I come to, not lying on the floor as I realize I was expecting, but kneeling with my head thrust back. My arms are outstretched with hands cupped high above my chest, as if reaching for something small and delicate. My neck aches, terribly.

Before I can compose myself and begin to wonder what happened, I hear a knocking at the front door. I twitch and jerk to a stand, then drift over to the door. Leaning bodily against it, I peer through the peephole. Outside, I see a tawny forehead with a one inch diagonal scar in the upper left corner and a familiar mess of curly, toffee hair that sways and bounces as its owner shifts on his feet. At first, I have trouble remembering what I should do and why Rock is at my home in the first place, but the memories trickle back as the second knock comes. I clear my throat and shout through the door in what I hope is a normal voice.

“Jus-Just a...second.” I take a moment to adjust myself, then open the door, stepping back to let my friend in. Rock enters, all five feet, two inches of him. He’s dressed in black, dotted with a smattering of metal studs and a chain dangling from his pocket in a loose U shape. His shirt bears the logo of a metal band I’m not sure he actually likes and his jeans, while unfaded and obviously new-ish, have somehow acquired the frays and tears of extended use. His earthy amber eyes are filled with questions. He twiddles an empty water bottle in the air between us for me to notice.

“Hey, dude. What’s going on? You look...I dunno...off.” Rock pauses, then says, “Actually you look like shit.”

“Thanks for noticing. Would you like to insult my mom or my dead father next?” I say with as much playful sarcasm as I can manage, then shuffle into the kitchen, gesturing for him to follow. He gives a nervous chuckle as he closes the door and takes a seat at the plain, wooden dining room table. I retrieve the medical bag stashed under the bed in my mother’s room. It feels considerably lighter than it always has as I haul it back. I lay it on the table and open it to inspect its contents. Inside, two winged needles glint from within their sterile packaging like robotic mosquito heads.

“Rock,” I begin, pulling a chair out for myself. “I’m going to show and tell you some pretty weird stuff in a minute and I need you to just listen. No jokes, no interrupting, no judgements. Alright?” Rock stares back at me and I can hear him swallow.

“You’re startin’ to freak me out, dude.”

“I know.” I say, laying my head in my hands. “This is pretty messed up, but I’ll explain everything if you can promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

“Yeah, I promise. Did you hurt someone or something?” Rock says, now craning his neck to get a look around the house, probably searching for signs of a struggle. I chuckle at his question. It was a perfectly reasonable guess and I almost wish he was right. At least, if I hurt someone, I’d probably have a good reason.

Probably.

“No, I wish, but that’s not it.” I stop, realizing what I just said. “Well, I don’t wish I’ve hurt someone. You know what I meant. Anyway, here’s the thing: I know you’re not dumb, and you know I’m not a practical effects wizard, nor do I know any. Right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Rock replies, leaning forward ever so slightly.

“So, if I show you something I couldn’t possibly fake, you should know it’s real. Correct?” Rock nods. “Okay, then. Here’s what I need you to see before we go any further. Look closely.” I lean forward so he can see and push my upper lip away from the fangs. Rock gasps and nearly leaps from his seat as he darts forward for a better look. Having studied and probed them earlier, I know the upper canines look nearly ordinary, but a subtle lengthening and stiletto-sharp points give them away under scrutiny. Out of Rock’s view, a tiny hole can be seen and felt just behind the tips.

“Are those real? How did you do that? Is it a ceramic cover or something?”

I didn’t expect him to believe me right off the cuff, but okay, good start. He didn’t run away, screaming.

“No, man, they’re not coverings, they’re not even those fancy resin ones for cosplay. These are real vampire fangs. I’m-I’m uh...a vampire now. I guess?” Damn, I’m not getting an award for speeches anytime soon. Good thing I never joined the Debate Team. To provide a little proof, I reach into my mouth and give the fangs a couple tugs and wiggles which only succeed in wobbling my head around like a toy.

