket.
“Right.” Guillermo smiles. “Well, I guess I’ll take a rainbow one later - are there specific flag for being gay, or queer?”
“There are,” Adrian says, nodding. “I’ll get them for you later.”
“Thanks.” Guillermo shuffles in place for a moment, glancing over towards the chairs. A couple of people have migrated there from the tables. “Guess I’ll go... sit.”
“Hey,” Adrian says, “Everyone’s really friendly, I promise. Whatever’s going on in your life outside, you’ve got a safe place here.”
“I think I’m just psyching myself out,” Guillermo admits, shoving his hands into his pockets. “But thanks.”
He takes a seat on a chair, and immediately, the person across from him waves. “Hi!” she says, voice bubbly and as bright as her bubble-gum pink hair. She’s wearing this wildly colorful jacket, purple, blue, pink and white swirling together to channel 80s energy. She’s almost as pale as the vampires, definitely not an outdoorsy type. She continues, “I’m Marceline.”
“Guillermo,” he says, waving back. Her energy is, well, it’s something, alright. It’s like she’s a mirror image of Nadja.
“I love it when new people come,” Marceline says, glancing towards the person slouching two chairs to her right, typing away on his phone. “Nico, say hi!”
“Wha- oh. Hey,” Nico says, nodding his head at Guillermo. “What’s up, man?” He’s lanky, dressed smartly in a blue polo, neon green nails popping against his dark skin. His energy is much more relaxed than Marceline’s, a little aloof, though not dismissive. He’s got some nice looking headphones slung around his neck, and his hair is cropped close to his head, black curls highlighted with blond at the ends.
“I’ve never been to anything like this,” Guillermo admits, wanting to rip the band-aid off as soon as possible. “I’ve been so focused on work for a long time, everything else kind of got pushed to the wayside.”
“What do you do?” Marceline asks, leaning forward, chair squeaking.
“I’m uh, kind of a caretaker and a bodyguard?” He’s really got to come up with a better explanation for his job.
“Neat!” Marceline nods. “Nico’s in grad school and I work at the DMV.”
“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Nico says, motioning to Marceline and shooting Guillermo a grin. “How the hell does Marcy stay so chipper while working at the fucking DMV? We still haven’t figured that out.”
Guillermo lets out a breathy laugh, feeling the tension in his shoulders ease. “That’s a pretty neat skill.”
“I don’t know why everyone thinks it’s such a horrible job!” Marceline protests. She pulls out her phone, quickly swiping a few times before holding it out towards them. “Look, we’re having fun!”
Guillermo and Nico both lean forward. There’s a group photo on Marceline’s screen, of some kind of low-budget office Christmas party. The people in the photo all look like they’re scheduled for the firing squad - except Marceline.
Nico looks at Guillermo, who raises his eyebrows and shrugs. If he gets to know these people well, he can never introduce Marceline to Colin Robinson. The vampire wouldn’t be able to handle himself.
“Bodyguard, huh?” Nico asks, looking Guillermo up and down. It’s a little unnerving, but there’s no malice or judgement in his expression, more curiosity. “How’d you get that job?”
“Well, it really started with the caretaking,” Guillermo says, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I only realized later on that I was good at the bodyguarding part, which was right when my ma-manager, uh, boss, Nandor, he needed those skills. So, promotion.”
“Is your boss important?” Marceline asks.
Guillermo tamps down the mini-Nandor in his brain shouting yes, yes I’m a very important vampire! to answer, “He’s on this... professional council in the city. It’s a pretty big deal. Oversees a bunch of the tri-state area. Can’t really say too much more than that.”
“Niiiiiicooooo,” Adrian calls from their seat. “Can you refill the pretzels for me?”
“We starting soon, Adrian?” Nico calls back. “There’s other stuff back there to eat.”
“Pleeeeeeaaaase?”
Nico sighs and hops up, tucking his phone into his pocket. “I’ll be back. Marcy, don’t scare him away while I’m gone.”
Perhaps wanting to spite Nico’s words, as soon as he’s gone, Marceline asks, “Do you have a partner? Or partners? Or I guess, that might not even be a thing for you, I shouldn’t assume!”
