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Wanted. Needed. Loved.
For as long as Guillermo could remember, he had longed to feel that way. He wasn't sure when it first started. All he knew was that there had always been a hunger deep inside of him, a hunger for something purer than water and thicker than blood.
Was it when he first watched Interview With a Vampire? He could remember the guilt he felt when he snuck the VHS tape from the rental section of his local public library into his backpack, fully aware that his mother intended to approve anything the librarian checked out for him beforehand. He could remember the sweat coating his forehead as he rewound the tape at 2 AM, praying that his mother wouldn't stir at the sound of the audio at the lowest volume when the tape was finally ready to play. He could remember frantically pausing the movie every time he heard a creak in the house, terrified that he would be forbidden from visiting the library if he were caught. He could remember the desperate anticipation he felt as he watched — eyes wide and fists clenched — as Louis gripped Armand's face and pulled him close, lips nearly grazing his skin but never quite making contact. That was his first taste of true romance.
Was it the ridiculous fantasies that followed? It started with replaying scenes from the movie in his head. He had returned the VHS tape during his next library visit, carefully checking behind his back to make sure no one was watching. He was more concerned with the possibility of being caught than the prospect of stealing. He was certain that no one else would appreciate the tape the way he did, the way he almost worshipped every second of its unholy imagery. It was sad, really, that he had to resort to recreating the film on his eyelids — fuzzy and distorted by the imperfections of memory. Eventually, he started coming up with scenes of his own. Sometimes it was Louis and Armand. Sometimes it was his own characters — ones that resembled a little bit of the Anne Rice originals and a little bit of himself. Or rather, himself and someone else. Someone tall, dark, and handsome. Someone who would only deliver affection after being begged, but when it was finally delivered, the reward was oh-so-sweet.
Was it that one homily given during a particularly excruciating Mass? The priest had explained, with a voice low and heavy, that the Lord commanded all of his servants to dedicate their lives to Him. That their devotion would be rewarded with Heavenly Love. That the Lord loved all of His servants equally, none more than any of the others. He recalled feeling lightheaded as something horrible and selfish twisted in his core. The desire to be special. The desire to be loved more than every other servant. The desire to be the exception to break all rules.
Was it when he was forced to kneel and stare at the crucifix in the living room until bedtime? It had seemed like a normal day at school. That is, until he had returned home to find that his mother had discovered his notebooks full of poorly-written vampire fanfiction stashed under his mattress. She knew nothing about the source material for his fantasies, but she could read perfectly well enough to notice that the focus of his stories was always immortal men yearning for other immortal men. After an hour of screaming and lecturing and many, many tears, he stared up at the carving of Christ on the cross, dwelling on the beauty of His death as he had been ordered to do. In that moment, he decided that love was only real if it demanded great sacrifice. And for the sake of this longing that had been growing deep inside of him — this longing for terrible, sinful, immorally immortal love — his sacrifice would be worth it.
From that moment on, Guillermo knew that he wanted to be just like Christ. When his time eventually came, he wanted to return to the land of the living and walk among men. For that, Guillermo was willing to follow in Christ's footsteps and do anything, even offer the ultimate sacrifice, if it meant receiving even the tiniest grain of the love for which Christ was said to have died.
Curled up on his tiny bed in the tiny closet-under-the-stairs known as his room, Guillermo hugged his pillow and tried not to weep. He had sacrificed and sacrificed and sacrificed, yet he seemed no closer to receiving the love that he had been promised. The promise of transformation and transfiguration — fangs biting into his neck, ancient blood filling his vessel, immortal life granting him the ability to love and be loved for all eternity. Deep down, he knew it was impossible. No matter how much his inner child yearned for Louis to lean in a little closer, praying to the television screen for a miracle, the scene would never change. No matter how much he sacrificed and sacrificed and sacrificed, it would never make a difference.
Yet, a voice in the back of Guillermo's head whispered that he still knew love. He knew it in the feeling of Nandor's fingertips grazing against his palm, offering him a chance to fly. He knew it in the silence after Nandor's confession in the snow, arms wrapped around his waist, fighting stubborn pride to take any measure necessary to bring him back home. He knew it in Nandor's private smiles, fangs briefly exposed, sharing a moment of vulnerability and then quickly looking away. All before a word could be spoken.
If Paul and Silas could sing in prison, why was it so difficult for Guillermo to be satisfied with what he had already received? Was the thorn in his side too great? Was this longing so perverse that it would simply grow and grow until it couldn't be stopped?
If that was the case, Guillermo was forced to accept that no sacrifice would be great enough to sate his hunger. At least, no sacrifice of his own. He would need to sacrifice much more, and at this point, he no longer cared about the bloodshed. Unlike Father Abraham on the mount, he would carry through with what he had started. He had come this far, and he wasn't about to give up now. He wanted love, more and more and more of it, and he would stop at nothing — not even the highest command — to get what he wanted.