I don't remember how it happened. According to the others, I've talked to, not remembering is weird. They say you're supposed to remember. The terror, thrill, or love that was put into it. It's a crucial moment in your life.  I don't, and that makes me weird.

I remember before. I had just been paid for my 'services' and had decided to treat myself. I have a small obsession with clothes. My closet is already overflowing, but a few more wouldn't hurt. I bought an outfit I had been eyeing for a few weeks and walk back to my apartment. I remember stopping at the cafe a block away from my place, but I don't remember if I got anything.  Actually, the next thing I remember was waking up in my apartment with a random person sitting beside my bed. A red substance dried on their face, clothes pristine and antique looking. They spoke quickly and with authority, before leaving me with a few papers.

I nearly killed myself once the realization came. What I was. Left to a solitary life. Not much different than what I had previously been living, but now I had to be even more careful. People were suspicious at first since I was quite the little hustler. Not the most social, but I was well known. Falling off the grid somewhat brought a lot of questions.

I still wear the clothes that make me feel comfortable, the others scoffing at that fact that I don't cover up. That's what my trusty umbrella is for.  They're all assholes anyway. They act all pretentious, even the ones that are technically younger than me. They all see me as the nineteen-year-old prostitute that got pitied. Assholes.

Clients aren't exactly happy at my cold touch or the elongated canines, but once I start, they are always begging for more. I just have that effect on them. My bite is ecstasy to them. My venom, an aphrodisiac. They just can't get enough. Their blood keeps me satisfied, and they leave satisfied themselves, a few dollars poorer. You could say I'm pretty well off. After all, I've been doing this for over twenty years.

Family is a touchy subject. Obviously, not a strong bond if I was on the streets, but they are persistent.  Every now and then they try to contact me, but again, it's been twenty years. They're looking for their forty-year-old son, which they'll never find. I check on them once every few months or so. Parents are fine as well as my brothers, not much had changed with them. Parents still stuck up and pushy. Brothers still assholes.

Not remembering. That makes me weird. I can't remember. I can't remember becoming a vampire.