The instant I shut my front door behind me, I’m tearing off my layers of clothes. I yank off my mask and gloves and shed my coat and sweater. I strip myself down until I’m in a t-shirt, jeans, and socks. My clothes are haphazardly all over my entryway—boots precariously kicked off in front of the door. I’ll have to pick up everything and move it, but I just want to breathe. 

It feels so good to be back home, in my cool, dark apartment. 

I turn on the artificial lights as I move through my small living room and shuffle around my many piles of bins and boxes that are waiting to be unpacked. Currently, my living room consists of a couch, table, TV stand, and bookshelf, all of which are bare. 

I make it to my kitchen, which is even more sparse. It’s cramped with barely any counter space and a stove that I can only open standing off to the side. 

I place the temperature-controlled bag on the counter and pull open a drawer with a clatter. The only things in it are metal straws.

I grab one, hastily unzipping the black, crinkly bag to reveal a month's supply of blood packs. I don’t even read the label to figure out what blood type they gave me. I snatch one up like someone might break down my door and try to take it—like my life depends on it, and it does. 

After unscrewing the plastic cap on the port, I throw it on the counter before jabbing my metal straw through the designated port. It pierces the plastic and for a moment I wish it was my fangs piercing through flesh—though I’d never say the thought out loud. 

Eagerly, I start sucking what is essentially the equivalent to a morbid juice-box. Finally, I feel the cold, metallic tang of blood explode over my tongue. I moan, closing my eyes as I suck it down with long, panting slurps. 

Immediately, I feel stronger. My fangs start to recede into what might resemble normal canine teeth. I’m still a flushed, exhausted, sweaty mess, but at least now I’m not thirsty. 

The blood fills my veins and my skin feels almost swollen. I imagine it’s similar to when humans eat too much too quickly and say they feel bloated. It doesn’t bother me, it feels good to be full. 

As my senses sharpen and I come out of my greedy bliss, I can taste the faint traces of freezer and plastic that always come with bagged blood. Even the metal of the straw stings, the taste is so sharp.

I slurp, heaving my sucks so I ensure I get everything. I’m careful not to squeeze the bag until it’s starting to vacuum, crushing it in my grip as I angle my straw to get every last drop. 

When the bag is empty, my sticky lips finally peel apart and relinquish the straw. I lick them, running my tongue over my teeth to make sure my fangs are fully retracted and I don’t need another bag. 

I cut it too close this time. Like a car running on fumes. 

Tossing the empty plastic skin of the blood pack onto the counter, I stare at it. There’s still translucent red fluid clinging to the edges of the bag. It’s not enough to drink—though for a moment I debate cutting the bag open and licking the inside of it. 

I blink away, recalling the screaming man at the pharmacy. 

I don’t want to be a monster or a savage animal. I just want to be normal. 

Swearing under my breath, I pull the straw out of the empty pack and toss it in the sink with a clatter. I pick up the plastic and discard it in the biohazard bin under my sink counter; the place where humans keep their garbage or food waste. 

I grab the large black bag I left on the counter and unload the rest of the blood packs into my sterile, empty fridge. There’s nothing else in it. No food or drinks. Just blood. It almost glows a deep, jewel-toned red under the lights of the fridge. 

I make sure all the packs are neatly put away, counting to make sure I know when to pick up my next refill. I need two bags a week. I wish I had more; most days in between I still feel the lingering burn of thirst in my throat, but two is all we’re allowed. Strictly regulated. 

With blood comes strength and heightened senses… And the government doesn’t want us to have that power. So, two bags it is. Enough to keep us alive… and that’s it. 

I try not to let my bitter thoughts cloud my judgement. I only have about 45min before I have to leave and catch the bus. 

Heading for the bathroom, I pull out my phone. I should call my mom quickly, so she doesn’t worry. Turning on the screen I can see she’s already texted—only once though, which means she restrained herself. It must have been difficult for her.  

My mouth is tight as I smile and call her, putting it on speaker. 

It only rings once. 

“Micah! I was worried you’d forget!” It’s good to hear my mother’s voice, even if it sounds slightly different through the phone. I can hear the sink running in the background and the clang of pots and pans. She’s making dinner, though I know she won’t eat any of it. 

I chuckle, turning on the shower to let the water run. It takes a few minutes to heat up. “How could I forget? You’d never let me.”

