Page 41 of Fangs with Benefits

‘Molly—’

‘No, what the fuck?’ she whisper shouts, loud enough to let me know she’s furious, quiet enough that passing ears won’t hear her.

‘I can explain.’

She closes her mouth and waits for the explanation I didn’t actually think she’d let me give. Shit.

‘Right, well. You see, being with you…’ I lower my voice, ‘kissing you, it reminded me that I am really in no place to be involved with anyone, and especially not my brilliant and beautiful colleague who—’

‘Pause.’ Molly holds a palm in front of her and screws up her face in distaste.

I do pause, shutting my mouth with a startled sound because in the middle of my it’s not you it’s me speech she’s pressed stop as if I’m a DVD player.

‘I’m not here to talk about the kiss. Or maybe I am. It’s not the primary thing. I’m here because you’ve been shifty as hell since your very first day here. You’ve been keeping a massive secret, and now I know what it is,’ she hisses.

I give her one slow blink, then stand straighter to stall and put some inches between her face and mine. It doesn’t work. She’s all around me, filling up this supply closet and any free space in my brain and lungs. She looks so grumpy, her eyebrows turned down towards her nose in a V.

I want to kiss her.

No. Focus, dammit.

‘What’s that, then?’ I ask.

‘You know, at first, I just thought you were weird, or wilfully obtuse. I thought you were trying to make me miserable. But no, it’s weirder than that because you’re not. Even. Human.’ She whispers the last word and I still.

I remind myself to inhale–people tend to notice when you stop breathing, probably especially when they’ve just accused you of being inhuman.

I remember an invaluable piece of advice my mother gave me and my siblings after changing us: When all else fails, deny, deny, deny.

‘Are you feeling quite all right? You’re looking a bit pale,’ I say, though I feel slimy doing it.

Her eyes narrow immediately. ‘Don’t even start with me.’ Molly pushes a pointer finger into my chest. She uses her other hand to tug down the red cable knit collar, revealing the silky expanse of her neck. Only, the smooth skin is marred by two parallel lines, thin red cuts, scabbed and healing but visible still.

The exact distance of my upper fangs.

Oh no.

‘That—’

She interrupts me again, which is all for the best since I didn’t have an intelligible response anyway. ‘I know what you are, Elijah. If that’s even your real name.’

‘It is,’ I snipe back, my own frustration and anxiety impossible to hide. ‘And what is that, then? If you know, then say it.’

Molly’s bottom lip pulls between her teeth, the first letter forming in her mouth, when the closet door swings open to reveal a very smug-looking Kenneth, his rattling water bottle in hand, mixing one of his drinks. He stops shaking it and looks significantly at the spare distance between our bodies, smirking.

‘Dude, I so knew it,’ he says to us both. ‘Like ten different people are about to owe me money.’

‘Kenneth,’ Molly says, like she couldn’t be more exhausted by him.

‘Please, don’t stop on my account. Looks like it was just about to get juicy.’

With a long, loud sigh, Molly looks to the ceiling like it might save her from this, then shoulders past Kenneth and retreats down the hall.

I don’t waste a second before following her lead, leaving a still-smiling Kenneth in our wake.

Molly’s search history from Sunday 1 November:

Cold skin sharp teeth never eats