“No, I want one,” Guillermo reassures her, “I just don’t have one right now.” At least, not the kind of partner she’s got in mind. How do you explain a twelve year relationship with a man who you live with, wait on hand and foot for, hold very unchaste feelings for, but don’t have any kind of romantic entanglement with? There’s probably some kind of BDSM relationship that correlates; maybe he should look it up.
“My girlfriend usually comes here, but she’s on a work trip.” Madeline motions over to Nico, who is not taking too much care with how he dumps the pretzels into the snack bowl, scattering willy-nilly on the tablecloth. “Nico just broke up with his boyfriend a month ago. They were going to get married, but the guy called off the wedding a week before it was supposed to happen.”
“Shit, that sucks.”
Marceline nods. “He hasn’t really talked about it, but that’s ok. Everybody opens up eventually. I hope you feel comfortable opening up here too, when you’re ready.”
“Thanks,” Guillermo says, as Adrian calls for everyone to have a seat. He doesn’t think he’ll get to that point today, but the welcoming has been warm enough that maybe in the future, he’ll want to talk about ghosts here the same way he can with Nandor.
~
Guillermo tries to shut the door quietly when he walks back into the house; he’s not looking for questions about where he’s been, and he doesn’t want to ruin his mood. He’s had this warm, satisfied feeling in his bones since he walked out of the church basement, and the thoughts that have crowded his mind for the last few weeks didn’t intrude on the car ride home.
There’s a low hum coming from the library. Guillermo follows the noise, steps light as he nudges the door open and pokes his head inside.
Nandor has pulled the boxy CRT television on wheels that they keep in the corner over to sit in front of the couch. He’s lying across the whole of it, elbow propped up and head resting on his curled fingers. On screen, a lanky man in a Green Lantern shirt has just said something egregiously sexist to a blond woman in a pink top. The audience shrieks with laughter. Nandor echoes said laughter about five seconds too late, clearly unsure what is funny but wanting to participate anyway. Guillermo reminds himself that nobody is perfect.
“Master, just wanted to let you know that I’m back,” Guillermo says.
Nandor immediately sits up when he sees Guillermo, which is a shame; Guillermo was kind of enjoying the view. “Oh, well. How was the group? Did you exorcise any ghosts?”
“Not exactly, but it was... nice. Really nice.” Guillermo leans against the door jam, motioning to the four new pins decorating his jacket. “I got swag too.”
Nandor rises from the couch, squinting at the colorful stripes on the pins as he comes to stand in front of Guillermo. “What are these talismans? Are they to ward off evil spirits?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily call bigots evil spirits but- and you’re touching them,” Guillermo says, watching Nandor poke the pronoun pin. “I guess the best way to explain it is, If you see someone wearing these pins, you learn something about them, and that they’ll probably be a safe, supportive person to talk to.”
“So they are a secret code,” Nandor says. He curls two fingers under the largest one, a Progress Pride flag that sits triangulated between the other three. “What does this one mean?”
“It’s kind of a catch-all,” Guillermo explains. “Links everyone who isn’t straight or cisgender together, reminds us that we need to support each other.”
“It is very colorful, I like the little triangle,” Nandor says. “So how does one join this little club?”
“Technically, you’re already a part of it- if you want to be? I think. Did you understand what I meant by straight or cisgender?”
“Not at all,” Nandor says cheerfully. “But I assume you will eventually explain, if it is that important to you.”
Guillermo gently nudges Nandor’s fingers away, and then flicks open the needle on the pin, pulling it off his jacket. “Do you want it?” he asks, holding the pin out, flat-palmed, to Nandor. “I can get another one next time I go.”
Nandor rests his hand over the pin, over Guillermo’s palm, for a brief, electric moment. Even with cool skin, Guillermo feels warm under the touch, and wonders what Nandor would do if he curled his fingers up and held on. The impulse only lasts until Nandor plucks the pin between his fingers and pulls away.
“How does one put this on...” Nandor struggles for a minute to work out the logistics before Guillermo gently takes it back and shows him how to press down the little metal needle, poke it through the fabric of his cape, and hook it up through the clasp bar.
