I brought it up to him one night. The last night. He'd just brought in another bottle of the mystery substance, and while I was eager to scarf it down, I waited. 

"Thanks," I said, taking the bottle from Caleb.

"No problem. You just keep resting up, okay?" He backed off as he spoke, keeping himself between me and the door.

"Actually, I'm feeling a lot better. Like, a lot a lot better."

"R-Right, but you could rela-"

"No, I don't think you understand." I stood up from the mattress. "I'm not just better anymore. I'm great! I don't know what's in that stuff you keep bringing me, but it's amazing. I feel like I could run a marathon and throw a car. And it doesn't go away at all. Every day I have to keep pacing around this place just to stop myself from going insane. My eyesights gotten better, I don't feel like something stuffed my head with cotton, I just feel great."

I was the only one smiling by the time I finished. Shock had settled on Caleb's face alongside a deathly paleness. I would've sworn he was about to faint if you had asked me. 

"What's wrong?" I asked, and it took him a minute to reply.

"N-Nothing! That's great. So glad to hear it, Dusty, but we don't have to move out, like, now or ever. It's not like we're paying for the place, you know?" He tried to laugh, but I didn't share it.

"And you don't have to keep making night errands anymore. We can go out there again, pitch a tent, find some food, anything. We could even help try and get you clean."

"That's…you really don't have to-"

"Yeah, yeah. It's a little funny. You helped me get better, and now I can help you! You don't have to worry anymore. I'm sure I could find some places nearby that might help us. Here, I could even start tonight-"

I went for the door, excitement rushing through me, only to watch Caleb dodge in front of and stop me. He didn't say anything that time, instead stared at me with more than just shock on his face: fear. He was afraid. And it was all directed at me.

"I'm serious, Caleb. I am fine. You don't have to worry anymore."

He didn't move nor speak, eyes bearing into me like a frightened dog staring into the gaping jaws of a wolf. 

"I'm not lying. Look at me." He was. And he still wouldn't let me go.

"Caleb, let me through." I took a step into him, trying to find some way to dodge around him, but he kept getting in my way. He was determined to keep me cooped up in that room, wasting away in bed like a corpse in need of a grave. 

"I said let me through!" I rushed at Caleb directly, hoping to bat him away with my arm. Imagine my surprise when I did. That and so much more. I barely even touched him. At least, I don't think I did. It was like hitting a pillow, and by the time I recognized I'd even realized I had made contact, Caleb was flying through the room. He slammed into one of the walls with a solid thud before falling to the floor in a heap. The drywall he hit was dented with crack racing out from it like legs from a spider, and Caleb himself didn't move at all when he came to a halt on the floor.

I was so shocked at first. I thought he must have been shot by the way he flew across the room, but I hadn't heard any gunfire. In fact, I couldn't hear much of anything, especially not from him. 

"Oh my god. Caleb!" I dropped the bag, letting its contents splatter across the floor. I then ran over to him as fast as I could and knelt down next to his crumbled form but had no idea what to do next. I thought he might have broken his neck, so even the idea of moving him seemed fatal. My hands just raced around in the air above him, trying to find some way to hold him, until my eyes got a good look at them. 

Even in near-total darkness, I could see something was wrong. The skin on my palms was too pale even for someone sick, and the ends of my fingers were blackened. My nails were odd too. They were just as jagged, long, and chipped as always, but their yellow hue had been replaced with a frighteningly white one that lacked even the slightest transparency. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought they were made of bone.

They weren't the only thing that caught my eye either. Staring down at Caleb, I noticed a small trickle of something dark running down his forehead. I could barely make out the color, but the shade it took in the dark, I knew all too well. I looked back over at the bottle I'd dropped and the contents that were now stained across the floor, seeing the exact same hue staring back at me.

