Chapter 35
Describe what happened before you blacked out.
” Dr. Rosetti sat back in her rich leather armchair like she had all the time in the world.
Today, she looked ready to share a glass of wine with some professors in a pair of forest-green corduroy pants and a white turtleneck.
If she could just prescribe me a little antidepressant, something that would curb my appetite and deaden my desires, we could both be on our way.
“Jessica, the nurse at the emergency department, said I had a panic attack.”
“That may be,” she said in a dispassionate voice.
Did she care? I had passed out from overwhelming bloodlust, and she looked almost bored.
“It’s important to talk about what happened. I can’t hand out prescription medicine like candy.”
Fine, if she wanted to play ball, I’d let her have it.
“I wanted to bite Tyrone, to drink his blood, preferably while he fucked me senseless. He thought I was scared of the gun he was carrying, of the coyote he had just shot. But no, it was the violence inside myself. That’s what scares me.
How am I going to have a nice hometown boyfriend if I want to bite him?
A vampire can’t have a happily ever after.
It’s not a thing.” I sagged into the chair. “I think I’ve been starving myself.”
“Ahh.” She nodded her head like I hadn’t shocked her at all. “So you were scared of your own desires, for food and for sex?”
“I guess.” My desire for blood, my propensity for violence, wanting to fuck the Christmas tree farmer. None of these desires were acceptable. Look what had happened last time I let myself lose control. I had nearly killed Heaven.
“Why are you scared to act on your desire for Tyrone?”
“Because I’m a vampire.” Simple human desire would be great. If only I needed BDSM for Beginners.
Ignoring my reminder that I was a vampire, she said, “You’re both adults. He presumably invited you over. You were on what sounds like a nice evening walk. Why did you think it was wrong to act on your attraction?”
“Eleanor,” I said with frustration, “I’m trying not to bite people.” How many times did I have to tell her I was a vampire? I focused on the picture of the owl. “Tyrone’s a Christmas tree farmer and, by all accounts, a saint. I shouldn’t be biting him while fucking like a raging vampire slut.”
She let my words hang in the air and then said, “Tiffany, just so you know, it’s okay for you to have a relationship with Tyrone. He’s an adult and your desires are natural. A consensual relationship between the two of you would be fine.”
She wasn’t listening.
Sensing my frustration, she moved on. “Have you been finding connections with anyone else in town? I was happy to see you at trivia night. That’s a great place to meet young people.”
“Um…I’m meeting a lot of people.”
She nodded with understanding. “Meeting people and developing authentic connections aren’t the same thing. Is that what I’m hearing?”
“Umm.” Most people thought I was Tiffany Amanda Blair, widowed and damaged. “No one knows me.” The words rang with truth.
“Tiffany, if you can’t connect with yourself in an authentic way, how can someone else?”
I shrugged. That sounded like some mumbo jumbo. I just needed a pill to make me stop wanting things I shouldn’t want, make me okay with being a simple woman, not a vampire thirsty for blood and sex.
“Are you okay with who you are?”
“No. I’m trying to become Tiffany Amanda Blair, the woman who people in town loved and accepted. I want to be the girl who won Best Smile in high school.” And didn’t have to hide her fangs, I silently added.
“Is that who you are?”
“No, that’s the problem. I want to drink blood and fuck.” Hadn’t she been listening?
“Tiffany, I know you aren’t there today, but I want you to work toward accepting yourself as you are. I want you to admit that you are human and accept that. Do you think you could do that?”
I shrugged. This wasn’t going anywhere.
“I, Tiffany Blair, am human. Can you say that?” She looked so hopeful.
“Do you want me to be honest or not?”
She sighed. “Okay, you’re not there yet. Let’s talk for a minute about why you chose to identify as a vampire. Why do you feel like a vampire?”
“Because I want to bite people, drink blood, and stay up all night,” I said casually. “Eleanor, I’m a servant of the devil. It’s not like I get direct orders, but all of my innermost thoughts and desires are evil.”
“So what I hear you saying is that you are not okay with the power and the violence inside of you?”
“Yup.” I nodded.
“I relate to that. I think most women probably do on some level. Society tells us that we need to be strong, but in a passive, supportive way. We are not encouraged to embrace power and violence.”
I nodded. That was true. “Yes. They call us bitches, or witches.” Everyone says they want a strong woman, but what they really mean by strong is long-suffering and supportive. No one wants a strong woman biting them on the neck and draining their blood.