“There,” Guillermo says, straightening it so the metal rests flat against Nandor’s chest. “Official club member.”
Nandor grins down at this pin, puffing his chest out, hands on his hips. “Look, Guillermo, I am part of the group now! It stands out so nice against the red.”
Guillermo stifles a laugh, not wanting to snuff out Nandor’s enthusiasm. “It looks very good on you, Master.”
“Laszlo! Nadja! Colin Robinson!” Nandor rushes from the room, cape flurrying behind him, as excited as Guillermo once was to show all his awesome vampire Halloween costume off to his cousins. “Come see the modern fashion I am trying, I am part of a secret club now and you should all be very jealous!”
“I mean, they’re all kind of part of the club too…” Guillermo shakes his head. That’s a conversation for another day.
~
When Guillermo gets the call, he has to look twice at the caller ID to make sure he isn’t seeing things. But no, he read it right. He’s just surprised at who it is.
He’s in the middle of his semi-regular reorganizing of the book shelves in the library. They always want something different every time - this month, it’s the Progress Pride flag, as the button was a real hit around the household and now they think it’s the latest wild fashion trend. He balances his phone on top of one of the stacks of books, and answers it while he continues to sort.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” Guillermo asks.
“Well, hola to you too, Memo. Why does something have to be wrong for me to call my favorite older brother?” Nina sounds like she’s going through some sort of long wind tunnel, and he recognizes the distinct screech of fading subway train in the background.
“You hate calling people,” Guillermo points out. “I don’t even know you knew how to make a phone call. Everything is always a text with you.”
“You’ve gotten real sassy in your old age. Do you want to talk about VHS tapes next, abuelo? Beepers? The TV Guide?”
“You are four years younger than me, kiddo. Seriously though, what’s up? Everything okay?”
Back when they were still under Silvia’s roof, Nina spent most of their younger years attached to him at the hip, and Guillermo had found a lot of pride in the role of older brother teaching his sibling about life. Of course, once he hit puberty, having a little sprog constantly trail after you really put a damper on your reputation, and there were enough things going against him in that department. He had definitely been a shitty brother during those years, but he tried to make up for it in his 20s by answering every text, every phone call, and giving her as much time as he could spare away from his vampire family.
“I’m fine, no major crisis, promise. I was actually calling to check on you. I spoke with Mama the other day, and she was worried that you were mad at her. Said you had a little argument about St. Joseph’s.”
“Oh, that. It wasn’t a big deal. I know she was trying to be helpful, I just wish she’d asked me first? It came as kind of a shock.”
“I get it. I told her a long time ago that any mention of that place to me would start an argument she couldn’t win. You don’t push back with her as much as I do.”
“You’re the wild child, not me,” Guillermo says. Nina has always fit the stereotype of the rebellious second child to a T. She’s the one who talked back, who made waves, who was ‘the disappointment.’ He doesn’t mean that in a mean or rude way, he actually always found her bravery inspiring, because she would say things that he only dared to.
“Better a wild child then a goody two shoes,” Nina shoots back. “You know, I used to troll their Facebook page before they banned me. You remember that dumb bitch, Allison? The one I almost got expelled for fighting? She runs their social media now. Pretty sure she interned at the Heritage Foundation in college. I don’t know anybody got out of that place taking that shit seriously.”
Guillermo snorts. “Yes you do. If you were skinny and blonde and white and talked about how much you loved Jesus, they let you get away with whatever you wanted. It’s not all that different once you get into the real world. Neither of us had that luxury.”
“And straight,” Nina reminds him. “Definitely couldn’t be a dyke or a fag.”
“We were losers the moment we stepped through those doors,” Guillermo agrees. He realizes he’s been neglecting the bookshelves and moves to his knees, picking up another stack. “You know I saw one of my old bullies, Mark, in a Michael’s the other day? That’s two reminders in two weeks, I’m waiting for the third shoe to drop.”
“What happened? He didn’t beat you up in the middle of the paper crafts aisle, did he? That’s illegal when you’re an adult. I learned that the hard way.”