I grin as I hear her gasp and laugh. “Well aren’t you cheeky! Better not pull any of that on your first day! Are you all ready?”

“I will be. I have to brush my teeth and shower.”

“And get dressed, I hope!”

She makes me laugh again, and I’m reminded where I get my humor from. “No, I’m going to waltz in stark naked.” I’m kidding, and I’m glad she laughs. It feels so easy to talk to her. I can be myself… 

My smile fades as I swallow. My throat suddenly feels tight and sore. It isn’t thirst, it’s emotion. I can feel tears start to sting my eyes. She’s rambling now about my new job and how excited she is… how perfect it is for me. 

I abruptly say, “I miss you,” interrupting her.

She’s suddenly quiet before she says in a softer tone, “I miss you, too, hun. Is everything okay? Are you nervous?” When I don’t answer right away she jumps in and says, “You know, your dad and I are so proud of you making a fresh start on your own. And if it doesn’t work out, you can always come home, Micah—”

“I know.” I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to have to go back and be faced with everything I left behind. I clear my throat, making up an excuse I know she’ll see through. I can only hope she pretends not to notice and lets me use it as an out. “Ah, my hot water’s running. I gotta go. I’ll text you later, okay?” 

A stray tear falls in the sink; it’s a deep crimson. Wasted blood. 

I’m grateful I didn’t have any blood in me today when I was sweating. Otherwise it would have been tinted pink. With my blond hair, it would only spell disaster. 

The background noise stops on my mother’s end; she’s turned off the tap. Now all I can hear is my shower going. My mother sighs and murmurs, “Okay. Well, I love you. I’ll tell your dad you called when he gets home from work. Good luck today, okay? And unpack something when you get home! Make that apartment feel like yours… It’s going to be okay, Micah.”

“Yeah. It’s going to be great.” I hope she can’t hear how choked I sound. I stare at the bathroom light so no more tears fall. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay… I love you.”

“Love you, too.” I force myself to sound cheerful before I quickly end the call and let my phone screen go dark. My chest aches and my inner thoughts war over the melancholy feelings of being homesick… and never wanting to go back to that damn place ever again.

I put my hand under the running water to test it. It’s still not quite hot enough, but maybe that’s for the best. This way I won’t get sucked into my thoughts and stay in for too long. 

I scrub my face, lather myself with soap, and rinse my hair. Then, I get out and dry off. I brush my teeth, checking my fangs for a third time. Now, it’s time to get dressed.        

My bedroom is a short, lackluster walk down the hall. I’ve stacked most of my boxes in here, with only one half unpacked. It has my clothes in it, and I rummage for something a bit more formal than just a t-shirt and jeans. I’ll have to change into a uniform when I get to the building anyway, but I still want to look nice. 

I traipse back to the front door and tidy up the mess I left. I pull on my boots and coat, relieved that I don’t have to pile on all my layers and protection. I’m so grateful it’s winter so the sun sets early. It makes me excited. 

Living this far north, I hope for snow this year. I never had it in my hometown; maybe the odd flurry but not enough to stick to the ground. I look down at my boots, wondering what it would feel like to crunch through a foot of fresh snow. 

Shaking the idea away, I pocket my wallet and phone and grab my keys. I’m leaving a bit earlier than expected, but I hope enough time has passed for the sun to set. There’s no sunlight shining through the cracks in the door. 

I click the latch and pull the door inward, peeking outside. The sky is already a rich, dark blue, fading into paler, dusky colors as it nears the horizon. I can tell the sun’s just set. I won’t even need my umbrella. 

It’s wild to think that an hour ago the sun was blazing down so hot it would have burned me. Now, I’m safe. 

I tuck a scarf around my neck before I leave, turning off most of the lights. I leave one on so the apartment looks lived in. Then, I shut the door behind me and lock it. It’s a completely different experience stepping out at night. Like I’m a prisoner that’s been given a brief taste of freedom. This is what I wish I could feel every moment of the day. 

No worries. No planning. No pain. 

Just step outside and live.   

I suck in a deep breath of crisp air and let it out in a huff of curling steam. My gloves were shoved in my coat pocket, so I tug them on, but really I’m feeling warm with all the blood rushing through me.

The sidewalk is less crowded, the road far less busy. It’s like the world has quieted down as the daytime workers head home for dinner—to their families. Time for my day to really start. 

