My back slides down the smooth glass surface of the airport building until my ass hits the concrete. I’m a mess. I pull my knees to my chest and bury my face in my hands. I’m a grown man, for fuck’s sake. I should be able to handle this, not crumble like a fucking bath bomb. Only because I can’t see my boyfriend for a couple of weeks. I am such a fucking pussy. My dad was probably right to give me a good pounding now and then.

I can feel the paper crinkle in my back pocket. It’s my plane ticket to London. Only a copy, so Rashid had something to press into my hands. The original is in my email inbox. He paid for it. I’m his fucking rent boy.

This morning was quiet. Even Bruno padded around my room without making a sound. Rashid and I limited our conversation to the bare minimum. While he showered, I made us both coffee. Then he finished packing while I got ready in the bathroom. Before we left, he pulled me close, and we stood embracing each other until a ping on his phone alerted us to the arrival of the ride share he had ordered.

We didn’t talk during the drive to the airport or while he checked in his bags. We walked to the security as far as I could go with him, our hands clutched tightly together. That’s the beauty of airports. No one really gives a damn about other travellers or what they do. Not that I would have given a fig about what other people thought. If I want to hold my boyfriend’s hand, I will hold my god-damn boyfriend’s hand! When we reached the security line, we both stared at the crowd of passengers and personnel for a while. Then Rashid pulled me aside so we were no longer in the middle of the throng of people streaming towards the gates and tugged me into an embrace.

Recent events have probably clued Rashid in on how much our separations hurt me. When I’m hurting, I tend to lash out, and he’s unfortunately been the one on the receiving end too many times. He’s probably a bit wary of it by now, and I really don’t want to fall into old patterns. I just don’t know how to stop.

I hid my face in Rashid’s shoulder, trying to steady my breathing by inhaling his scent. What did Eli call it? A madeleine? An involuntary memory? His scent always reminds me of his arms around me. I feel so safe with him. Home.

Rashid pulled away, looked into my tear-stained face and combed my hair back. That’s when he told me he won’t have any assignments stateside in the near future. He’ll probably be on ‘light duty’ (whatever that means) until he’s fully healed. Apparently that also includes a couple of mandatory sessions with a therapist. I assumed that was the prelude to him telling me that we won’t see each other again for a while, and something started to break inside of me. I mentally prepared myself for the impact when he pulled out the envelope with my ticket. It’s set for 27 October, a month from now.

“You can change it to any other date that suits you,” Rashid explained while swiping his thumbs underneath my eyes. “It’s flexible for a year.”

I wanted to protest. It was almost a reflex at that point, but he laid a finger on my lips to stop me, then replaced it with his mouth.

“Please, Wendell.” A puff of air skims over my cheek. “I know you hate accepting money from me, but please, I need to know I’ll see you again soon. I need to know you’re okay. If this makes me your sugar daddy, then I’ll wear this badge with pride, but please take it.”

There are universal truths in this world, facts that simply exist. Unchangeable no matter how much you might argue with them. And apparently one of them is that I cannot say no to Rashid. Not when he looks at me like that, his eyes full of pleading and hope. So I nodded and took the envelope from him. He kissed me in a way that was most definitely not meant for polite company, not even an airport, his tongue sliding into my mouth. My response wasn’t much better, with my hips arching into him and a desperate moan escaping my lips. Before long, Rashid pulled away a little and covered my face with small kisses.

“Shukriya, meri khushi. Thank you.” More kisses, then he forced himself away from me, and I could only watch as he disappeared into the maze of stanchions. I waited until he turned a corner. He didn’t look back, but I could see him rubbing a hand over his face. Even after he was gone, I couldn’t move and stood frozen on the spot until people started bumping into me. I somehow made it outside the airport building, and that’s when I slumped against the outside wall.

I can’t remember how long I stay there. I wouldn’t be surprised if people start throwing money at me because they thinkt I’m homeless. Well, been there, done that. Didn’t get the T-shirt. All I remember is that suddenly a small hand gently touches my arm. I flinch, but before my eyes can focus and blink away the curtain of moisture, I hear a familiar jingle of bracelets and a voice: “Aye, mijo…”

The next moment I instinctively reach out for my friend – not questioning why she’s here or how she knew how to find me. I’m just thankful not to be alone anymore. Mari slings her arms around my cowering form and whispers reassuring words into my hair.

