Most people don’t have an archnemesis—not in real life. But I do.

One that has robbed me of everything.

In the dark entrance of the apartment, the only light comes from the faint glow around the door. It’s like a halo of fire. All other lights are off, the black-out windows are closed, but my heart is still pounding as I stare at the door.

I try to remind myself to breathe as I lace up my boots and stuff my pants into them. Then I zip up my sweater and fasten my coat. I slip on my gloves, making sure they’re snug with no holes or tears in the fabric. Hat on, hood up, scarf, sunglasses, face mask.

The facemask makes my breath hot, fogging my glasses. I just have to endure it.

I go through each article of clothing, ensuring they’re secure before I grab my umbrella. I grip the handle tightly, hand clenching it as I mentally prepare myself.

Deep breaths. 15min. There and back.

I check my phone, looking at the digital clock. It’s mid-afternoon. Probably the worst possible time I can leave the safety of my house.

Beyond the door, I can hear the busy street outside: Cars passing, people walking and talking without a care. There’s a whole other world out there—one where people don't think twice about leaving their homes.

But me…

Fear makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I try to breathe through the blaring panic in my mind. My skin already itches at the thought of stepping outside. Everything in my body is screaming not to open the door, but I have no option. No other choice.

I hold my breath and pull the door open with a yank of the handle, flinching as bright light floods past me. Blinding, searing, molten light.

I click the button on the umbrella’s handle and it pops open immediately, shielding me from the pure, blazing sun. I let out a shuddering breath and a chill runs up my spine. There are tears in my eyes and every muscle of my body is tense as I wonder if I’ve missed anything.

If I have, I’m about to burn and blister right here on my front doorstep.

When all I can feel is heat and no pain, I lock the door and start walking. Quickly. I don’t want to be outside for longer than I have to.

I keep my head down and look at my shadow pushing ahead of me on the concrete sidewalk, the sun heavy on my back. My umbrella can only cover so much of me and I try desperately to keep it pressed against me.

I weave between people walking, trying to hit every section of shade I can. My boots shatter crisp fallen leaves; they skitter across the pavement with the cold winter wind. I can feel the pull of the wind in my umbrella, trying to angle it so it doesn’t flip inside out.

All I can do is focus on my breathing instead of the sweat that’s starting to plaster my clothes to my skin. The glow at the rim of the umbrella scares me and I almost feel dizzy as I have to wait to cross the road.

It’s an agonizing few seconds, my heartbeat thrumming in my ears.

The second the light turns green, I’m moving again.

If I glance up, I can see the massive glass storefront of the pharmacy.

I blink down as I see the glare of sun, trekking forward. I feel the urge to run. I’m so close, I desperately want to just sprint the last few yards, but I can’t risk it. If I trip or lose my footing and the sunlight touches even a sliver of my skin…

I shudder, pushing away the thought.

After what feels like hours—and has really only been a few minutes—I step through the sliding glass doors of the pharmacy. I don’t put down my umbrella until I’m completely out of the sun. Even through glass, it’s dangerous.

Safely indoors, I collapse my umbrella and take off my sunglasses. I pull down my mask for a moment to take a deep breath of unstifled air before I cover my face with it again.

I run my tongue over my fangs and they prick my flesh, slicing through it instantly… but there’s no blood. And that’s the problem.

Not only does the mask shield my skin, but it covers up my protruding fangs… and blocks my sense of scent. On days where my thirst hits hardest, that’s important.

I feel some shoppers staring at me and all my layers of clothing—maybe they think I’ll try to rob the store. I’m not sure, but it makes me feel uneasy and… guilty.

Better they think I’m a thief than know the truth.

Doing my best to avoid them, I head through the aisles toward the back of the store where the pharmacy counter is. Though I pray there isn’t a line for pick-ups, there is. Three people stand in line ahead of me, all patiently waiting for the pharmacist to call them forward.

I take my place in line, fidgeting as I pull out my phone to look at it. I’m startled for a moment as it automatically pulls up the camera; though my gloves are supposed to be screen compatible, they still make my touch clumsy.

I stare at myself for a moment, self-hatred and embarrassment pooling in my stomach. Though I feel flushed, my face above my mask is pale. My blond hair looks dirty under my hat, sticking to my forehead in sweaty strips. My eyes are rimmed with dark circles, my irises so bright they look ghostly. I look sick and terrible and wish I was invisible so no one can stare and judge me.

I’ll have to shower again when I get home.

Closing the camera app, I pull up my emails. I click on the most recent one, reading through it again even though I’ve read it a hundred times.

We’re happy to have you as one of our new late-night janitors!
Shift Start: 6pm. Please arrive 30min early for onboarding.

My stomach flutters and a small smile lifts the corners of my mouth beneath my mask.

Today will be a good day, I think to myself, repeating it in my mind like a mantra.

I don’t realize until a few seconds later that I just jinxed myself.

A shout makes me look up along with the other people in line. A man at the drop off counter bangs a fist down on the surface, shouting loudly, “Why don’t you have any fucking signs up?”

My brows twitch, face crumpling in confusion as I stare at the man. He’s irate and seething. He looks red-faced and spitting at the poor worker across the counter from him.