“No, my boss actually stepped in before anything could happen.”
“Nandor? Hasn’t he always been kind of a dick to you?”
“Yes and no. He’s… trying now, I think. Treating me like I’m important to him, asking questions about me. It’s weird. I almost want him to go back to being this unobtainable, hot jerk I’m working for.” A hot jerk is pretty easy to deal with. Their attractiveness goes down in direct proportion to how shitty they are to you. But with Nandor, Guillermo’s physical attraction to him has never waned, and his emotional attraction has skyrocketed like a geyser at Yosemite.
“Listen, he doesn’t get the D for just asking questions after treating you like a footstool for a decade.”
“Hey, who said anything about the D? You’re making some big assumptions, hermana.”
“You just called him a hot jerk! You literally dropped out of college to go become this guy’s house manager because you said this was a better professional opportunity. Hell, the only time I have really ever seen you stand up to Mama was when you went to work for him and she tried to tell you that you were throwing your life away. You’ve got it bad.”
Guillermo really wishes he could deny everything she’s saying, but even he can acknowledge the desperate way his adult life sounds when put into that context. He hadn’t planned on this direction, but when Nandor had walked into his job at Panera in 2009, calmly ordered a bread bowl, and sat in a booth in the corner for three hours - staring moodily as the soup soaked through the bread, eventually spilling onto the tray - it had seemed like a good idea to go over to this raven haired stranger with obnoxiously attractive features when his shift was over, and ask if he could help Nandor in any way.
Nandor had looked at him for a moment, sighed, and said, “You can sit and listen if you like. I’ll just hypnotize you to forget everything later.”
That had been the first indication for Guillermo that this guy was either out of his mind, had some weird beliefs about the world, or - the faint hope tucked into his brain since age 10 - he was a real vampire, and maybe, Guillermo’s fawning over Armand could mean something.
Guillermo sat enraptured, munching on the bag of kettle chips that Nandor had offered him, listening to the vampire’s latest sob story of heartache and rejection. When his manager yelled that the store was closing, Nandor had looked somewhat put out until Guillermo had asked if he wanted to keep talking while they sat in Guillermo’s beat up old Chevy. At some point, Nandor had stopped trying to be clever with avoiding talk of blood drinking, or flying, or changing into a bat so he could stalk his ex-girlfriend unnoticed - a practice that Guillermo would quickly be teaching him was not okay if you weren’t planning on eating them later.
It was 2 AM by the time Nandor had finally run out of juice to vent about his heartache. “You know, you are a very good listener, Guillermo. I will regret having to hypnotize you.”
“Wait, wait!” Guillermo had said, as Nandor lifted a hand to do so. “What if you didn’t have to? If you’re a vampire –”
“Who said I was a vampire? That is crazy, You are crazy,” Nandor had protested unconvincingly.
“Vampires have familiars, right?” Guillermo had pressed on. “Do you need a familiar? Would you make me a vampire too if I was your familiar?”
Nandor had looked like he was trying to figure out how the conversation had shifted so drastically, but when he saw the seriousness on Guillermo’s face, he had lowered his hand, and said, “You are saying that you would want to give up this sweet gig with the bread bowls?”
“I’m saying, that I have really always wanted to be a vampire, and if they’re real, I would do anything I could to be one.” He should’ve been afraid, and maybe if he knew then what he knows now, he would’ve been more cautious, less impulsive. But Guillermo threw caution to the wind for once, and had held out a hand imploringly. “If you promise to make me one, I’ll do whatever you ask of me.”
Nandor wore a look then, that Guillermo would later on come to know meant he was completely in over his head, about to make a decision with little forethought, purely driven by pride and an opportunity that seemed too good to pass up. He had gripped Guillermo’s proffered hand, his skin shockingly cold against Guillermo’s palm, and said, “Whatever I ask of you, yes?”
Guillermo had nodded, face splitting into a wide smile as he replied, “As long as you promise to turn me into one, then yes.”
That handshake had led down the road to where he is today, shoving musty, decaying books back onto shelves in an order that attempts to mimic a rainbow flag, while Nandor slumbers down the hall, and last night’s dinner sits in rigor mortis on the kitchen table.
