Nope. I wasn’t a vampire no matter how much Cillian tried to convince me otherwise. I closed the cooler and went looking for my phone. Despite my credit card being almost maxed out, and me likely unemployed, I ordered some crispy fried chicken.
It arrived and right away, the smell did nothing for me. Rather than my mouth watering, my nose wrinkled because the aroma couldn’t have been further from appetizing. Maybe the bonk to my head did something to my tastebuds. I sat on the couch with the warm bucket and peeled the lid off. Right away I grimaced at the greasy crunchy chicken within. Despite my repugnance, I grasped a piece, took a bite, and almost spat it out. I forced myself to chew and swallow before nipping another smaller chunk. And another. Each swallow only made me more miserable. If I kept eating, I’d puke. I set the bucket aside.
There had to be something that I could tolerate. I ordered from a burger joint. Soggy bun, wilted veggies, too much ketchup, and a gross overcooked patty. I should have asked for medium rare, even as I’d always liked well-cooked.
I got a delivery from an Italian place next. The pasta literally made me gag. The donuts I actually went out to buy? Like eating crumbly cardboard.
With my credit card maxed out, I ran out of options but my stomach still grumbled angrily. I eyed the cooler. Maybe one sip wouldn’t hurt.
Despite the instructions, I didn’t pour the contents into a pot. I hated cooking, hence why I nuked the majority of my meals. I tossed the plastic bag into the microwave and set the cook time to two minutes.
At just over one, the blood bag exploded. I popped open the microwave door and eyed the mess in disbelief. The inside looked like a slaughterhouse and the smell of partially cooked blood and melted plastic sent me outside into the fresh air—an escape I needed before I pathetically stuck my head into the microwave and licked up the disaster.
I headed outside and stood on my small patio looking up at the sky. Stars blinked as did the Starlink satellites that coasted by in a daisy chain of lights. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, noticing for the first time how loud everything seemed. The cars on the street. The dog barking in the distance. Even the hum of the powerline running into the apartment building seemed ridiculously noisy. Despite it being around the corner, I even heard the main door to the building clicking shut as someone exited, and then the crunch of someone walking towards the parking lot—my fancy first-floor view—their booted feet crackling the partially melted snow that had frozen into ice. More clamorous than that, the faint thump, thump, thump of a heartbeat.
My eyes snapped open. No way I heard that.
The person leaving had their hands shoved in their pocket, head ducked, and a round-shouldered slouch, but I still recognized them.
Theodore Gavin.
As if my thinking his name were shouted, he suddenly glanced over his shoulder and did a wide-eyed double take. “What the fuck? How aren’t you in the hospital or morgue?”
I couldn’t believe the fucker admitted to running me over. Pity I didn’t record it.
“I’m tougher than I look.” I didn’t realize I’d vaulted over the railing until I found myself stalking for him, barefoot. Strangely, I didn’t feel the cold. Must be my rage keeping my feet warm in the crunching snow.
“You’re fucking crazy is what you are,” Gavin muttered.
“As opposed to being a murderer?”
“It was a cat. Get over it.”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Should I also get over the fact you tried to kill me?”
“Not my fault you’re a dumb bitch who stood in front of a moving car.”
“You’re a piece of shit,” I hissed standing in front of him, several inches shorter so I held myself as upright as possible.
“And you’re a pathetic, old, crazy, dried-up cunt.” He leaned down to insult me, his breath stinking of pot and booze, and yet… he also somehow smelled delicious. My gaze locked onto the rapid pulse fluttering at the base of his neck.
Thump. Thump. Thump. This close, his heartbeat just about drowned out everything else.
I didn’t realize I’d stepped closer until he huffed, “Get away from me, freak.”
He went to shove me, but I moved faster. I caught his hands and when Gavin tugged, he couldn’t break free. A surprise to us both.
“Let go,” he demanded, aggressively pulling in an attempt to free himself from my grip—and failing.
“No.” My refusal emerged low and kind of growly. I couldn’t look away from his neck. From that fluttering little spot. My mouth watered. My tummy grumbled.
“I’m going to have you arrested for assault.”
A threat? How dare he after all he’d done. “Gonna tell the policemen little ol’ me hurt you?” I mocked as I yanked Gavin closer. “Should I give you a few bruises to make it believable?”
His heart rate quickened and a new smell emerged to tantalize me further.
Fear.