“Okay. That’s a little weird, but I feel like you’re still messing with me. Is your mom here? You two playing a prank on me?” Rock cranes his neck around again.

“Nope. But I get it, vampires aren’t supposed to be real and I’ve been hoping, all day, that was still true and that I’d wake up from a nightmare, but...here we are. I have something else I can show you.” I stand and grip the bottom of my shirt. “Alright, I’m just going to show you the burn I got from the sun this morning so don’t make this weird. Check it.” I lift my plain white t-shirt and watch Rock’s reaction.

“Yeah, that’s a killer burn. One whole shade of pink.”

“What?” I say and glance downward. The skin is raw and still sensitive enough to be painful, even when my soft cotton shirt brushes against it, but the blistered skin and puckered edges are gone, replaced by my normal, smooth, unblemished grey. It looks like I could have just had a rough encounter with one of my sheets and got a mild rope burn.

“Well. This is awkward.” I let down my shirt while Rock begins laughing. “Come on, man, this is serious. Do you really think I’d have you come here just to try to trick you with a random cosplay? It’s not even close to Nightmare Night.”

“Ah—yes.” He replies, flatly. I’ll give him that. I played a similar prank once, with a cheap werewolf mask in the middle of Summer.

“Fair enough.” I say, inwardly scrambling for ideas. The tip of my pinkie flares with pain and I snatch it to my chest with a gasp, whipping around to find a thread of sunlight bleeding through the edges of the window blinds over the sink.

“You okay?” Rock says, sounding mildly amused. I uncurl my hand and inspect the damaged digit. The burn isn’t nearly as bad as my first, but it feels as if I’d set the side of my finger onto a smoking-hot pan for several seconds. “Break a nail or something?” Rock asks with mock concern. Ignoring him, I take the plastic stick that angles the blinds open, stand to the side of the window and twist until thin bars of sunlight shear through.

“Come here.” I tell Rock, staring down at the parallel lines of light illuminating the linoleum floor. He joins me near the window. “Watch.”

I take a moment to gather myself, as I prepare for the pain. Stretching out my left arm I hold it just outside the beams. Rock stares back in bewilderment. I squeeze my eyes shut and begin to move my arm toward the light. It stops before I feel the burning.

“Whoa! Okay! I believe you! Holy shit!” Rock shouts. He grips my arm with both hands just above the elbow, immobilizing it.

“No, I need to do this; you have to see!” I yell back, fighting his resistance for a split second before realizing I don’t need to. I thrust my right hand into the light, feeling an immediate and uncomfortable warmth grow on my skin, but I’m thrown backward as Rock tackles me. He’s shorter, but a little heavyset and his leverage was surprisingly good. We crash to the tiles and he leaps onto my shoulder, pinning me to the floor.

“Stop, Gyre! I said I believe you! Just stop, okay?” He’s breathing hard, holding his arms over mine, ready to try to subdue me again. I can feel the strength in my limbs, great enough to make his inconsequential, but I don’t fight back. How could I ask Rock for his blood? How could I ask him for the time of day? I’ve used and ignored him, acting as a friend only when it’s suited me or when the pain of isolation had become too much. For years, he’s been my only friend, sharing his possessions, time, family and heart with me. I took only what I wanted and accepted him as the price. What I took for blind, helpless, and desperate loyalty was always so much more. I think I’ve known this all long. I tolerated him when I should have been grateful for what little companionship I’ve had.

“I should...” I mutter. Rock slumps to the floor beside me, resting his head and arms on my shoulder, but I can tell he’s still ready to leap back on if I move toward the light.

“No, dude, you don’t. Y-You never need to hurt yourself. I got you, whatever you need, buddy.”

Some minutes later, only one of us is drying their eyes and sniffling. My mother’s medical bag and the packaged needle lie on the table between us. The tiny tube of steel shines in the warm kitchen light with a pale, stringent glimmer. It looks as if it would be fifty degrees cooler than the room. I steeple my hands under my chin as I contemplate its grim purpose. Rock does much the same, propping his head up on a fist. There are still a couple hours before my mother returns from work, so we’re in no hurry. Still, the situation hasn’t become any easier.