“I’m not just going to offer him my body for being a little nicer, okay?” Guillermo says returning to the conversation at hand. “I have a little dignity.”
“I hope so,” Nina says. “You’ve done a lot for that guy, if he wants the D, he should have to work hard for it. I guess dealing with your bully is a good start, though. I think I’d have swooned if a guy that hot did that for me.”
“Speaking of swooning, guess who I talked to recently? One of your old flames.” Guillermo teases. “Anna says hi.”
“Ugh, please don’t remind me of that phase of my life,” Nina says, groaning over the phone. “You know she invited me to her wedding? Who does that?”
“I guess we’re both luckless in love.”
“Oh, so now we’re talking about love? I didn’t know you were that far gone for him.”
Guillermo panics. “Oh no! Would you look at that, I gotta go, I’m being summoned to some kind of very important house meeting.”
“You said it, not me,” Nina teases. “But I gotta go too. Hey, just let me know if I you want help setting a boundary with Mama, okay? I know you’re a lot happier now with Nandor and all the other weirdos he lives with, so don’t feel obligated to think about past if you don’t want to.”
“What if the past won’t stop leaving me alone?” Guillermo blurts out, wincing when he realizes what he’s just said. He thinks about the little postcard that’s still shoved into the trashcan on their stoop; the bag’s not full enough yet to take out. He knows logically that it shouldn’t matter, he should just dump the half-empty bag and be done with it, but the little anxiety gremlin in his brain keeps asking, what if someone notices? What if they ask you about it? Are you going to admit that a stupid little piece of paper holds that much weight over you, that you need to get rid of it as fast as possible?
That’s what started him back down this road in the first place.
“Maybe that’s something you should talk to somebody about,” Nina suggests. “Have you ever done that?”
“Like I said, Nandor and I are starting to talk about it.”
“Okay, maybe that’s enough. But if it isn’t, maybe you should think about talking about with a professional.”
“You’re literally like, the fourth person to tell me that,” Guillermo admits. It’s getting harder to brush them off each time.
“Choice is yours, Memo. But I really have to go; am I going to see you at Carlos’s birthday party in April?”
“Of course you are,” Guillermo says. He’s never missed one of his baby brother’s birthdays, and he’s not planning on missing this one either, no matter whether he and his mom have talked things out by then.
“Good. Te amo, Memo.”
Guillermo hears movement in the hallway when he ends the call, and he freezes, grabbing a book for a makeshift weapon. It’s the middle of the afternoon, and nobody should be awake right now. Colin Robinson doesn’t get home from work for at least another two hours.
“Hello, who’s out there?” he says, rising to his feet and slowly approaching the cracked open door.
“It’s just me.” Guillermo lets out a sigh of relief when Laszlo pokes his head through the doorframe. “I woke up feeling a bit peckish, so I snuck away from my dear lady to see whether we had any of those freezy pops left. You’re making some good progress,” he says, motioning to the bookshelves. “Though it looks a little dull, color wise. The colors for the trans flag might be a little too bright for what we’re working with. Maybe we should just stick with the lesbian flag instead…”
“You know what the flags mean?” Guillermo is stunned. He didn’t explain anything to the other vampires beyond the same vague summary he gave to Nandor. Although, now that he’s remembering, Laszlo didn’t seem to be paying too much attention.
Laszlo looks offended at the suggestion that he doesn’t know about something modern. “Of course I know what they bloody mean; I was there when they were coming up the fucking things! Made cruising a hell of a lot easier in those days.”
“You were part of the scene in the 80s? That... actually makes a lot of sense.” Of the four vampires, Laszlo has always been the most sexually overt, and Guillermo has had far too many moments finding dried white fluids on bedsheets, clothing, furniture - and on one horrifying occasion, inside of a grapefruit he was about to consume - to think that Laszlo wouldn’t have been interested in bathhouses and seedy sex clubs when they lined the streets of Midtown.
“I moonlighted for a time as a dominant.” Laszlo shrugs casually, like he’s talking about the weather. “Plenty of gentlemen who wanted a go with The Exsanguinator, as I was referred to. Here’s a hint; you can get a very regular blood supply from submissives if you simply don’t kill them, just feed until they feel a bit woozy and want to come back and play again.”
