Page 34 of Bleed

I sit there for a second and wait for the world to stop spinning, then blink my eyes open, immediately regretting it. In my drunken state last night, I stupidly forgot to hit the button for the blackout blinds. The afternoon sun is downright hostile, my head throbbing in protest.

“Went… good?” Taylor presses.

“Sure,” I agree. “Those relocation guys weren’t messing around. Didn’t realize you could move someone’s entire life in under an hour.”

“Tell me about it,” she sighs. “When I moved in with James, everything I took with me fit into three sad little boxes.”

Of course she gets it.

That’s the thing about growing up in the foster system– you don’t accumulate much. No family heirlooms, no boxes of childhood artwork tucked away in an attic. No collection of sentimental junk your parents refuse to throw away because every piece has a story attached to it. Just a handful of belongings and the understanding that every time you unpack them, it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be packing them back up again.

Every time we were shuffled to a new home, we were allowed to bring one bag. That single bag is all it took to uproot our entire lives, and I guess after enough years of that, you stop getting attached to possessions. You learn early that things are temporary. People, too, most of the time.

Except Tay. She’s always been there– which is why I’m here, living in a strange vampire’s penthouse so nobody can attempt to pry her secrets from my brain.

“And look at you now,” I tease, forcing the mood lighter as I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “A true rags to riches story.”

The room spins again, but I grit my teeth and power through it.

“Anything major happen in the last thirty-six hours?” I ask casually. “Or are you still loving life as Dracula’s future bride?”

“Ozzy threw up in James’ shoe again, so I think the honeymoon phase might be over.”

“Good.” I scrub a hand over my face. “That guy deserves to suffer.”

Taylor clucks her tongue. “Whatever. I think you secretly love him.”

“I think you’re sustaining brain damage from all those vampire-induced orgasms,” I reply, already shuffling toward the en-suite bathroom.

This apartment is too damn quiet, amplifying every sound I make. The slap of my feet against the hardwood, the click of the bathroom light switch as I flip it on. The brightness of the bulbs stabs at my eyes and straight through my skull, making me hiss a curse into the receiver.

“What’s going on?” Taylor asks, concern threading through her tone. “You sound sick or something.”

“Yeah, well I put down a whole bottle of wine last night,” I confess, blinking until my eyes adjust, then grimacing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My eyeliner’s smeared in a raccoon mask, my hair a tangled mess.

“So, the first night with Elliott went well, then?” she asks brightly.

“Eh, not exactly.” I wipe at the black smudges underneath each eye. “I got scolded for drinking his wine, then accused of being drunk.”

“But you were drunk.”

“Yeah, but he didn’t have to call me out like that,” I mutter. “He’s a total weirdo.”

“A hot weirdo though, right?”

I can hear the smirk in her voice, and unfortunately, my brain immediately betrays me.

A picture of him flashes through my mind– broad shoulders stretching the fabric of that stupidly tight t-shirt, dark eyes dragging over me like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss me or kill me, the low timbre of his voice…

Ugh.

“He’s okay,” I say. A lie, and we both know it. “But I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

“No one could hate you,” she scoffs.

“Debatable,” I mumble as I lean closer to the mirror, still struggling to scrub the stubborn black liner from beneath my eyes. “I tried to get him to fuck me to alleviate the tension, but he turned me down.”

Taylor chokes on a laugh. “Oh god, of course you did. Surprised he didn’t take you up on it.”