I crashed to my knees when Patrick suddenly pulled away. The wounds on my neck burned and smarted, and my heart was having weird spasms in my chest, pumping away at the thin stream of blood left in my body.

“I can’t do this,” I heard Patrick say. I reached out to brace myself. I felt like I was going to pass out very soon, and my breath was getting shallow.

“You have to,” I managed to breathe. “There’s nothing left.” I fell over onto my side, staring at the road and Patrick as he grabbed handfuls of his hair. “Please finish.” I’ll die, I tried to say.

Maybe he heard that in my fading mind, but he turned back, looking at me in a sort of panic. He rushed back, carefully pulling me up again and holding my head.

“I can’t die.” I forced the words out of my throat, trying to keep my fear back. It didn’t work, and it made breathing all the harder. Patrick didn’t say anything, just moved my hair again and reinserted his fangs. I whimpered, but didn’t have the strength to reach up and squeeze his hand. I could feel his throat working against me, drinking any blood left in me. My vision began to fade, and my heart with it, as Patrick pulled away again.

“Open your mouth, Sky,” he said hurriedly. My lips were already parted, fighting for the last of any breath I could get. Then something vaguely warm hit my lip, dripping into my mouth. Patrick held my head again, and I felt another drop hit my tongue, gliding down my throat. It was only a few hot drops I felt, and I suddenly was able to swallow, to breathe naturally, and even try to open my eyes. My chest felt hot, and the heat was spreading gradually, bringing an almost comforting feeling.

I breathed deep, looking up at Patrick. He looked scared for a second, and then he smiled as I felt a pain in my mouth.

“You’re okay?” he asked, revealing bloody teeth. I managed a slight nod, feeling something different in my mouth. The fangs, I thought with a disbelieving thrill. I carefully felt them with my tongue while Patrick lifted me off the ground. I was about to tell him what I thought, when another pain came from every part of me. I stiffened, then flinched hard as more pain came again in a different wave, and I thought of nothing else.

XxXxX

I woke with an unpleasant and violent start as my alarm went off. Sitting up fast, I hit the sleep button, leaving the small room quiet, except for the noise of traffic six stories below. But that would never stop, and I was only just starting to get used to it.

Sighing deeply, I looked to the other bed in the room. It was empty, the sheets all tangled up in a ball near the bottom. I’d been in deep sleep earlier, dreaming again about the events that had happened two years ago, the night of my ‘birth’, as some would call it.

I kneaded my temples, looking down at my pillow. There were a few large drops of blood, and I reached up to my lip, finding blood there.

“Great,” I mumbled, standing. It always happened when I had that dream: I would somehow manage to expose my fangs and bite right down on my lip. It may heal fast, but it was just annoying.

I went to the mini bathroom and washed the blood away, splashing my face while I was at it. Unfortunately, I had signed up for a mythology class, which only took place early in the morning at 9:00, and I still had to take the subway to the campus.

I paused for a second, closing my eyes and concentrating as I let the fangs fade away. As for needing blood, I was okay in that department, having fed well enough at the closest United Blood Services. I had come to really appreciate those places. They were pretty much everywhere, and I was usually guaranteed to find someone like me working there. I had never actually fed off a person except on two occasions: once back in Los Angeles with Patrick and another time to the point of their death. But that was how I got my roommate, so I couldn’t really complain. It was also the first and only time I had ever made another person like me.

I retreated back to the cold room with its cement floor and white walls. Changing fast, I grabbed my bag, making sure everything was inside. I went to the small fridge, in search of an emergency supply of blood, and found none.

“Damn it,” I mumbled. I hadn’t been the one drinking lately, and that left only one person . . .

I grabbed one of the granola bars from the shelf, figuring that would distract me if I got really bad during the day, though I never had before. Eating food actually comforted me these days, too. The roomy just liked to eat, missing food from being human.

Slinging my bag onto my shoulder, I was ready to go, when a photo fell out of one of the pockets. I looked down at the picture of Patrick and I, and bent down to pick it up. I crumpled it a bit, and shoved it under my pillow. I didn’t like to think about him much, and had managed to forget for awhile. I had no idea how that picture got into my bag. Maybe I’d gotten into the habit of carrying it around since he left.

Forgetting about his face, I left the apartment, leaving a note to the roommate to get another supply of ‘goodies’ before evening. I taped it to the fridge, and left the room, wrapping a scarf around my neck before braving the cold of the Manhattan streets.

And so it begins again . . . am I sick at heart? Yes, I think so. My face will be bleached out from the computer screen if I’m not careful. Updates to come soon, of course! If you’ve come from “Morgue of the Desert”, thank you so much for continuing, it means a lot!