Simon's Struggles - 6. Something to Live For

“What are we doing here?”
Tristan sat on a swing, pushing it gently with his feet. The vampire shrugged, the creaks of the chains holding the swing up filling the predawn air.
“I just like to swing,” he said. “Does there have to be a profound reason for everything we do?”
Simon looked around them at the empty park, a soccer pitch nearby, a large play structure in a pit of bark. This was where all the rich parents took their kids, and they expected only the best. The vampire remembered the park near his house when he grew up, tiny, most of the structures broken.
“This is supposed to cheer me up?” he clarified.
“Nope.”
Simon scowled at Tristan, still swinging idly while gazing up at the waning moon.
“Then what the hell are we doing here?” he snapped.
“You tell me.”
“You brought me out here. Why?”
Tristan sighed.
“Can’t a vampire just want to enjoy the peace of the early morning?”
“Fine. Enjoy it by yourself.”
Simon stormed away from the park, a shadow of darkness around him. He didn’t know where he was going; he just wanted to get away from Tristan. He was so tired, his body sorer than it had ever been before. Apparently being undead didn’t stop his muscles from hurting.
Music entered his ears, deep and rich, echoing from a large building a well-dressed woman had just walked out of. The door closed, cutting off the sound, but Simon could feel it continue within him. He had to hear the music again.
The vampire opened the door the woman had shut behind him, the sound of the instrument hitting him again as he entered the building. Walking down a narrow hall, he found himself in a large auditorium, a lone man sitting on the stage at the far end of the room with a large instrument between his legs. The music stopped as the man noticed Simon.
"Excuse me sir, this is a closed practice," he called, his voice reaching the vampire easily.
"Sorry," Simon called back. "I've never heard music like that though."
"It's a cello. You should look up some videos; I'm not the best player by any means. Excuse me, I need to get back to my practice."
Nodding, Simon made his way back to the door, the man playing again. He hesitated just inside the door, listening a moment longer, before heading back out into the morning. The sun was coming up over the horizon, its rays already warming his skin. Pulling up his hood, Simon hunkered down, hurrying back to Tristan's house.
The door was open when he arrived, Tristan sitting in the doorway with his eyes gazing at the rising sun. Stella sat in his lap, the vampire stroking her absently. Simon stopped before them, his thoughts eating away at him.
"You told me there was a lot to live for. I don't see it," he said finally.
"It can be hard to see sometimes," Tristan shrugged. "You have to find those things for yourself. That's what this morning was about. I enjoy swinging. Childish, perhaps, yet I don't let society's views stop me from what I enjoy."
He stood up, holding Stella against him. The cat complained roughly, trying to pull away.
"Then there's the queen. She would get lonely without her servants. And the sunrise. I've always enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my face. It's the little things for me."
"I don't have that."
"Then make it. Make your happiness."
Tristan stepped inside, motioning for Simon to follow. The door closed, blocking out the rising sun, and Simon lowered his hood.
"I guess I should get ready for work."
Simon made his way up the stairs, stepping into his room. He frowned at the sight of a set of clothes laying out on the bed.
"Before you say anything, they were twenty dollars total," Tristan said from the door. "You shouldn't start work looking like someone fresh off the streets."
"My clothes aren't that bad," Simon objected. "And when did you even get these? How do you know my size?"
"I got them while you were asleep."
"Dead," Simon corrected.
Tristan shrugged.
"I prefer to think of it as your final sleep," he said. "Labels have a way of affecting how you view life."
Simon picked up the dark shirt, a turtleneck that he admitted looked nice. Even if it was the middle of summer.
"Thanks," he muttered, taking the clothes and walking to tha bathroom.
Stella meowed, bouncing past him as he entered the bathroom.
"Get out," the vampire said.
The cat jumped up on the back of the toilet and stared at him.
"Shoo. Go, get out."
"Come on Stella," Tristan called.
Meowing loudly, the cat slunk out of the room, sitting next to the door as Simon closed it.
"I hate cats," he sighed, pulling off his shirt.
An odor hit his nose and he winced, realizing he hadn't actually washed in nearly a week. No, longer than that. He had rarely bathed in his apartment. Simon looked into the mirror, his reflection staring back like a zombie in a B-rated horror film. He was going to be fired for sure. No one wanted an employee that had bags under his eyes or a haunted stare. A brown smear sat at the corner of his lip, and Simon's reflection licked it, tasting dried blood. Christopher's dried blood. His mind whispered the name over and over. Christopher. A man he had murdered, a life taken to feed his own existence.
His reflection grinned, fangs dripping with dark red blood, and Simon gasped, stumbling back. Vampire... Murderer... He instinctively wiped his mouth, his arm coming away clean. A hallucination, a product of a brain suffering from exhaustion.
Turning on the shower, Simon removed his pants and stepped into the freezing water. His hand twisted the hot water until the shower was near scalding, his muscles crying with relief as the heat soothed them. He sat, water spraying over his head and steam floating over his face. The vampire took a deep breath and held it in, hoping, nearly praying, for his lungs to start burning with need.
Three minutes and nothing. He continued holding his breath as he reached for a bar of soap. Hands ran over his torso, washing off the grime of death, of the ocean, of everything that had happened in the last week.
Yet he still felt dirty.