“Tranquilo, mijo, no estás solo. Estoy aquí contigo, todo va a estar bien.”

My Spanish doesn’t extend to much more than a few colourful curse words, but I get what she’s saying. She’s here. I’m not alone. Everything will be alright. I wish it were that easy. I should probably be ashamed to cry in front of her, but I can’t make myself stop.

I’m just covertly trying to sniff back my snot without getting any on the pretty blouse Mari is wearing today when I notice a tall, black mountain of muscles standing a few yards away from us, throwing daggers at me with his eyes.

“Mari…” I whisper in her hair. “Don’t be alarmed, but there’s a guy behind us, and he looks… very… angry…”

Mari throws a look over her shoulder without letting go of me, completely unfazed by the imminent mortal danger, and just shrugs.

“Oh, that’s Silas,” she says nonchalantly, and I make a very undignified sound somewhere between a choke and a gasp. I try to mask it with a cough, but Jay-zuhs, Mary and Joseph… this is… Silas? The famous bartender at ‘The Nook’? Ex-military medic and Mari’s sometimes hook-up? My petite 5ft 2in Latina firecracker and… this guy? Who’d even give my all-time favourite superhero Luke Cage a run for his money? Holy guacamole…

“Why is he here and is he going to murder me? He looks like he wants to murder me…”

Mari pats my arm. “I needed a ride, so I asked him. And he won’t murder you. Madre mia, Wendell, stop being so overdramatic.” With that, she plants a big, wet kiss on my cheek, and I duck in case Luke Cage’s Hulk-sized twin decides to pounce. He doesn’t. Just looks sternly at me and Mari huddled on the concrete.

“Vamos, Wendell.” Mari pulls on my arms. “Time to go before people start throwing their spare cash at you…”

I glare at her. She did not just go there… Nevermind that I had the exact same thought earlier myself. I do as I’m told, wipe the remaining evidence of tears from my cheeks, and follow The Mountain and my friend to the car park. Now that I think about it, it’s not hard to guess how Mari knew where to find me. Ever since Lestat’s concert at Belle Rive Hall, Josie and Mari have been best friends, and their favourite gossip subject is little ol’ me. Fun.

Surprisingly, Silas drives a regular sized car, which means it is tiny sized for him. I squeeze into the backseat and keep my eyes on my lap, ignoring the sight of planes taking off from Louis Armstrong Airport. One of them is taking Rashid away from me. I pull the ticket Rashid got for me out of my pocket and smooth the wrinkles out. I don’t even know if I can use it. Can I take any more days off work? Three weeks for London, another one for Paris, … and Christine Claire’s firm might be the best employer in the universe, but there must be some limit to her generosity. Even if she’s only a middleman – middlewoman? – for Louis and Lestat.

Silas and Mari quietly talk in the front seats. I try not to eavesdrop, but Silas’ deep rumble of a voice has a strangely soothing effect until I remember that he used to be a medic. It’s hard to imagine this giant of a man taking care of injured people in the field, handling delicate medical equipment, but when I hear his voice, it’s not such a stretch anymore. I imagine he was the rock in a stormy sea in a moment of crisis. Sila’s hand rests on top of the gear knob and Mari’s fingers are wrapped around it. Just a little ‘fun in bed’, huh? I’m not an expert on the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing, but I doubt holding hands is in the rule book. The closest I ever got in that department was T-Jay, and we never held hands.

It takes me a moment to realise we’re not headed towards the Warehouse District, where I live. Or Mari’s Mid-City apartment. I lean forward between the two front seats.

“Where are you taking me?” I squint against the sun, trying to get my bearings.

“To ‘The Nook’. Silas needs to open the bar, and we can stay upstairs. ” Mari explains and I drop back against the upholstery. Guess that decision was made without consulting with me. Just push me to wherever you want me to be. Why would I get a say? I’d been looking forward to holing up in my own four walls and wallowing in my misery. Maybe Bruno would have been compliant to comfort me. Which reminds me…

“I need to feed Bruno…”

Mari winks at me in the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry about the cutie gatito. Kai is taking care of him.”