“When were you planning on telling anyone?” I say. Rock closes his eyes and takes a big breath.

“I’ve only known for two weeks. I swear. It’s been hard to find the right moment, you know?” I guess I do know, but at least my contact with death left me with superpowers. Rock’s ultimate fate is looking far more depressing than my own.

“How far along is it?”

“It won’t be a problem for a while, I think I can still help you. They said the CML shouldn’t cause any symptoms for another six to ten months; that’s gotta be more than enough time for us to figure something else out for you, right?” Leukemia. Of course it’s Leukemia.

“Possibly.” I mutter. “But we don’t know what effect your blood might have on me, or if I can even be sustained by it. No offense.”

“There’s only one way to find out.” Rock says, reaching for one of the needles. My hand is on it faster than he could have seen it move. I didn’t intend to move that fast. It must have looked like reality skipped some frames for him. Rock looks between the needle and me, eyes bulging. “That was awesome! Do it again!” I sigh and shake my head.

“I don’t know how, yet.” I lie. The sensation of engaging in that unnatural speed was intuitive and far too easy. It was like my body moved at the speed of thought, but faster than I could reconsider. That could be dangerous. “Anyway, doesn’t leukemia make it so you can’t stop bleeding? We can’t open a vein—you’d bleed out.”

“No, no, not CML.” Rock says, looking disappointed. “At least, not mine. Not yet. The doc says I still have almost normal platelets so I can still scab and heal, especially from just a needle.”

“Are you sure, man?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Rock says, waving a dismissive hand, “Check it out.” He lifts the sleeve of his shirt and reveals a day-old hospital bandage in the crook of his elbow. He peels the tape back, wincing as it tears free some arm hair, and shows me the clotted needle wound beneath a wad of gauze and cotton, stained a rusty red from drying blood.

“Oh, okay. Well...Wait! Dammit!” I slap the table. “If they’re taking blood regularly, they’re gonna to see the needle marks!” I say, stabbing a hand at Rock’s arms.

“Oh…right…” He says. “Still, I think we can do one draw for today. I don’t have to go back to the hospital until Saturday for more tests. Ooh, and I can just say it was a bug bite or something.” I nod, thoughtfully. “They won’t be suspicious of just one mark to begin with, I think. If they even see it.”

“Yeah, I suppose you have a point.” I settle back into my chair. “We can also cover them with makeup, if we have to. I’m sure there are other places to draw blood from, besides the arm.”

“Gooch blood it is, then.” Rock stands and begins to unbuckle his belt, a huge grin splitting his face. I stand hard enough to throw my chair back and bare my new fangs.

“That zip goes down one inch, and you and I are gonna go toe-to-toe.” I growl, only half-joking. Most of Rock’s grin is still present, but the missing parts are replaced by a genuine apprehension.

“Y-You know your eyes go red when you do that.” He says, fastening the buckle. “And I was joking, you know.”

“Yeah, of course. You’re not man enough to take a needle to the gooch anyway.” I say with my own grin.

“Gods, who the fuck is, dude?” Rock says, shivering once as he walks past me to retrieve my chair. I hope he’s only reacting to the thought of such painful blood extraction and not because of me.

“Tch. Not I.” I turn and inspect the chair as Rock drags it back.

“Anyway, let’s get this over with. Take a seat.”

“Yes, Doctor Strand.” Rock says with mock solemnity. I roll my eyes and gesture toward his chair. He sits and rolls up his right sleeve while I remove the tourniquet from the kit. I tie it around his bicep and tighten until his veins are visible enough to pick out a viable target. Rock begins flexing his hand into a fist, causing the veins to gain even more definition. After donning a pair of latex gloves, I clean the site of the obvious choice and lay out the cotton and gauze. Finally, I extract the venipuncture needle, attach it to a blood bag and tubing from my mother’s supplies, and place the bag on a chair beside Rock. A wave of anxious energy moves through me and I become achingly aware of the thirst again. I feel a mildly uncomfortable tightness around the fangs and I run my tongue across them, almost crying out when I notice how much longer they’d become in the span of seconds. If my heart beat anymore, my face would have flushed as I realize how close the sensation in my gums is to having a boner. I decide to get this over with quickly.

