“Bloodsucker!” The word echoes through the empty bus, stabbing into me like a knife.

I need to move, and adrenaline takes over. I jump up to my feet, bolting off the bus and shoving through a crowd that’s all murmuring. I hear some people cry out, “Hey!” “Watch it!” But I don’t care. I have to run. I have to find shade. 

My skin is stinging like it’s being peeled off of my face, hot and swollen as the blisters harden and merge, turning into gruesome uneven patches that make me feel like my face and hand are going to explode. 

I bolt to a patch of shade under the station awning, looking up at the sky as soon as I’m in the thick shadow. The clouds are a deep orangey red, turning pink as the sun blasts its rays over the world. 

It’s beautiful and horrifying. 

It’s so bright, inside I’m screaming. There are tears in my eyes and my vision blurs, red coloring everything I can see. 

My heart is pumping so hard in my chest I wonder if it’s about to give out. I can’t breathe, I can’t think. I can hear my flesh sizzling as more blisters rise and one of my eyes starts to close. I probably look like some hideous monster, and that’s exactly what I am. 

People walk past me, whispering, but I close my eyes. 

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where I am. 

I can’t get back on a bus. 

I can’t call a cab now—what if they hate vampires? I think of the bus driver that just cowered in fear and called me a “bloodsucker.” What if someone else does something worse? Would they call the police? Try to hurt me?

Shuddering at the thought, I try to take deep breaths. 

All I can picture is the man standing at the side of the road with a sign that says BURN.

I want to call my mom, but what will she do except worry? She’s hours away. And if I wait here, the sun will only get stronger and my skin will fall apart. God it hurts.  

You need to get home. Just figure out how long it will take you to get home. 

I crouch over, hiding behind a garbage can as I try to protect my right hand so I can maintain function in it. I’m trembling as I pull out my phone. I grimace as I see myself reflected in the dark turned-off screen. The left side of my face that’s showing over the mask looks like I’ve been stung a thousand times by hornets. My left hand is no better. The pressure of my skin rapidly swelling and stretching is unbearable and the itchy sensation makes me grit my teeth and squirm. 

I pull up my location app and feel hopelessness and dread crash over me. It’s a 30min walk from where I am now. The transfer bus would take 20min and it’s not arriving for another 10. A cab would be just over 5min, but I’m scared to trust anyone. 

I’m scared of everyone—

“Hey! Don’t I know you? What’s your name… Micah?” 

I flinch as I hear my name and look up. A man’s standing there, and he’s hard to make out through my blurry, bloodstained vision. I blink to try and get a normal sense of color, but all I can really see is dark hair and flashes of golden skin. I wipe my tears on the back of my hand, blood smearing across it.

I ignore it, blinking as I see shocked hazel eyes staring down at me from under a black baseball cap. 

I swallow hard, recognizing him. The janitor from the day shift. “Asim?” I ask, honestly hoping that I’m wrong. If he knows, he’ll tell Sam. And if Sam knows, she’ll tell Vincent. And if Vincent knows— Tears choke me all over again. 

But I can’t worry about my job right now or my fantasies over Vincent. 

I whimper, straining past a sob as I beg him, “Please help me.”

Asim’s eyes are wide as he looks around, dark brows furrowed. I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he quickly sets down the messenger bag he was carrying and shrugs off his jacket. He puts it over me, taking off his baseball cap and shoves that over my hair. “Just, hang on. Do I need to call an ambulance?”

I hadn’t even thought about going to the hospital. That’s the last place I want to go; I just came from there. “No! No. I just need to get home. I don’t know how to get home.”

Asim moves to crouch down next to me, unzipping his bag. He pulls out a pack of wet-wipes and hands it to me. “Here.”

I open up the pack and try to rub the drying blood off my hands and face. It makes me spasm in pain, even gently brushing my skin is like raking nails across my raw flesh. I give up after a few swipes and dabs. The tears aren’t as dark red as it is when I’m full anyway, which means it’s easier to get off. It still stains my skin, but it’s better. 

Asim stays crouched in front of me with his forearms resting on his bent knees. “I’m sorry, I… I’ve never been in this situation before. I want to help you. Can you tell me what to do? How can I help?”

I blink up at him and I see his expression twinge as he looks at my face, like this is the first time he’s seeing it properly. 

Taking a deep breath, I say in a broken voice, “I need to get home. But I can’t walk there. And I can’t take the bus. A cab is only like 7min, but I’m scared a driver will see me and it’ll just create more problems. I just really need to get home.”

Asim gives me a sharp nod as he takes out his phone. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll get a cab and I’ll ride with you. That way if the driver’s an asshole, you won’t be alone. How’s that sound?”

I blink at him, guilt lancing through me at how much inconvenience I’m causing yet another stranger, but I nod, uttering a quiet, “Yes. Please. Thank you so much.”  I give him my address in a mutter, and it’s the last thing I say.