I narrow my gaze at her. “Who’s Kai?”

Mari just smiles and reaches back to pat my knee. I throw my hands up in frustration. Apparently, everything’s already decided for me. Just don’t mind me at all! I cross my arms in front of my chest and let my indignation simmer inside me. I don’t even know why I’m annoyed. I just am. Everything just sucks.

Silas parks in an underground parking garage, and we walk across the street to the building that houses his bar and his apartment upstairs. He lets us inside, and it’s also surprisingly small. Or maybe everything just feels Liliput sized because so much of it is taken up by Gulliver. There’s a hallway with a coat rack and a living room with an open kitchen and a dining area, facing the street. The bathroom and bedroom are probably in the back. From a military man, I expected everything to be in clean lines, steel-grey and cold-white, but the place is actually warm and cosy, with earthy colours from deep brown to burnt sienna, ochre and sage. Throw pillows and a throw blanket on the couch, a wooden bowl with fruit on the kitchen counter, candles on a sideboard, and shelves filled with books.

I meander into the living room and flop down on the couch, pulling one of the cushions onto my lap. I’m being rude, but I was basically kidnapped here. I huff and make an effort not to listen to Mari’s soft conversation with Silas or watch them kiss. Silas basically has to fold himself in half to bend down to Mari, who is on her tiptoes, and I’m trying very hard not to imagine them in bed together. That’s just… no, nope, nuh-uh, not going there.

I hear the apartment door click shut again when Silas leaves to open the bar. Mari heads straight for the kitchen.

“Are you hungry?” she asks and starts working her magic without waiting for my answer. I curl up on Silas’ couch and close my eyes. I’m not hungry and I don’t feel like talking, but it seems my opinion doesn’t matter. It doesn’t take long before the scent of spices and cooked vegetables fills the small apartment, and moments later I hear the clatter of cutlery and a soft clank. I crank one of my eyes open to see a steaming bowl of food on the table and Mari sitting across from me on the chair. She makes an inviting gesture, and I sit up with a sigh, running my palm over my face. Ignoring the rich aroma of the stew wafting towards me, I pick up the glass of water that has also miraculously appeared in front of me and take a sip.

“So, how are things between you and your Indian boy?” Mari asks while blowing on her own hot food.

“He’s not from India…” I heave an exaggerated sigh.

“Okay, English boy then.” She shoves some rice into her mouth. “Don’t get clever on me now!”

“He has a name, you know…” I pick up the spoon and start nudging the vegetables around in my bowl. “Fine… things are fine,” I lie, and Mari raises an eyebrow.

“As fine as can be with that stupid fucking ocean between us,” I admit.

“You love him.” It’s a statement, not a question. I nod. She knows. I told her.

“But he makes you miserable.” It’s also not a question, and I can’t blame her. It’s pretty obvious. Although…

“It’s not his fault…” I defend Rashid meekly.

Mari gives me a long look, and I pretend to be really thirsty and drink more water.

“I don’t know, Wendell. Love is supposed to make you happy, not miserable.”

“I am hap—” I clamp my lips together. This would be too big of a lie.

“If it hurts that much, maybe it’s not right.” Mari’s voice isn’t without sympathy. I know she’s only looking out for me. She’s never met Rashid. It’s stupid, because Rafa and Mari are my best friends, but she’s also the vampires’ housekeeper, and introducing her to my Talamasca boyfriend felt… wrong. So far. One day I will. Of course.

“Thank you, Mari. I know you’re just trying to…”

“I made you stew that night,” she blurts out. “You didn’t eat it back then either.”

Something inside me freezes. She doesn’t need to say what night. The comforting scent of garlic and herbs is instantly replaced by the stink of stale beer, sweat, and urine.

“It’s been four years now?” Mari’s voice sounds like it’s coming from a million miles away. In a way it is. My mind has left Sila’s small apartment and transported me to the alley behind ‘Clanton’s Pit’.