I stopped my mind before I could put any pieces together. That couldn't have been right, after all. It was just energy drinks and old soup. It also didn't taste anything like it. I'd tasted blood before, and that was not it. I had to be sure, though. Caleb had started to stir as I reached out and whipped up a speck of the blood trickling down his cheek. As I raised it to my mouth, I hesitated and, for a split second, prayed. I have never been a religious person, but I had to be wrong. It would taste like vinegar and raw iron. That would be all. 

Instead, it was everything I had ever wanted. There wasn't a taste, and there never had been. It was always a warmth, the kind you felt wrapping around your heart and giving it a great big squeeze. The one that told you someone loved you, and it made all the sense in the world. It was terrible, realizing that, and yet I couldn't help but smile. With that blood on my tongue, how could I not?

"Dustin?" I looked back down and saw Caleb pushing himself up off the ground. His voice was quiet, but he didn't look too hurt. Even the cut on his head was barely a nick. It would scar, but it wouldn't kill him. I wish I could say I cared more, but with the warmth flooding through me, I didn't need to. 

"What's in the bag?" I asked him, and he sat himself against the wall. Caleb said nothing, his features still drowning in fear.

"Caleb." I sharpened my gaze at him. "What is in the bottle?"

He couldn't look at me as he answered, "I thought you were dying, man. With all those needles, you could've gotten aids or cholera or something. I didn't know! And you just kept getting worse and worse and…I-I thought I was going to lose you, so I had this idea. It was stupid, but you couldn't stand the sun anymore, you were getting paler, and when you were sucking your skin for sweat, I swear it looked like you were trying to take a bite of yourself. So I went to a blood bank, swiped a bag for a hit of heroin with some bored porter and…Well, it worked! You were starting to get so much better, and you were smiling again. Like really smiling. The way he did before all the needles and stuff. So I just kept doing it, and you kept getting better, and I kept doing it, and you kept getting better and…"

He trailed off after that and shrank into himself. I'm glad he did because I needed a minute to let everything sink in. A thousand thoughts rocketed through my mind and shouted over each other until I couldn't hear a single one. Some were angry, others afraid, but they were all loud. So loud it felt like they were breaking through my skull and spilling out into every corner of my body, every inch filled with screaming voices and raging chaos. I curled my hands into shaking fists, pressing down so hard my fingers broke the skin of my palms. I thought I would hate it to feel blood pouring down from the wounds, but it was far worse to feel nothing. No warmth, no pain, not even blood: just a cold sludge oozing from the cuts. 

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?!" I spat, Caleb wincing at my words.

"I-I-I tried to, but I just couldn't. Every time I saw you, I just… I'm so sorry, Dusty."

Of course, he was. How long had he known? How long did he make me stay in bed regardless? How long had he planned to keep me in that room? Me. Poor little Dustin, who couldn't handle the truth or even get out of bed. 

But not anymore. I wasn't trapped in bed, I wasn't useless, and I certainly wasn't stuck in that room. I could do so much more now, I just knew it, and I didn't have to sit there hating him anymore. I turned from Caleb and started marching towards the door. If only I was a little faster. 

"Wait, Dustin!" Caleb lurched up off the ground and grabbed me by the hand. "Just wait. I don't know shit about what's going on, but right now, we're fine. You're fine. If you go out, we don't know what's going to happen. But you're safe in here. You don't have to worry. I can keep bringing you blood. I can help you. Just please stay."

I had never heard someone care so much before. It all sounded so genuine, too, as if I were reading straight from his mind. I heard every word as clear as day, but I didn't dare listen. How could I?

"I don't need your help," I said as I yanked my hand out of Caleb's. He didn't stop, though. Before I could take another step, Caleb tried once again to stop. It would be his last.

The second I felt his fingers skim me was the last straw. Anger exploded through me, and I spun around, swiping a hand out at him as I screamed, "I SAID I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!" In that split second, I wanted to hurt him. Not much, but enough to satisfy my anger. I even tried to lessen my impact. It didn't matter in the end, though. I think I hated him too much. 

