When I got inside, I sat the potion down on my bedside table and immediately began to undress, hopping straight into the shower... almost as though I was on a mission.

With the hot water running, I sat down on the floor and ran my hands through my wet hair, the events of the day playing on repeat in my head.

But the longer I thought through them... the more I was sure I was going insane.

"Okay, Ollie," I whispered to myself. "He's a vampire... a literal mother fucking vampire." Somehow I hoped saying it out loud would make it more real. However...

I shook my head as I thought, Am I really talking to myself in my shower?

"Yes, we really are," I replied, then groaned upwards to the heavens, to the shower head, or to the narrator of my life... I wasn't sure. But I immediately regretted it. At once, I got a face and throat full of water, as the liquid gushed down my windpipe, rousing a coughing fit.

After steadying my breaths and realising the shower floor wasn't helping my stress, I climbed back to my feet, squeezed my shampoo into my hands and began to wash my hair, hoping the lavender scent would calm my nerves.

Vampires, witches, shifters, mermaids... Supposedly, they are all real. And the guy I've been crushing on while talking about world building and mythology is a literal creature from the pages.

"What fucking dream is this?" I said pretty loudly. Though I wished it was a dream...

I rinsed the suds out of my hair and grabbed my conditioner, running it through my mids and ends.

Do I care? I then wondered.

"Did you really just ask if you care?" I asked out loud. "The dude is a vampire. Of course you care."

Yeah but... he still just plays piano, goes to the cinema, reads books... Like a normal person.

But he also researches how to kill Hitler-esque vampires in his freetime, and, oh, I don't know, part owns a mansion in the middle of London. And is 95 damn years old. And drinks blood.

But he doesn't drink blood... he takes pills, my shoulder angel—or perhaps devil—tried to justify.

In the end, I concluded with, This is too much.

So I turned the shower off and grabbed my towel to climb out. But as the cool air outside the shower door caressed my face, the scrunchy texture of my hair became apparent.

"For fuck sake!" I exclaimed, as I realised I hadn't even washed the conditioner out of my hair or washed my body. At once, I hopped back in.

· · ───── ∘☽༓☾∘ ───── · ·

After properly finishing my shower (for real this time), I threw on my pyjamas and climbed into bed. But sleep was far from welcoming me.

Rolling onto my side, my eyes immediately sought out the potion on my bedside table, the purple contents swirling around like a lava lamp, glowing in the dark.

If it turns out you don't want to see him again... would you want to forget everything? I asked myself, feeling like I was finally reaching some form of conclusion on one of the many considerations needed here.

Staring at the bottle a moment longer, I heaved a sigh and as I already knew my answer before I thought it.

No. I don't want to forget a thing.

So I flicked my bedside table light on and got back out of bed. Potion in hand, I bounded over to the kitchen sink—almost with haste—before uncapping the vial.

A pungent smell of deep musk and an almost soapiness hit me at once.

Was I supposed to really drink that dish-liquid stuff?

I shuddered, even more glad with my decision.

Then, without any hesitation, I turned the bottle upside down, satisfyingly watching as every last drop dripped out and down the drain.

No matter how I feel in the morning, I thought as I shuffled back over to the bed and flipped out the light, I'm not erasing my damn memory.

We learn from our experiences and emotions, I continued to tell myself.

And I will learn from whatever this is with him. I don't want to forget Ben and who—and what—he is.

Even if I wake up not wanting to see him again.

· · ───── ∘☽༓☾∘ ───── · ·

When day broke and I blinked at the brightness of my room, my eyes immediately sought out the empty vial by my bedside table.

So it wasn't a dream...

I climbed out of the blankets that had tangled around me in the night, showered, and got dressed and ready for my day.

Heading out the door, I took my usual 8am bus to the library, sticking to the routine... but this time, not even to ease any discomfort. More because I felt like I had to do something with my body while I thought.

Is my problem with him just what he is or who he is? I asked myself as I took my seat at the back of the bus.

Staring out the window, I watched the traffic go by the bus as it pulled up at another station, barely conscious of the person who sat down next to me... for the first time ever.

Definitely what and not who, I decided.

I knew he had mostly been nothing but nice to me. And, while my thoughts began to recall the week of him disappearing and lack of explanation thereafter—the very week that had torn me and my pride apart—already I knew it had everything to do with the hot weather and nothing to do with me...

Sure, I didn't know if what was going on between us was more than a friendship... He may have taken me to the dinner, the movies, introduced me to his friends, asked about my interests... but regardless of whether his feelings were romantic or platonic, it didn't change the fact that I thoroughly, hopelessly, and almost dangerously enjoyed his company.

Friend or potential romantic interest... he made me feel so alive again.

So I began to realise most of my fear was related to the fact that Ben and his friends were an 'other' to me; something outside of my norm that I didn't know how to accept or deal with based on my own prejudices and stories I had read about their kind.

If they were a mutation from human DNA and I compared the same situation to race or disability, was I not just being like the terrible people in history? When Ben and his friends had caused me no harm, wasn't running away from them because they weren't 'human' no different from me being a racist or homophobe? I asked myself.

As I got off the bus, I was quick to realise the conclusion I had taken no effort to convince myself of.

If Ben or his friends ever show me signs that magic and vampirism is a threat to my life and the fables have elements of truth... then I can run, I told myself. But for now, I have no concrete proof to distance myself from him. I was just using his vampirism as another excuse to push someone away who tried to get close to me.