“Yes, almost to the day.”

September isn’t a good month for me. Remy was killed in early September. The memory crashes into me and leaves a wave of nausea in its wake. I push the bowl away. One year later I left my sister with my newborn niece to live on the streets again. Because I couldn’t stand another day in that house. Not even for Josie, who needed me. Sleeping rough and selling my ass to anyone who wanted it felt like the better option. This year I almost destroyed the only good thing that ever happened to me in my life. And sitting on Silas’ couch today, I’m not convinced I didn’t succeed in it after all.

“I never liked what they did to you. It wasn’t right.” Mari’s voice brings me back, her oversized hoop earrings clinking softly. I don’t have to ask who ‘they’ are. She means the vampires.

“They paid me well for it. It was no big deal. Better than…” I bite my tongue.

Mari scoffs. “Don’t think I don’t know what you did when you weren’t baring your neck for their fangs.”

I look down at the carpet, too fascinated by the intricate pattern of the little rug underneath the couch table. I will never get rid of my past. It will always hang above my head like the proverbial sword of Damocles.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Wendell. Lots of people do it and like it.”

I shake my head, still avoiding her gaze. “I didn’t. I hated it.”

There’s a moment of silence between us, then I hear a rustle of fabric before the couch dips next to me.

“Giving my blood was better,” I continue. “It paid better. Soso can go to college now and not worry about a thing. Louis never took too much blood from me. On the contrary, he and Lestat took care of me. I wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for them.”

A small voice in the back of my head is wondering if it hadn’t been better for everyone involved if Louis and Lestat hadn’t saved me that night. But I shake my head violently. No. I’m not going down that path.

Mari harrumphs, and I look up at her.

“What? Would you rather they hadn’t saved me?”

“Madre mia, Wendell, no!” Mari gets up and collects our bowls – mine untouched – and returns them to the kitchen. When she returns, there’s a determined expression in her eyes and her fists pressed into her sides.

“It wasn’t just them that night, now was it? Is that what you believe? Who do you think made them go after you?”

I can only stare at this miniature-sized version of Volcán de Fuego, approximately five seconds away from eruption.

Mari’s eyes blaze with fire, but underneath there is something else. Hurt? Concern? My mouth feels dry as her words start to sink in. I tried to forget everything about the night before September 23. Tried not to analyse the circumstances. I knew I would never get answers. I would never learn who they were or why they picked on me. Was it just one of those random encounters? Wrong place, wrong time? Or did they recognise me? Did they see me hustling? Did they proposition me, and I turned them down?

With the vampires’ money clinking in my pockets (metaphorically; I never carried it around on my body for long, and bills don’t clink), I gave myself the luxury to be a little more selective with my clients. Especially if they asked for anything too weird or kinky. Or wanted to go bare. ‘Wrap it or regret it’ was the slogan that Officer Reyes always told us when he shoved a handful of condoms in our pockets. And we’d better nod and promise to ‘use the damn condoms’, or it was a full lecture from him, including the sad story of Brandon Adams, who died of complications with AIDS at the age of 17. I never truly found out if Brandon Adams really existed or if he was just someone Officer Reyes used to scare the bejeezus out of us. ‘Dead clients don’t bother me. Dead kids do.’ He’d always say at the end.

I still remember my attacker’s hands on me, my thighs, my ass, pulling down my jeans. Their hot breath on my neck and the gust of cold air on my bare skin when the vampires pulled them off me. I know what they were after. Was it because I refused them before? I can’t tell. I never saw their faces. Did they want to fuck me raw, and I said no in the time before the attack? I’m not sure. On the streets, days blended into nights; faces didn’t matter; most of it became a hazy blur.

I never really thought about how Louis and Lestat found me that night. Just assumed they were out hunting and came across me by accident. I was on my way to their townhouse after all. Looking at El Fueguito now in front of me, I’m starting to suspect that’s not all there is to the story.

Mari and I never talked about that night. I didn’t need the reminder, and she never said anything. We just buried it between us.

“You probably don’t know that I never left?” Mari asks, her posture relaxing slowly. “You’d always take a shower, get nice and cleaned up for them, then you’d sit in the parlour and wait for them to come down.”

