Page 60 of Tainted Souls
Blod help me, before I—
I stop the thought dead, dragging my focus back to the path ahead.
Outside, the fresh air momentarily clears my foggy mind. I consider taking public transport, but decide against it. The last thing I need is to be tempted by more humans.
The grocery store it is.
After rounding a few blocks, carefully placing one foot in front of the other and avoiding the main streets, I push through the automatic doors, wincing as they slide open with a cheerful electronic chime that feels like sharp needles in my sensitive ears.
Just get what you need and go.
The store is nearly deserted at this hour, with just a bored cashier behind the checkout counter scrolling through her phone and an elderly man methodically examining produce. Perfect.
The refrigerated section where rows of blodas wait in straight lines, calling out as if they know your weakness, is within immediate reach. I hurry and grab a premium blend with extra hemoglobin, pop the tab, and drink in quick, desperate gulps. This can costs three times as much as a six-pack of the standard formula, so I make every drop count.
A few steps past the usual lineup, my attention settles on a limited edition flavor—something with synthetic vanilla—and, what the hell, I grab that one too. Might as well treat myself after the day I’ve had.
When I approach the checkout, my reflection catches in the security mirror mounted in the corner. I look like I just crawled out of a grave. Which, all things considered, isn’t far from the truth. My hair is matted with blood and dirt, my face is smudged with grime, and there’s a tear in my shirt that reveals the bandage underneath.
No wonder the cashier leans back, as if my appearance alone could make her faint. She clearly regrets coming to work tonight.
I place both the unopened limited edition and the opened, empty premium can on the counter. The cashier’s eyes widen at the crushed aluminum, her gaze darting from my blood-stained clothes to my face. She hesitates before grabbing the cans, probably worried about catching something from the bloodstained fingerprints I’ve left on them.
“Rough night?” she finally asks, scanning the items with trembling hands.
“You could say that.”
“That’ll be one thousand twenty credits.”
She brings the scanner up to my eyes, waiting for numbers to flash. A soft click confirms my credit is drawn. In Penn City, and soon all of Northcross, your face is now also your wallet.
The cans and receipt are dropped into a plastic bag and handed to me with the jittery urgency of a robot on espresso. I grab it from her, not missing the way she avoids touching my fingers.
Her relief at seeing me leave is almost palpable.
Once outside, I crack open the limited edition bloda, letting the synthetic vanilla-infused formula slide down my throat. It’s sweeter than I expected, with an artificial aftertaste that lingers unpleasantly. Still, the effect is immediate: warmth spreads through my limbs as my body absorbs the nutrients, the dull throb in my abdomen beginning to ease.
By the time I’m in my home district, I feel almost human again. Almost.
My apartment door is slightly ajar when I reach it, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. I freeze, holding my breath, and strain to catch any sound from within. There’s the soft clink of glasses, the rustle of fabric, and the unmistakable scent of plasma berries.
Evan and Haden.
They are sprawled across my living room, still, surrounded by empty food containers and half-finished drinks. Both look up as I enter, relief washing over their faces.
“You’re alive,” Evan exclaims, his hands thrown into the air. “And bleeding!”
Their hair is damp, clinging to their foreheads. Evan’s blue strands are darker than usual, while Haden’s curls are still dripping slightly at the ends. They’ve also changed into clothes I keep for them in my spare drawer: Evan in a white t-shirt with a faded band logo and Haden in a simple gray henley. The familiar scent of my shampoo wafts through the living room. It’s nothingnew or unusual—my place is their place. It’s like their second home.
Not to mention my shower has way better water pressure than theirs.
Better everything, to be honest.
“Just some flesh wounds.” I kick off my shoes. “Nothing serious.”
Haden eyes the bandage visible beneath my torn top. “That doesn’t look like nothing.”
Evan clears space for me on the couch. “What happened to Max?”
