Chapter 70
Sunday, April 7th
Patrick lost himself in a smear of alcohol. On Sunday, he sobered up enough to get dressed and walk to the park. The jungle gym threw long fingered shadows that he kicked at. He hated the park. He hated the vampires. Most of all he hated himself.
Jorick appeared from the darkness, like a phantom or a hero, and Oren followed. The vampires stopped close enough that Patrick could see their faces, but not close enough to reach. Like always, they stood just beyond the edge of his world; a promise of safety that was never delivered.
He was sick of it.
His words were slurred, so he added volume, "When the fuck is this going to be over?"
Oren cleared his throat and wrinkled his nose. Of course he'd be too good to answer; too good to get his hands dirty. Patrick imagined what it would be like to punch him and tightened his fist. Would the vampire's nose break, or would it be like slamming into stone?