“I guess at least they get something out of it?”
“Quite right,” Laszlo sniffs. “It all got a bit messy towards the end of the decade, unfortunately. People got spooked about exchanging bodily fluids, especially blood.”
“Oh, fuck. Yeah, they would’ve, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes... knew a few nice chaps who didn’t make it to the turn of the new century.”
“I’m sorry,” Guillermo says honestly, because he doesn’t know what it was like to be alive back then, but he knows Laszlo can get attached to certain humans - look at Sean and Charmaine -so of course he lost some friends too soon.
“I offered to turn them, you know,” Laszlo says, distant; Guillermo can see flickers of his own ghosts playing behind his eyes. “A few said yes, but most didn’t. When you lose a lot of people, you don’t often want to stick around to see what the next few centuries are like.” He blinks, shaking his head. “Sorry, what were we talking about?”
“I’m gay,” Guillermo says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Shit. That was completely not what they were talking about. “I- um, I don’t know why I need you to know that, but it feels important, right now.”
Laszlo nods affirmingly. “Right, that’s one mystery solved. Nadja was leaning towards you liking any gender, but I can usually tell when a chap only likes chaps.” He motions back to the bookshelves. “Maybe I’ll sneak some of the less spicy pornography out of the council library, see if we’ve got something in bright blue or pink.”
“That’d be nice,” Guillermo says. Are he and Laszlo... having a moment here? This is so weird.
Laszlo dips his head in a short bow, saying, “I’ll let you get back to work. Oh, and Gizmo?”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re going to moon over Nandor on phone calls in the library, maybe be a bit quieter about it? He’s not a heavy sleeper.”
Laszlo exits the room cackling as Guillermo’s face heats up redder than anything on the bookshelf behind him.
~
10:35pm, February 8th, 2022
adrian: hey guillermo, you left your nice hat at the group room tonight
memo: damn it, can you hold onto it for me for next week?
adrian: sure, not a problem!
adrian: also, i wanted to check in and see how you’re liking the group so far? i know it’s only been a few weeks, but as the leader i like to make sure everyone feels comfortable in what’s going on
memo: i’m enjoying it, really! i think maybe in the next week or two i’d like to talk about some things, but for now it’s just really nice to know people who have similar experiences to mine
adrian: that’s great to hear!
memo: question, is nico okay? i noticed he wasn’t there tonight...
adrian: yeah, i talk to him a lot. he’s still hurting over that breakup. i keep encouraging him to bring it up in group, but he keeps telling me that i’m the only one he’s really comfortable talking about it with yet
memo: i get that. there’s some stuff i only like sharing with nandor
adrian: your boss?
memo: he’s my boss, but also kind of my best friend? it’s complicated.
memo: we spend a lot of time together, and he knows me better than a lot of my own family members. he’s very prideful and loud-mouthed on the outside, but on the inside he’s kind of a little kitty cat. he’s not always the nicest to me, but he usually apologizes if i point it out, and whenever i talk about my stuff he sits and listens and always knows the right thing to say.
adrian: sounds like you might have a little crush on him 😏
memo: if only it was little...😔
adrian: awww, that’s so cute, guillermo! do you think he likes you back?
memo: i can’t tell. he’s softer with me than anybody else we know, but the kind of work relationship we have cultivates that. sometimes i think we’re having a moment, but it passes and nothing happens.
adrian: you gotta make a move!
memo: i can’t! it’s really important to me not to ruin our work relationship, and i don’t want to fuck up our friendship if i’m wrong.
adrian: oh you should have never told me this. i’m a very aggressive matchmaker. i’m making you my new project
memo: no please don’t 😭 i can handle it!
adrian: how long have you known this guy?
memo: ... twelve years?
adrian: oh
adrian: oh honey
adrian: no
adrian: this is happening
memo: please don’t tell anyone else about this please please please 🙏
adrian: you’re no fun guillermo
adrian: as the group leader i must respect your confidentiality
adrian: as a matchmaker though, i’m on the case 🕵️♀️
memo: fml
~
The next time Guillermo goes out to check the mail, he opens the lid, immediately sees the recognizable navy blue of his high school on the back of the magazine inside, and thinks, Oh, fuck.
