#kcooc

    vada carlyle was not a girl. she was a lot of things, yes, but never a girl. she was a succubus, a sadist, or a God, depending on which man you asked. but she had always been too divine, too intangible, too wicked to be a girl. her mother had warned her she was rotten from the start, that she spent nine months marinating in nothing but venom and heroin. “it’s a wonder you even came out alive,” she said once, and vada stared blankly at the woman who so coldly referred to herself as “mom” as she got up and left to shoot up in the bathroom.     she learned to fend for herself early on. the only child of a detached and resentful prostitute, she had been polishing off her mothers half empty beers from the age of twelve. she spent her nights sneaking out from the fire escape after dragging her lull body to the couch to avoid the painful silence that leaked from every wall in the house, seeping into the carpet and swallowing her whole. deep down she knew she would always be her mothers daughter, no matter where she hid, vacant and decaying from the moment she was born.     it had started early: the itch. whether it was born of boredom or numbness, there was something beastly festering deep within the empty leaves and branches of her lung chamber, something that begged to be ignited. it started with alcohol, and drugs, and sex in the bathroom of clubs with heavy metal bassists and tattoo artists. it started with the wallets she slid out of guys pockets after they rolled off of her, sweaty and drunk and dumb enough to invite a vampire into their home. it started with rock n roll, and kink clubs, and a lust for anything grimy. it started when she finally felt something twitch inside her dead heart. she’d do anything to find that kick, the jolt that sent electricity through her veins and lit them like lighter fluid. she was a lion that liked to play with her dinner before biting in. she was bad news in black hair dye, she was cigarette butts hidden in socks, she was a collar-boned god amongst mortals. if you asked vada carlyle what she was she would tell you that she was your maker,