What day was it…
Just a few days ago, everything was fine. Great, even. She had adapted to the small portions and could start consuming a whole pill. But somewhere along those lines, things went wrong.
"Have you eaten…"
By her ears, Peter was speaking, asking if she wanted to do something afterwards, dinner, staying in this room, or...
Thump.
The freezer was shut, emitting a low, soft hum that ended her chance to answer.
Peter leaned back against the dresser. His eyes swept across Jane, whose legs had stopped shaking and whose gaze had finally drifted away from the meaningless bed drapes.
"Is there anything I need to know?" he asked.
"No," she said, widening her eyes and drawing a faint smile. "Is there something wrong?"
None of them said anything. He stood there, watching her, while she, too, watched his every move.
"There is no pill today," Peter broke the silence. His voice was cold and distant as he turned his back on her to dispose of the needle. "I will pay you the equivalent instead, and double our original deal to $20.000 per draw."
Money. The root of all problems, the reason families fell apart and friends turned enemies. But it could just be the solution to many.
Accepted it, Jane.
"Fine. I don't need the money. Just give me two next time," she said, fleeing the room before he could catch the ugly expression seizing her features.
It wasn't his fault. It really wasn't. Demands were high; they couldn't get out of school, and he couldn't always keep them in stock.
But there was this… ugly anger boiling inside of her that came from this one thought: she had done her part and he didn't.
The next day, and the day after it, nothing happened. Peter didn't mention a thing, and Jane didn't ask, either.
Scratching at her knuckles and dragging the arches of her feet against the wooden frame of the bed, she prayed for this torment to end.
Red streaks and shallow bite marks bloomed across her skin. Her legs twisted in the most uncomfortable way possible, her shirt soaked through with cold sweat.
Then, even the bedsheets felt scratchy, like a million stinging ants crawling across her back.
Walking around the room, biting her fingers, her mind was torn in two.
This is a bad sign, Jane. Must resist. There is once, and there will be twice. This is a good sign, Jane. A few more, and be resistant forever. This is just temporary!
Letting out a frustrated sigh, she grabbed her jacket and headed straight to the club.
Jane had never cared for the music. As long as there were good melodies, good beats, and something entertaining for the nights, who cared if they weren't exactly her taste.
Today, however, nothing felt right. The beat was pounding on her skull, the bass added to the burn in her stomach, and the lyrics were fighting with each other.
"Where's Peter?" she said, almost shouting to get the message through.
"Somewhere…. I don't know."
Arlo's voice was lazy and slurred—a clear sign he was already high.
Jane's eyes swept across the table: champagne stuck in an ice bucket, a giant bottle with tubes coming out of it, and flickering behind the fruit bowl—the familiar plastic bag.
Huh. She smiled, a smile that was uglier than a cry.
So he just didn't want to give it to her.
Jane turned on her heel. Under the pulsing gloom of the club lights, her expression shifted into a subtle stillness, her lips formed a stiff line, and her eyes blanked out with the dead, unnerving quiet of the calm before a storm.
"He will be here later."
The sentence caught Jane mid-stride. She had already made it to the crowded floor before her feet ground to a sudden halt.
Without hesitation, she turned back around. There were strangers sitting around the table, with Arlo sprawling at the center while Samuel stayed at the far edge of the long, curved velvet sofa.
Under his steady gaze, she sat down. The people at the table glanced; some were curious, but most went back to their meals.
"This is Peter's little friend," Arlo announced despite Jane's effort to stop him with her subtle glance. "They're fighting, but you know what humans say. Love always wins," he said, laughing at his own joke.
Ignoring him, Jane locked her gaze onto the open bag that hadn't been zipped carefully. Her breath grew heavier as she began to calculate the price. Double it, triple it, didn't matter.
But it didn't feel right. Jane couldn't tell where and how exactly; she just knew that if she were to buy, she would rather look him in the eye while doing it. That's it! This felt like a thief that no one welcomed.
Reaching out to the nearest glass, Jane seized it in her hand and tilted her head over. Alcohol scorched a trail straight from her throat to her stomach, granting a fleeting jolt of relief that barely brushed her craving.