My skull strains with pressure as my flesh feels like it’s being eaten alive by tiny bugs swarming my skin. It’s excruciating. I can’t even focus on what Asim is saying. 

He hangs up the phone.

He helps me to my feet, almost shielding me as he guides me through people and quickly into a car at the entrance. I can hear him talking to the driver, but I can’t register what he’s saying. I just keep my head down, hoping the brim of his hat will keep my face hidden.

The car starts moving and time blurs. It feels so slow and warped as the sun shines through the windows of the car, splashing me like acid. I feel Asim’s arm around me, shielding the back of my neck. 

I’m trying to cry quietly, because I feel so much humiliation, I wonder if that will kill me before the sun does. 

The car lurches as it pulls up to the curb and I see my house. The front is all shaded, the sun coming at it from behind. I can almost feel the temperature shift from burning heat to a calm cool that already soothes my scorching skin. It’s just a placebo that’ll die in a few seconds, but I’ll take anything right now.  

“Do you want me to get out with you? Got your keys?” Asim asks, and now that I feel that wave of relief, I can hear him again. 

I shake my head, wanting to get out of the car and into my house as fast as possible without seeming rude after everything this guy has done for me. “No, I'm okay. I can’t thank you enough. Ah, here’s your coat. Your hat—”

“Keep the hat. You can give it to me next time we run into each other. Or just leave it in the office.” Asim smiles at me, giving me a nod. “Don’t worry about anything right now, okay?”

I look up at him, still trying to hide my face as I’m extremely aware the driver can hear everything we’re saying. I mouth the words, “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Asim’s brows lift a little in surprise at my request, but he answers promptly, “I won’t.”

I nod in thanks and get out of the car, leaving his jacket behind. 

I sprint to my front door; my hands are shaking as I pull out my keys and unlock it. I burst into my apartment, slamming the door behind me as I rip off my mask. It’s dark apart from the foyer light, which I always leave on. I don’t even take off my shoes as I run to the kitchen, skidding to a halt as I throw open the fridge door.

The light from it shines through the dark blood and I grab a pack, careful not to squeeze it so hard. 

I can’t even be bothered to close the fridge or grab a straw from the counter. My skin isn’t the only thing that’s burning. My throat is, too. My gums hurt with how much my fangs are protruding. I lift the bag so the bottom corner is between my lips and I pierce it with my fangs. 

Thick, cold blood runs into my mouth, pooling on my tongue. I gulp it down, feeling the strain of my Adam's apple bobbing against the inside of my sore, swollen throat. Sucking hard on the bag, I barely break for breath. 

I’m slurping it down so fast I feel it trickle down the corner of my mouth. Quickly, I swipe up the droplet with my thumb, licking over my flesh. 

More. More. I need it in me. I’m so fucking starved and desperate for it that I gorge myself, devouring every drop I can until I’m sucking on an empty plastic bag. 

But I’m not done—not satiated. It’s still not enough. 

Growling savagely, I rip the plastic open completely with my fangs and lick the inside clean. It’s messy, and degrading. But I do it until there’s nothing left I could possibly drink. I’m panting, still shaking. There’s an unwanted instinct flooding through me that simply isn’t human and it takes a few seconds for me to bury it again. 

Then reality hits me like a crashing wave and I feel cold.   

I look down at the empty bloodpack I’m still holding. 

Complete hatred and hopelessness consume me. You fucked up, I think. 

I’m not supposed to drink this blood pack for another two days, but I can already feel the effects of it in my veins. The blisters are shrinking and the swelling dies down. The pain subsides and the itchiness fades. 

My heart is still pounding.  

I sink onto the kitchen floor, bathed in the unnatural light of the fridge I still haven’t had the energy to close. I don’t want to look at the blood waiting there, afraid I’ll rip into another pack, then I’ll really be screwed. 

I hate myself more now, at this moment, than I have in a long time. 

Why didn’t I just let Vincent drive me home? I should have just listened to Vincent instead of letting my pride get in the way. Why did I do that? Why can’t I just make things easier on myself? Why can’t I just accept that some people want to help me just because they’re nice?  

All I can think about is my whole world could go up in flames if Asim breaks his word and tells anyone about this. About me. 

I take out my phone, seeing a missed call from my mom. 

I want to call her, but I don’t know what to say. 

I just sit there for a moment and breathe. 

In… Out… Breathe.

Once I’m calmer, my head clear, I press on my mom’s contact and hit the dial button. It rings once before I hear her answer, a rush of worried words bombarding me. I try desperately not to start crying again, I really can’t afford to waste any more blood. 

A few stray tears roll down my cheeks, but I catch them with my fingers, licking and sucking up the drops. It tastes salty, the blood diluted with whatever makes up human tears. 

“Micah? Micah, are you listening to me?”

I sniff, answering in a choked, strained voice, “Mom… I screwed up.” Unable to keep my emotion and panic back anymore, I completely let go of any shred of pride I have left. I sob, letting the blood run down my face, and then I tell her everything.