“Society tells us that we should be made of sugar and spice, but women are animals with thoughts and desires, some of them carnal and violent. The makeup, the clothes, the tiny voices—every day women perform a role to make men comfortable, to make men feel important and strong.”
That sounded about right, though my carnal and violent thoughts were a little stronger than what she assumed.
“You need to stop burying thoughts, feelings, and desires that make you uncomfortable. That is what makes you you. It sounds like you’re using vampirism as an emotional outlet. What would it feel like for you to embrace those angry parts of yourself and accept them?”
“Embracing vampirism would feel like sucking my boyfriend dry.”
“Tiffany, you are not draining your boyfriend by simply asking for your needs to be met.”
“What?”
Getting fired up by her own rhetoric, she leaned forward and looked me in the eye. “You can be a human woman—imperfect, angry, messy. If you embrace and accept that about yourself, you will be on a more authentic journey.”
I kind of wanted to bite her. The smell of AB negative was tickling my senses.
“What about the panic attack?”
“The disconnect between your true self and the person who you think you need to be—I believe that’s why you had a panic attack. You’re trying to put yourself into a box you don’t fit in.”
The only box I fit in was a coffin. I wanted out so badly.
“Stop making yourself small and acceptable, Tiffany.”
But that’s what I wanted. I wanted to be smaller. I wanted to be acceptable. I wanted to be Tiffany Amanda Blair, small-town girl with a handsome farmer boyfriend.
“I just want something to calm me down so I can handle some of these uncomfortable feelings.”
She shook her head. “Tiffany, I don’t want you to try to hide these feelings. Historically, women have been medicated to deaden the discomfort of their desires. Every decade has a ‘mother’s little helper.’ In the 1950s it was Valium. Today it’s rosé.”
I knew Rosé was a good nickname for her.
“We can talk about a prescription later, but first I want you to try being honest. Be honest with yourself and the people around you. You are you, and you can’t change that. Be messy, imperfect, and filled with desires.”
I nodded and smiled at Dr. Rosetti. That advice might work for a person who was struggling with being a metaphorical vampire, but not me.
“Are you sure you can’t prescribe something?”
“No. Not until you’re honest. Will you try it my way first?”
“Yes,” I said just so I could leave. Honesty was not possible for me.
I am a vampire wasn’t something you could say to people.
Most of the time, they thought you were joking.
Everyone had a very strong idea of what a vampire looked like.
Sexy, powerful, mysterious, dark, a man.
I wasn’t any of those things. I was Bridget Jones with bloodlust. No one knew what to do with that.
The movies were always about a sexy, brooding vampire hero and a virtuous human woman defending our beloved values.
Bella, Sookie, Buffy. How annoying that the most popular women from vampire movies weren’t even vampires.
People sucked. Well, I did. And that was the problem.
“You keep talking about Tyrone, but what about the guy at the bar? What’s his name…Vladdy?”
“We’re done. I’ve been watching this TikTok therapist and I’m pretty sure Vlad’s toxic.”
That woke her up. “Tiffany,” she said adamantly, “TikTok is not a good source for any life advice.”
Ouch. Don’t tell Heaven that one.
“Promise me—no more TikTok therapy.”
“Sure,” I lied. “Can I have the pills?”
“Tiffany,” she cautioned, “I want you to get comfortable sitting in discomfort. It’s impossible to grow and change if you avoid what makes you uncomfortable.”
“I think three hundred years of discomfort is long enough.”
Unfazed by the duration of my suffering, she asked, “Have you tried journaling?”
Sure, I’d bought some notebooks.
Dr. R glanced at the clock and I sensed that she was about to end the session. “Find a time that works for you. When you start to scroll, put down your phone and pick up a notebook. Write down what you’re feeling. You might surprise yourself with what you discover.”
“How long do I have to journal before I get the pills?”
She laughed like I’d just told a funny joke.
After the session, I checked my phone and noticed I’d missed three calls from Vlad. I’d been ignoring his calls all day. It was almost like someone had died, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t even know anyone who could die.
Instead of hitting play on his voicemails, I opened Instagram.
The algorithm must have been eavesdropping on my therapy session, because my first ad was for Hims and Hers.
From what I could tell Hims could deliver a pill for a full head of hair and a rock-hard dick right to your door.
Hers mostly helped with the anxiety and depression attendant with living with Him.
Perfect. I hit Order. Well, it wasn’t quite that simple.
I clicked the Help me with my anxiety! button and started a quiz.