I nod slowly. I remember that part. It didn’t specify in my contract that I needed to be clean and presentable, but they paid me an awful lot of money. It felt like the least thing I could do.

“I stayed in the kitchen. The first time I only meant to linger until they were done with you, but then I was afraid something would happen while you slept. You’d throw up in your sleep and suffocate. So I snuck into your room and watched you sleep.”

“Did you do that for all the others, too?” I want to say I’m speechless, but too many words come out of my mouth for that. “Daniel Molloy mentioned Louis paid other guys for it in Dubai. He mentioned someone called Damek.”

Mari sits down next to me again. “I don’t know about that. There was only you, Wendell. If they had others, they didn’t come into the house.”

I think at this point I actually gawp at her. I was sure there was a revolving door of donors. I couldn’t have been the only one.

“I always made sure you had food and water and clean clothes. I bought the clothes with their money; they didn’t mind,” Mari continues. I had noticed the clothes; I had only figured they were from Louis’ wardrobe. We’re quite similar in build. Well, back then I was a lot scrawnier, but somehow the clothes always fit. Now I understand why.

“That day… I knew you’d be late…”

“I promised Soso to pick her up from daycare.” I can’t help the smile curling my lips. I could never refuse my princess anything.

“I waited for you. I had a stew and fresh bread ready for you. You needed a hearty meal before…” Now it is her turn to look away. Then she takes a deep breath. “But you never showed. I tried to call your phone, but you didn’t answer.” She glances at me and laughs. “You never answer.”

I grin, abashed. I was really notoriously bad with my phone. Especially in those days. I didn’t have one for so long, not after I smashed mine when I was 15 and Dad refused to buy me a new one. Remy and I really had to get creative when we wanted to contact each other during our summer. Tin cans with bits of string were sadly out of the question. Our houses were too far away for that. Nowadays I’m more attached to my phone because it’s my lifeline to Rashid.

“So I waited. And worried. I knew something wasn’t right. You were never that late. I just knew you were hurt.” Mari wrings her hand, clearly distressed by the memory. I had no idea. I assumed she went home when I told her I’d be late. There was no reason for her to wait around.

“So I went upstairs to wake them.” This time I am sure I’m gasping. I was always welcome to roam the entire house when I was there – with one exception. The coffin room was off-limits. For me and for Mari. Rashid explained to me that while vampires are asleep – which means they’re basically unconscious – they might react on instinct and lash out at anyone coming too close. And Mari woke them?

I just gape at her. She put herself in real danger. For me. She avoids my gaze and stares into the distance as if it provided a window into that night where she can see the events unfold again.

The sun hadn’t set yet when she woke up Lestat. I have no idea how you’d wake up a vampire – and walk away from it alive – but she did. All windows at the townhouse were designed with a protective film coating that filtered out anything harmful for those ‘sun-challenged’, so at least there was no danger of them actually burning to a crisp when this little Latina firecracker disturbed their slumber. Lestat was ‘not amused’ about the disruption, but at least he didn’t kill her on the spot. He tried to brush Mari and her suspicions off at first, but she wouldn’t budge. She swore she could feel it in her bones that something was up.

I know from my own experience that Mari can be really persuasive, but I also know that Lestat could read her mind and listen to her heartbeat. Maybe there was something that told him she wasn’t just hysterical but was genuinely concerned. Maybe in the centuries of his lifetime, he learned that it was better to trust someone’s gut feeling than outright dismiss it. So he went to raise Louis, and together they decided to go looking for me. They had to wear cloaks because the sun was still too dangerous for them. Or at least for Louis, whose blood isn’t as strong as Lestat’s.

I’m so fascinated by her tale that I almost forget my part in the story. One of the worst experiences of my life. And what a shitshow your life must be when you can add ‘one of’ to such an episode.

“When they returned with you…” Mari shudders and makes the sign of the cross. “Ay, Dios, I thought you were gone. Lestat carried you, like a ragdoll. There was blood everywhere. On you, on them…”

A shiver runs through me as the memory comes back to me. Lestat’s and Louis’ faces, both covered in blood.