St. Joseph’s Alumni Magazine unfurls in his hands, a Benedictine monk bowed in prayer on the cover. In big swirling font next to the monk are the words Practicing Humility In a Prideful World, and a smaller, secondary headline that says Profiling Our Champions at the Supreme Court.
Guillermo nearly rips a piece out of the cover, so tightly is he gripping it. He tastes bile at the back of his throat, feels faint with an aimless anger curdling in his stomach. His chest is tight, and his breaths come fast as he stalks back towards the house, knocking the lid of the trashcan off and slamming the thing into the can with a loud metallic thonk! He fumbles for the lid, replaces it, and storms back into the house.
10 minutes later, he’s sitting on a porch swing in the backyard, staring at an obscene topiary, channeling all his distressed energy through a serious leg jiggle. This is where Nandor finds him.
“Guillermo, there you are. Nadja and I are looking for the laptop, we are trying this thing called a Zoom and– What happened?” He asks, immediately able to tell something is wrong.
Guillermo sniffs and rubs his eyes, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”
Nandor takes a seat next to him on the swing, smoothing out his cape underneath him, and tucking his hands into his lap. “It is not nothing. We do not do that anymore, remember? You talk, and I listen. That is how we get rid of the ghosts.”
Guillermo leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I got another mailer from my old high school. Don’t worry, I already got rid of it.”
“This again? I do not know why you do not let me eat them, it is a simple solution!”
“You can eat everyone that works there, and it still wouldn’t fix it all, Nandor. It’s bigger than them, it’s everything.”
“Everything is a lot of things, Guillermo.”
“Fine, it’s – I don’t like to read the news anymore, you know? Every day it’s something worse, some new awful thing. All I want to do is be left alone, but some people out there don’t even want me to be able to exist!”
“Then I will eat them too,” Nandor affirms. “I will eat anyone who wants to bother you.”
“You’d have to eat half this fucking country, Nandor!” Guillermo yells.
“Okay! How many people is that? Give me their names and I will do it!”
“Realistically? Probably like, 70, 75 million, based on the last vote.”
Nandor is silent for a moment, absorbing this information.
“That is a lot of people. It will take me a very long time to eat them all.”
Guillermo lets a laughing sob. “Yeah, no shit!”
He’s crying again. Damn it. This is why he didn’t want to talk about it. He could’ve gotten himself sorted, and now everything is flowing out of him like a dam about to break open. His shoulders are shaking, nails digging marks into his fists. He wants to scream, and scream, and scream until his voice is so hoarse he can’t possibly make another sound. Scream out all the pain, the anger, the overwhelming sense that his life is just starting, only for things outside his control to try and end it.
Nandor moves very slowly now, and Guillermo can see his hand lifting, lifting, lifting, hesitating before resting it on Guillermo’s shoulder. This time, Guillermo leans into it, all the way, turning and pressing his face against the soft, silken folds of Nandor’s sleeve, letting himself be guided back until he’s tucked right against the breadth of Nandor’s chest. Strong arms, able to both rip heads clean off of shoulders and cradle small animals in a delicate hold, wrap around him like a blanket.
Guillermo lets himself go. He nearly tears through the front of Nandor’s shirt, clutching it as he muffles his scream against Nandor’s skin. The arms hold him tighter, hold him up as the pain of despair lances through him; an internal wound ripped open, having scabbed over, but never fully healed. Every scream is wet, ugly, and only serves to launch him higher on the wave, spiraling out. He struggles for a breath that isn’t punched out of him, mind spinning on a carnival ride he never asked to get on. His mouth is both dry and full of spittle that soaks into Nandor’s shirt with every scream, co-mingling with the salty lines of tears. It all terrifies him, he doesn’t want it, why can he stop? At the same time, he needs it, needs to get it out, expel it like poison. He feels like he might die if any bit of it remains inside him.