Stepping onto the footpath with those thoughts in my mind, I pulled my phone out of my bag, beginning to type a text to him.

Until suddenly, a person ran past me, in a rush to get on the bus before it left off. Bumping my shoulder in the process, my grip on my phone went lip. The slippery device glided out from my hand.

Before my reflexes could catch on, the metal and plastic collided with the ground, slipping off the footpath and under the bus.

Almost as if fate was tormenting me, at that moment, the vehicle lurched forward. The crunch echoed in my ears and I closed my eyes.

You've got to be kidding me... Did I break a mirror in the past seven years or something?

When the bus had moved away, I crouched down by the asphalt road and collected the pieces of my severed phone.

"Fantastic," I muttered as I inspected parts.

Knowing there was nothing I could do myself, I collected my emotions once more and trudged off to the library.

Heading straight to my station, I quickly set up, hoping the routine would ease the shaking of my leg that things had just gone horribly, horribly long... But, I was too distracted to remember the order.

After grabbing a couple of books and trying to read, I couldn't shake the thought of how I was going to fix my phone, and... better yet... how I would contact Ben now...

Because I couldn't quite remember if I had saved his number to my SIM card or my phone...

Unable to focus, I lunged for my laptop and logged into the library wifi, quick to Google nearby phone repair shops.

But as I watched the page load, my eyes twitched towards the abstract art that was once a phone.

Repair? I asked myself. It would take a miracle to repair it.

In fact... it would take magic.

Had I been in a better mood, perhaps my unplanned joke would have roused a smile.

But the pit in my stomach was yanking nervously at my heart.

So before the page could fully load, I quickly typed in 'tech stores nearby' and began to scroll through my options.

· · ───── ∘☽༓☾∘ ───── · ·

I didn't take off straight away. A part of me was hopeful he would turn up and I wouldn't have to go through such efforts.

However, in the end, he didn't show.

Of course he wouldn't.

He vowed he wouldn't come into my life again unless I texted him.

And now I couldn't even bloody do that.

My teeth began to pick flecks of skin from my bottom lip until the taste of rust consumed my tongue.

When midday came and I had finished doing what I could at the library, I packed up my belongings and headed out of the library to the nearest Currys PC World.

And while, on a normal day, the ten minute trek would have taken no time at all... today it felt like an eternity.

I spent a bit of time browsing their selection before I decided on my purchase. A new phone wasn't exactly in my budget... But I was desperate to have one.

As I exited the store with my new phone in a paper bag, a part of me thoroughly considered heading straight to nearest bus stop and heading home so I could plug it in...

But it was Tuesday, meaning I had a writers' meeting.

The battle raged in me as I took slow, undecided steps in the direction of the library.

Until eventually I convinced myself that a few hours wasn't going to make a difference. If Ben's number was on my SIM, it would be there tonight just as it would be there now...

Yet as I took my seat in the circle and we spoke about our novel progress (which I had done none of, too distracted by Ben since he turned up in my life), my leg shook up and down, thoughts racing as I tried to recall where I had saved it... what I would do if the worst was true. How I could possible reunite with—

"Olivia? How's your book going?" someone suddenly asked, breaking me from my trance.

"Huh? What?" I mumbled.

"Your book?" they repeated, eyes narrowing at me like it was shameful that I hadn't been paying attention to their outward turmoil about selecting the right word to describe a gnome.

I gave them a small smile. "Not great. Writer's block," was all I gave in return.

They all gave me disappointed head shakes—as though it was shameful I was even in their group with nothing to show—but continued talking.

Though I didn't care.

Because what does writing a world about vampires and witches matter when I'm living in one with them?

The meeting finally ended and I rushed out in a hurry, heading straight to the underground to get home (because it was faster than the bus).

And the journey had never taken so long before.

People packed onto the platform like sardines, the flow of foot traffic moving in small masses. Only a few layers at a time managed to squeeze onto the oncoming tubes. And, after shuffling forward with the crowd, I managed to make it onto the third train that pulled up.

The stations between St. Pancras and Highgate were too many. Nonetheless, after much leg tapping and bodies bumped into mine, eventually the tube slowed to a stop, and I barged passed the other passengers, not even awaiting my turn to exit.

Racing through the crowds on the escalator as best I could, I then bounded down the street, up my staircase and into my apartment.

And, after quickly unboxing my new phone, I plugged it into the wall, eager to get the setup under way.

Grabbing the remnants of my old phone, I pulled my thankfully intact SIM card out of the Frankenstein device and slipped it into my new mobile.

Ten minutes later, the phone flooded with light as it became finally up and running.

Clicking straight on my contacts, I scrolled through.

And I scrolled through again.

And again.

As though each time I had potentially missed his name... or perhaps mislabeled him.

"No... no no no," I whispered.

But my call log was evidently gone.

No texts from him had come through since (of course they wouldn't), and our record of exchange before only saved to the last phone.

His number was completely gone.

In a last ditch effort, I logged my phone into my Microsoft account, crossing my fingers that somehow my contacts had synced to the cloud. While a couple of new numbers loaded through, to my dismay, his did not.

"Shit!" I cried out loud, falling onto my bed. "What am I going to do?" I asked the cracks in the ceiling, as though anyone was watching over me... as if luck would ever go my way.