Street lamps give off bright pools of light around them, and the city seems to twinkle as windows light up. I walk to the bus stop on the corner. It’s in front of a cafe that smells delicious. There are sparkling string lights up around the trim. Through the windows I can see people chatting and laughing as they sit in cozy seats. 

I’ve never been to a cafe like this. There’s no need, I don’t eat or drink human food. It would just be suspicious… And I don’t want to go alone, anyway. I wouldn’t know what to do by myself, sitting there. 

Maybe I’ll be able to make a friend at this new job and go sometime. 

I let myself fantasize about it as I wait for the bus, thinking of what it would be like to go out somewhere with someone…

My imagination puts me in one of those cozy plush seats by the window. I wouldn’t need to order anything if the person accompanying me got something to eat or drink.

In my mind, the person sitting across from me is the man that rescued me at the pharmacy. He gives me that dazzling smile that makes my knees weak, those dark eyes piercing through me. I flush, and this time I know my face turns red.   

The bus arrives with a hiss of the brakes and the doors screech open. I blink, flustered for a moment before I climb onto the bus. I tap my pass card and head for an empty single seat across from the back doors. It’s not too crowded, which is another nice surprise. 

I take my seat and look out the window as the bus pulls away from the curb and starts driving. I can faintly see the ghost of my reflection, smiling a little as I see I look like any other human. At night like this, I can blend in. No one gives me a second glance, no one pays attention or grows suspicious. It’s bliss. 

Loud, muffled shouting pulls me out of my daze and I can see a crowd on the side of the road. They have signs and I can see their angry faces. They’re shouting something I can’t quite make out, but I’m certain they’re spewing hate. 

My eyes flick to their signs as we drive past and my stomach drops: 

BLOOD SUCKER with a large red X through the text. 

The vampire medical cross upside down. 

More slurs and profanities. 

I’m about to look away when I see a sign that almost makes my heart stop: BURN.   

The bus turns the corner and their muffled hate slowly fades. But those signs are stuck vividly in my mind. I think back to the man shouting in the pharmacy and the security guard that glared at me—the pharmacist that stopped smiling and practically outed me…

And then there was the handsome stranger that didn’t seem to care. He was the only one that had stood up for me and wanted to help. Why couldn’t everyone be kind like him? What about me was so… evil?

I moved here to try and get away from all the hate, thinking a big city like this would be more accepting—easier to blend in. It had been so bad back home… 

Pushing away the sharp thoughts of my past, I try to let my mind go blank and think of nothing. I listen to the rumble of the bus and the traffic outside the window as we get into the heart of downtown. 

I press the button for my stop as I see it light up on the monitor. The bus slows as it reaches the stop and I get off onto a bustling sidewalk. There are lots of window shops and restaurants lining the streets, and much more traffic. All the sounds seem to mix and create a cacophony, but I like the sound. It’s life. 

It’s darker now, colder. The sun has fully set and I can see faint stars twinkling above me in the sea of black.  

Pulling out my phone, I check my navigation app, looking at the building numbers. 

My eyes widen as I spot the place. 

It’s a massive, multilevel building all made of shining steel, concrete, and glass. It looks like one of those luxury buildings you might see in a magazine. There’s a concrete plaza in front of the building and a wide set of stairs that lead up to the front. I reach the main entrance where large planters spruce up either side of a massive revolving door. 

I push my way through, stepping into a marble lobby. It’s beautiful, almost like an art gallery or a fancy hotel. Abstract art hangs from the walls and there’s an intricate, modern light fixture hanging from high above. Sleek sitting areas are organized around the floor, where well dressed people sit fixated on their phones and laptops. 

Looking around, I can see a bank of elevators across from the main entryway, directories between the elevator doors. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to go to a certain level or if there’s some worker’s basement or something. 

Seeing an information desk and a security guard sitting behind it, I walk over to him. I’m about to introduce myself when I hear a cheerful, feminine voice say loudly, “Micah Sevier?”

“Um… Yeah?” I don’t know why I make it sound like a question. Maybe I’m nervous. 

My gaze flicks up to a beaming woman whose long, light brown hair is in a high ponytail. She has freckled skin and the blue jumpsuit she’s wearing makes her amber eyes seem brighter. She has on sneakers and a crowded ring of keys hanging off her belt. She grins, sticking out her hand as she says, “Hi! I’m Samantha. Sam for short. I’m your new manager.”