She looks stunned, her eyes wide and full of fear.

I can start to feel the fear building in me, too. This man is big, tall and clearly jacked; I can see it even through his stained gray hoodie. Another man is standing next to him with his arms crossed over his chest—equally tall and broad.

A skinny, short guy like me has nothing against them.

I want to step in and tell them not to talk to a worker that way—not to talk to anyone that way—but I’m too chicken to get involved. Besides, I can see security coming down the aisle. Clearly someone called them.

Still, I watch, painfully intrigued and intimidated as everyone in line stares at the man with me. We’re just spectators, waiting to see what will happen and why.

Signs for what? I think, wondering if my question will be answered.

And it is.

“You let fucking bloodsuckers in here! You sell them blood! Our blood! You should be smart and refuse service to them. Whose side are you on anyway?! They’re monsters! They don’t belong among people!” The man sounds choked, and I can see the veins popping in his throat under his skin.

I involuntarily lick my lips and swallow hard.

My hands are trembling as my grip tightens on my phone. I think about putting it away, but I’m scared I might need it. If he knew there’s a vampire standing a few feet away from him… what would he do? Would he hurt me? Try to kill me? Or would he run like a secret coward?

I’m not brave enough to find that one out.

The security guard finally reaches him, wedging his way between the man and the counter as he directs him toward the exit. “Sir, calm down. Please, we’re asking you to leave before we have to call the police.”

The word makes me flinch and suddenly I drop my gaze back to my phone. I’m not really reading anything, I can’t focus, but maybe if I pretend I’m not interested it will make me invisible.

The line starts to move, but my ears are still perked up as I hear the man screaming. His voice is loud and strained, drawing the attention of more shoppers.

My heart is pounding again and I feel like it’s running on empty.

“They don’t deserve rights! You can’t serve them here! You need to join the boycott! Without blood, they’ll leave!” The man is viciously sputtering like he’s spewing gospel.

We won’t leave. We’ll kill people, I think. It’s not like we want to be monsters.

“Sir? …Sir?”

I look up, jolting as I realize the pharmacist is beckoning me over to the counter. I’d thought it was still someone talking to the raving man who’s just a few feet away next to me.

“Sorry,” I mutter, my voice sounding muffled behind my mask.

The pharmacist forces a smile, looking up at me. She looks friendly; dark eyes and brown hair. She looks a bit like my mother, which reminds me I should probably call her at some point before my shift this evening.

“Your name?” The pharmacist asks, staring at me with what I can sense is growing irritation.

“Right, sorry!” I keep losing my train of thought. I’m still rattled as I glance at the man now getting forcibly removed from the store by security.

I pull out my wallet and hand her my health card, saying quietly, “It’s Micah Sevier. I have an order waiting.”

She looks down at my card and I see her smile fade swiftly. She’s spotted the small red symbol at the top right corner. A red cross with bat-like wings. Her eyes flick to the man being dragged out of the store before she looks back at me. “Not a problem. Let me find your order in our system.”

I let out a breath of relief, nodding as I murmur, “Thank you.”

“Mm-hm.” She doesn’t look at me again, typing into the computer before she hands me back my card. “Just a moment.”

I watch as she walks away from the counter, past several shelves stocked with medication, and to a back room that has a cold blue glow.

I put my card back in my wallet while I wait, hoping she won’t take long. Though the man’s voice is now muffled and fainter, I can still hear him shouting from the front of the store.

The pharmacist returns with a black, cloth bag. I can hear it crinkle and realize it’s temperature controlled. An upgrade from my last pharmacy.

She scans something before sliding the bag across the counter for me. “Alright, you’re all covered. I can see this is your first time picking up an order from us. This is a one month supply, but we encourage you to pick up your renewal at least a week before you run out for continued treatment.”

The word makes me wince, bile rising in my throat. “Treatment.” It’s like she thinks there’s something wrong with me. That I’m sick and this will make me better. I’m just thirsty. Like a human in need of water. Only my “water” is a little more challenging to come by.

I don’t know what to say other than a stiff, “Thank you.”

I pick up the bag, hearing her call a bit too loudly, “Make sure you keep the packets refrigerated.”

People glance over at me but I ignore them. I just nod and make my way to the exit. I want to head home and get ready for my shift. I hate it out here; sun, people—I hate it all.

I’m just putting on my sunglasses and popping open my umbrella when a loud voice shouts at me. “You! You’re a filthy bloodsucker, aren’t you?! I can tell with that damn chrome umbrella you have! That bag! It’s full of blood, isn’t it?”

It’s the man from earlier, still detained by security as they likely wait for law enforcement.

My heart is racing, my hands shaking as I try to ignore him and keep walking. My glasses are foggy with breath from my mask and I’m unable to properly look at him or the security guard, which is probably for the best.

But I don’t see him stick out his foot in front of me.

All I feel is the collision and the sense of falling forward, plummeting toward the line of sunlight at the exit. My grip loosens on my umbrella and it slips out of my hand.

I’m done for. I’m going to fall, the sun’s going to burn me—

“Hey!” I hear a deep voice brush against my ear and then there’s a strong arm around me, catching me before I hit the ground.