“Your clothes were torn and you were pale like the dead.”

“I passed out at one point.” Not soon enough…

“I thought they’d killed you. I thought the vampires killed you and brought your body back to get rid of it.” Mari admits in a low voice, and I reach over to take her hand.

When Mari continues her story, I can still hear the tremor in her voice. Not fear, but anguish and desperation. I understand the surge of rage that must have run through her. I felt the same when my attackers tore the jacket Josie had only bought me. I knew if I kept still, there was a chance they’d eventually let go of me. But the anger made me kick back at them. In Mari’s case it made her descend on her two immortal employers like a banshee. She pummelled them with her small fists and screeched at them. I can only imagine the string of Spanish cuss words that rained down on them.

“Lestat put you down on the settee, then they stood to the side and discussed what to do next. I knelt down by your side and checked for your pulse. If you were still breathing. If there were puncture marks…”

I imagine her hands flying all over my body in a frenzy. She was probably sobbing, too.

“There weren’t. It wasn’t my blood…” I whisper. Most of it at least…

She was relieved when she found a weak pulse and heard me make a soft noise. I was still alive, but barely. She starts to describe all the cuts and bruises she found on my body where it wasn’t still covered in clothes. I tune out. I don’t really want to know the details. I remember what it felt like when they broke my nose, my ribs and my skull. I focus on the fact that Mari stayed by my side and prayed to Our Lady of Guadalupe. I doubt Virgencita had any say in the matter of my salvation, but if the prayer helped Mari, who am I to disagree?

“How did they even find me?” I’m trying to redirect her descriptions.

Mari shakes her head. “I don’t know how it works. Louis said he could hear you. Like you called for help. But in here?” She taps her temple. Huh. Interesting. I don’t remember calling for help. Only that my last thoughts were for Josie and Soso. And Remy, waiting for me in the afterlife. Or wherever.

When the vampires settled on a decision, they told Mari to leave. But Mari refused. She basically threw all of her 115 lbs of might in front of me, blocking their way, telling them in no uncertain words – and with more Spanish swearing and in between sobs – that they couldn’t have me. Only over her dead body… She thought they meant to turn me. Make me one of them. I feel bile rising in my throat, recalling the moment where I feared the same.

“I couldn’t let them do it, Wendell.” She turns her face to me, and I can see tears streaming down her cheeks. I silently wrap my arms around my friend. I’m equal parts touched and horrified by her bravery. My slight friend against two powerful vampires. Fierce and fearless, shielding me with everything she got. Making the sign of the cross and calling upon her saints, although that wouldn’t faze the vampires. They probably looked at her with a mix of amusement and pity.

Killing Mari would have been easy for them. They already butchered four men that night. What’s one more? Or they could have forced her to leave. But they didn’t. They swore on the ashes of their daughter that they wouldn’t turn me or do me any harm. Only after that did Mari allow them to gently push her out of the room.She didn’t go far, stayed just out of sight. She saw me walk to my room and sat in front of the door for the rest of the night. She heard me throw up and call out in my sleep. Signs I was still alive. For now. Or they could have been signs of my body transitioning into something else. She says she only started breathing – believing – again when she saw me walk into her kitchen the next day. In broad sunlight.

The vampires had kept their promise. Louis had made me drink some of his blood, and it had healed all my physical wounds overnight. I still carry the other ones on my soul. Four years later and I’m still scared of walking the streets at night.

I hold on to Mari, my brave little Pocket Rocket of a friend. I don’t know if turning me, giving me the Dark Gift, was ever something the vampires considered that night or if it was Mari’s interference that changed their minds. I’m glad I’m still human. I will forever be grateful for Lestat and Louis coming to my rescue that night. And now I know it was Mari who sent them after me.

I bury my face deep into Mari’s shoulder and – not for the first time – wish that vampire blood would work on emotional wounds as well as it does on physical ones. I shoved everything about that night as deep and far back into my mind as possible, but it just keeps coming back to haunt me.

Rashid saw a video. Mari saw my battered and broken body.

I just can’t get away from it.