It could be minutes, it could be hours, he is isn’t sure, before it’s all gone, and the ringing in his ears fades enough for him to realize that Nandor is calling his name, over and over. “Guillermo, Guillermo, please say something, I don’t know what’s wrong!” His voice sounds strung out, more scared than Guillermo has ever heard him. It must be its own kind of terrifying to see somebody just collapse in this way, screaming like they’ve been impaled on something, yet no physical wound is apparent.
“I’m here,” Guillermo coughs out, trying to get a handle on his ragged breaths so he can get some needed oxygen into his brain. All of his energy is gone, exhaustion set in every nerve of his body. “Fuck, I don’t know what that was.”
“Are you okay?” Nandor asks. “What do you need? Anything, I’ll get it for you.”
“Honestly? I feel like I could take a thousand year nap. Can I just sleep for a while?” Nandor is cool but cozy, and Guillermo wouldn’t mind passing out against him.
“Of course. Here.” Nandor shifts, and Guillermo thinks he’s going to loosen his grip, only for him to tuck one arm underneath Guillermo’s knees and lift him up fully, holding him securely against his chest. Bridal style, Guillermo thinks, not unhappily. Nandor must be really worried.
Guillermo doesn’t argue, letting his head rest against Nandor and closing his eyes. “Thank you,” he mumbles, brain like mush as he feels himself carried back into the house.
Nandor steps quietly, pausing at the entryway of the foyer. Guillermo senses another presence, but he’s not interested in identifying who it is. They speak quietly to Nandor, who says something in reply, and then he keeps moving, rounding the corner, heading towards Guillermo’s little hole in the wall.
“Sleep,” Nandor says. Hypnosis doesn’t work on him anymore, but Guillermo lets the command sink into him anyway, fading out.
~
He’s never woken up in someone else’s lap before. It takes Guillermo a second to realize what’s going on, to recognize that he’s still tucked against Nandor’s chest, who knows how long later.
“Nandor?” he asks, suppressing a yawn against his own arm. “How long have I been out?”
“A few hours,” Nandor answers, chest rumbling in a pleasant baritone.
“You didn’t have to stay,” Guillermo says. “Have you been here the whole time?”
Nandor protests, “You scared me, Guillermo! You screamed, and screamed, and you let me pick you up without even a fight, and then you passed out! I did not know what was wrong. I did not want to leave you, only for you to die while I was gone.”
“I wasn’t going to die,” Guillermo reassures him. He still hasn’t moved, and doesn’t plan to, unless Nandor decides to move first.
Nandor makes a frustrated sound. “How could I have known that? Those were the screams my men let out when they charged into battle to die, Guillermo. They charged in like a sword through the chest would be a better pain than whatever they held inside of them. I was not okay, hearing them from you.”
Guillermo sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I kind of scared myself with that. It’s never felt so raw before. I wanted you to understand, but you couldn’t, even though I know you tried to. I’m thankful you really tried to, Master.”
“I wanted to,” Nandor insists. “I prayed to gods I don’t believe in anymore that I would. But I don’t think I can help you with these ghosts, not in the way you really need it.”
“I think you’re right,” Guillermo admits, finally. He doesn’t want it to be true, wants Nandor to have all the answers he needs, but that’s not how it works, apparently.
“So, I was thinking, while I sat here, that perhaps I should encourage a visit to a mind doctor again? If that is alright?” Nandor goes tense beneath him, like he thinks Guillermo is going to reject the idea again, and they’ll end up back here, just like this, Guillermo spinning out of control while Nandor looks on helplessly.
“Okay,” Guillermo says. “I’ll try it. It has to be better than keeping all these ghosts inside.” He lets a hand drift down, daring to brush it against Nandor’s, since they’ve already gone off the deep end in regards to personal space. “Can we stay like this a little longer?”
Nandor clasps his hand and squeezes. “As long as you like.”
Oh, Guillermo would like to stay like this forever, but he’ll be kind to Nandor and let him up eventually.
~
9:43am February 23rd, 2022
memo: hey, you said you have a therapist, right?
anna: hey memo! yeah, i do, why?
memo: how did you find them? i think i want to try it