Chapter 6 #2
Charlie sank onto the tilted cushions, head in his hands. He'd meant to prove his vampire nature. Instead, he'd proven he was too weak to be a proper vampire or a proper human.
"So about that vampire strength," Brent said carefully. "Is it... like, inconsistent? Does it come and go?"
"Apparently," Charlie muttered.
"That's actually really interesting from a character development standpoint." Brent sat beside him. "Like, maybe your vampire character is still learning to control his powers? That would make for a compelling arc."
Charlie wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both.
"Sure," he said instead. "Character development."
His stomach growled so loudly that Brent flinched.
"Look," Brent said. "Whether you're a real vampire or just really committed to the role, you clearly need help. You're obviously dealing with something heavy. So I'm here for you, okay? Even if I don't fully understand what you're going through."
The kindness in his voice made Charlie's chest tight. "Thanks, Brent."
"But seriously, you need to eat something. Even vampires need nutrition, right?"
Charlie's stomach growled again. The hunger was getting worse. The ketchup packets weren't even taking the edge off anymore.
"Yeah," Charlie said quietly. "We do." The sounds his stomach made became louder.
"Okay, that's concerning," Brent said. "That sounded like a wounded animal."
"Sorry." Charlie rubbed the back of his neck. The exercise had definitely been a mistake. His body had burned through whatever meager energy his dubious diet had provided, and now it wanted payment.
"Let me make you something." Brent headed to his kitchen. "I've got protein bars, leftover Thai food, some questionable yogurt..."
"I'm good."
"You're not good. You're literally vibrating."
Charlie couldn't argue with that. His hands were still shaking.
Brent returned with an armful of food, dumping it on the coffee table. "Eat something. Anything."
Charlie picked up a protein bar to appease him, unwrapped it, took a bite. It tasted like cardboard and sadness. His body knew this wasn't what it needed, but he forced himself to swallow.
"Better?" Brent asked.
"Yeah," Charlie lied.
His phone rang. Mr. Denton.
Charlie almost didn't answer, but habit won.
"You coming in tonight or not?"
"I'm not feeling well."
"I need you here, Charlie. Jerry just called in with food poisoning. Madison's got her kid's recital. There's no one else."
"Mr. Denton—"
"I've cut you a lot of slack recently. Please repay the favor."
The line went dead.
"Your boss seems nice," Brent said.
Charlie dropped his phone. This was great. Just great. Eight pm… the sun set at seven thirty, so he would have just enough time. "I'll have to go to work tonight."
"Dude, no. You're clearly not okay."
True, but what did that matter? Aside from Brent, nobody else in this world seemed to care. "If I don't go, I might lose my job."
"So get another job."
"It's not that simple." Charlie tried to explain. "I'm already late on rent, and no one else will hire me for night shifts only."
"And you can't work days because you're a vampire, right." Brent nodded like this made perfect sense. "The commitment to the role is admirable, but maybe tone it down for job interviews?"
A laugh bubbled up from Charlie's chest, slightly hysterical.
If only he could 'turn it down' for job interviews.
He buried his head in his hands, and that was when he heard it.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Brent's heartbeat. Clear as a drum, steady and strong. Charlie had never noticed it before, but now he couldn't unhear it. The rhythmic pump of blood through veins, life flowing just under the skin.
Life that would feed his life.
"You okay?" Brent leaned closer. "You're staring."
Charlie jerked back. "Fine. I'm fine."
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"Maybe some juice would help? I've got apple, orange—"
"Tomato?" Charlie asked desperately.
"Let me check." Brent got up, and Charlie found himself tracking the movement, watching the way the veins in Brent's neck moved when he turned his head.
No. Absolutely not. Brent was his friend. Possibly his only friend.
"Found some!" Brent returned with a can of tomato juice.
Charlie grabbed it and drank greedily. It helped for about ten seconds before his stomach cramped, rejecting the substitute. "More?"
"That's the last can. But seriously, you should eat real food."
Real food. Charlie's gums ached. He could feel his fangs trying to descend and fought them back.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
"I need to use your bathroom," Charlie said, standing too quickly. The room spun.
He locked himself in Brent's bathroom and gripped the sink, staring at his reflection. His eyes had a reddish tint he'd never seen before. His fangs were partially extended despite his best efforts.
This was bad. This was very bad.
He splashed cold water on his face. It didn't help. He could still hear Brent's heartbeat through the door, could practically smell the blood flowing through his friend's veins.
His stomach cramped again, hard enough that he had to brace himself against the wall. The protein bar was not sitting well. His body wanted to reject everything that wasn't blood.
He needed to get out of here. But where could he go? It was barely past noon. The sun wouldn't set for hours.
When he finally emerged from the bathroom, Brent was doing push-ups in the living room, his heart rate elevated from the exercise.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
"Feeling better?" Brent asked, not stopping his workout.
"Yeah," Charlie lied, returning to the couch.
His phone was buzzing on the coffee table. Another call from Mr. Denton. Charlie let it go to voicemail.
The message was brief: "8 PM. I'm counting on you, kid."
"Your boss again?" Brent finished his push-ups and grabbed a water bottle. A bead of sweat rolled down his neck, and Charlie found himself tracking its path.
"He really needs me tonight."
"Dude, you can barely stand. You're not going to work like this."
"I have to."
"No, you need to rest. Or see a doctor. Or both." Brent sat down next to him, close enough that Charlie could feel the heat radiating off his skin from the workout. "Whatever this is, flu, food poisoning, extreme method acting exhaustion, you need actual help."
"I'll be fine after sunset," Charlie said quietly.
"Why do you keep saying that? What's magical about sunset?"
Probably nothing, but Charlie wanted to believe that nightfall would make everything better somehow. Even if he didn't know how he could get food even if he did leave this house.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Brent's elevated heart rate was starting to slow, but Charlie could still hear every beat, could practically taste—
No. He pressed his palms against his eyes.
"Seriously, man. You're scaring me a little." Brent's voice was gentle. "Just lie down for a few hours at least. If you still want to go to work later, I'll drive you."
"Okay," Charlie said, because arguing took energy he didn't have. "I'll rest."
"Good." Brent grabbed a blanket from his closet. "Take the couch. I'll be in my room doing some work, but yell if you need anything."
Charlie curled under the blanket, even though he wasn't cold. His body didn't regulate temperature the same way anymore. But the weight of it was comforting, something to hold him down when every cell in his body wanted to follow the sound of Brent's heartbeat.
"Thanks," he managed.
"That's what friends are for." Brent headed to his room, pausing at the door. "And Charlie? Whatever's really going on, you can tell me. When you're ready."
The door closed with a soft click.
Charlie pulled the blanket over his head, trying to muffle the sound of Brent's pulse through the thin walls. His stomach had gone past cramping into a constant, grinding ache. His fangs had fully descended now that he was alone, pressing against his lower lip.
He closed his eyes and started counting backwards from a thousand, focusing on the numbers instead of the hunger, instead of the sound of blood pumping through living veins just one room away.
Nine hundred ninety-nine. Nine hundred ninety-eight.
His phone vibrated with another message, but Charlie didn't check it.
Nine hundred ninety-seven. Nine hundred ninety-six.
The counting helped, gave his mind something to hold onto as his body tried to shut down, conserving what little energy remained.
Nine hundred ninety-five.
Nine hundred ninety-four.
Nine hundred...