There was barely any resistance, almost like carving through butter. My nails sliced through skin and bone with ease, and before I even knew what was happening, it was done. I don't think Caleb knew at first. His expression was full of fear and panic, but not from the wound. Not yet. Though, it didn't take long for the both of us to realize what I'd done.

"CALEB!!"

He gagged as blood began pouring down his throat. It quickly soaked his clothes and began dribbling to the ground just as Caleb thought to cover the gash. Blood leaked between his fingers and was expelled from his mouth in wet coughs. He couldn't stay standing like that for long. He stumbled in place, trying to catch himself as he lost his strength. I rushed to him at that moment, grabbing him before he could fall, and slowly lowered him onto his back. I thought that if I laid him down, gravity might help to keep the blood in. In a way, it worked. But it didn't save him.

Caleb had stopped breathing. He was trying with all his might, but all he could take in were massive gulps of blood. I could even hear it gurgling in the back of his throat. I tried to think of something to do, but I couldn't hear a thing through the storm of my own thoughts. A thousand ideas came and went in seconds, and it was impossible to think straight with all of them. I tried and tried and tried to think of anything that might save him, but in the end, all I could do was sit there and watch him drown.

He didn't suffer for long. A few moments later, he simply stopped. His eyes were still wide with fear, but there was nothing behind them anymore. It didn't feel real at first. It was all too simple. There was no grandiose to it. One minute he was moving, the next, he wasn't, and I felt nothing. Not at first. Not while he could have still woken back up. But as time stretched on and the puddle around him grew, I felt something creeping into me. 

A terrible sensation welled up in my gut. It was like a scream or the shredded remains of one. I wanted to say something; I even felt the words bubbling up in the back of my throat, but when I went to speak, all I could muster was a garbled cry. It was too ugly to have been a sob and not enough to realize the swelling in my gullet. I wanted to cry more than anything else. I could at least do that for him. He was my chunk of everything, and I couldn't even cry for him. What good am I?

I stayed there next to him for I don't know how long. I must have sounded like a gutted lamb with all the inane bleating I let out. My sorrow was never enough to break my composure. My eyes refused to tear up, and my mouth denied me a true, honest cry. Every second, the pressure in my chest grew and grew, demanding release only to be trapped inside me. I felt as though I was going to burst, and I couldn't take it any longer. And I didn't have to.

Caleb may have been gone, but his blood was still warm. I lapped up the tiniest amount from my stained hands and, much to my relief, felt that warmth flow into me. It soothed my swelling body and held me in its welcoming embrace. It told me I was loved. He told me I was loved and in the way only he could. He wasn't holding my hand; he was my hand. And my heart, my bones, every inch of me his warmth touched. One drop, and there was no more guilt. One drop, and he told me it was alright without saying a word. One drop, and he loved me again.

I wasted no time after. I took the bottle I'd dropped and used it to collect as much of Caleb as I could. When I couldn't scoop up any more blood, I soaked it up with towels and rang them out into the bottle. All day and all night, I worked to salvage every last drop I could until the bottle was filled to the seams with blood. I then carried Caleb out of that room and far away from the body. 

I still have that bottle with me. I've been trying to ration it, but it's been difficult. There have been so many more bad days without Caleb, and my condition hasn't made things easier. But he's still with me. With every drink, I can feel him again, holding me close and keeping me warm. I'm not sure for how much longer, though. I don't like to think about that. I don't want to finish the blood. I don't want to kill him. 

So I have been trying to find other ways to feed myself. I've learned a lot about myself since then and what exactly I can do. It's been easy finding donors, even at night. There are so many people walking home alone these days and so many others huddling for shelter in dark alleys. There have been tough times, though. Sometimes people get away long enough for the sun to save them. Others tend to not be as helpless as I think. There have been a fair amount of knives and guns, but they don't stop me for long. None of it will. They can try and stop me all they want, but I won't let him die again.