Not enough.
The waiter stepped forward without a single word. He tipped the heavy bottle, sending a golden stream down the glass until the liquid settled at exactly two-thirds full beneath the rim.
"You seem different today."
Samuel's words caught her off guard. Instinctively, her lips were parted, ready to defend herself, but who was she fooling?
"Not like you have never seen me this way," she muttered.
To be fair, she was more fun and less sullen the other times. Gladly, there would never be any footage, ever. These nights would eventually dissolve into the kind of memory that one day she would describe as a feeling.
So why not let loose?
Cluster after cluster of nitrous balloons were carried out, divided among multiple tables. Each section would then be assigned two more servers whose sole assignment was to keep their customers' hands busy.
Under such circumstances, one might just do it till their pocket ran dry, or when they counted to twelve.
Nine.
A short, breathless laugh escaped from her lips. Good thing they switched to black latex today, because it would have been impossible for her to stop laughing at people's mouths.
"What're you laughing at?" Samuel's voice appeared close beside her ear as he leaned in.
Jane doubted he would be interested in whatever she was thinking, but she appreciated his effort to make a conversation.
"Meaningless stuff," she said, pinching the rubber neck of the balloon between her fingers. "If I were to rate all the things I have tried, which were not many, this would definitely be among the best."
"Really? How?" Samuel said.
Laying his hand against his palm, he shifted his weight along the curved sofa, turning his body toward her until his shoulders formed a barrier that separated them from the rest of the group.
It was… normal, she guessed, given how loud the music was. But just in case, Jane still switched the balloon to her right hand, pulling a little distance between them. If only she hadn't gone through it so quickly…
"Well, it hits instantly," she replied, her eyelids growing a bit heavier from the cold AC. "... floods you with a wave of happiness. Hah… Like right now, I don't know why, but I just feel… extra joyful."
"Sounds lovely," he said. "I can't enjoy it, unfortunately."
"You have other things," Jane mumbled behind her closed eyes, letting her head tilt back against the leather. "Just grab it already."
Did he know the privilege he had? She brought the rubber lip to her mouth and sucked in the cool, slightly sweet air. It coated her throat and flooded her chest, setting off a dizzying, ticklish sensation.
"I want a change tonight." His voice was close, even closer than it had been a few minutes ago. "I want to consume what you're… consuming."
The chilling brush of his breath glided across her neck as the syllable left his lips.
Her eyes snapped open instantly, filled with a collision of shock, perplexity, and an impulse to laugh before it was all pressed down.
"You meant drinking my blood?" she scoffed, leaning back against the sofa. "I don't think so."
"Why?"
His fingers wrapped around hers, gently and forcefully putting the half-deflated balloon away. "My venom would do you wonders, Jane. Can you imagine? Taking a sip of that sweet gas while my venom ran through your veins. One could already fly you to heaven. Imagine both."
The scenery froze her in place. Jane found her gaze locked onto his fangs; her tongue traced the sharp edges of her own canine, picturing the drip that came from those needles.
Ouch.
The sharp pain on the tip of her tongue pulled her back to reality.
"No." She stopped staring at him. The scrap of black rubber between her fingers suddenly felt so useless.
"Is it because of Peter?"
The question caught her off guard, and at the same time, she had seen it coming in the back of her hazy mind.
"Kind of," Jane said, keeping her eyes on everywhere but on him.
Peter's face had appeared in her mind when Samuel asked. But it had nothing to do with their relationship. They had no relationship. She was just wondering if Peter knew he had a friend who preyed upon his...
Right, she repeated. It wasn't a betrayal because there was nothing to betray.
Their conversation fell flat right then. Samuel reached out to the table—to do what everyone knew, while Jane reached out to her tenth balloon.
This will be the last one, she told herself as the server handed over a giant sphere of black latex. Jane had planned to break some records today, but all just suddenly felt so meaningless.
For a split second, she recalled why she agreed to sit here—to wait for Peter. And yet, looking out across the sea of moving bodies, he was nowhere to be seen.