“You alright?” Rock asks, snapping me out of a daze I didn’t know I was in.

“Yeah, just a bit nervous. It’s been a while since...you know...my dad.”

“It’s alright, I trust you, man. Your mom said you were almost as good as some of the nurses from the get-go, remember? You got this.” Rock pats my shoulder and I’m suddenly aware of how much I don’t want to be touched at the moment.

“Probably.” I say, forcing a confident grin. I place the needle just above a bulging vein and take a breath. Rock remains impressively still and calm, something I was taught not to expect. I push the metal into tan skin, letting muscle memory take over. I feel it penetrate the dermis, then stop when I feel the minute loss of resistance that signals entry into the vein. A dark, lovely red snakes through the tubing, reaching the bag and expanding into it.

“I’m only gonna take half a pint, for now. Don’t wanna take more, in case your doctor notices. They’re probably keeping a close eye on everything to do with your blood. You should regenerate most of the volume by the end of the week.” Rock nods his understanding and we watch the bag fill in silence. Though I feel a strong desire to consume the contents, there’s still something macabre about watching the plastic bloat with a person’s blood. When the bag is half full, I check with Rock to see if he’s ready and remove the needle. He helps apply the cotton and gauze before any blood leaks away and I step back to tend to the needle and bag. I pinch the tubing along its length to drain what’s left, seal the bag’s entry tube and take everything to the kitchen sink to rinse away any traces of blood.

“Damn, man, you are definitely your mother’s son. That was smooth as silk. I mean—”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, you earned it, doc.”

“No, I meant thank you for the blood. I could try to explain how grateful I am, but I don’t think I’d ever get it right.” I say, staring into the black circle of the drain.

“Don’t worry about it, really. Honestly, being friends with the world’s first real vampire is kinda awesome. Totes worth the cancer.” Rock chuckles behind me and I can’t help joining him. If he wasn’t so awkward, Rock would be one of the most well-loved and popular students in our school. Unfortunately, our peers never stick around to get to know him as more than an odd schoolmate. Their loss, I suppose. I’m just glad he didn’t turn out like those obnoxious Snips and Snails kids.

“Alright, man, I’d ask if you wanna stick around, but it’s probably safer if you go home.” I say, heading to the pantry and retrieving a pack of the most sugary snacks available. I toss it to my friend who misses an attempt at a casual grab, nearly greeting the treats with his eye. He fumbles it around like a cartoon character for several seconds before, ultimately, dropping it.

“What? I don’t get to see you drink my blood?” He says, red-faced, as he picks up what must certainly be a cookie dust-filled package from the floor.

“No. We don’t know how I’ll react when I drink. I could go wild or something.” Rock nods and hums thoughtfully as he opens the package and stuffs a whole pastry in his mouth. “Besides, today’s been homoerotic enough. I’d rather not have an audience when I put another man’s fluids into my mouth.” We each snort a laugh and Rock shakes his head.

“Alright, I guess that’s fair. But you gotta let me know what happ—” Rock’s sentence is cut short by the sound of a vehicle pulling into the driveway. Through the minuscule spaces between the blinds, I can see the familiar electric blue of my mother’s car as it slows to a halt and the low note of the engine cuts off. She’s home almost three hours early. Rock and I look at each other for only a moment before springing into action. He stuffs the cookies into a pocket and darts to the sink, grabbing the tubing, needle and blood bag as I gather up the supplies scattered on the table. I replace everything in the medical bag as best as I can remember, close it and haul the thing back to my mom’s room. Meanwhile, Rock is crashing up the stairs to my room and I pray he hasn’t stuck himself with the needle in his haste. I toss the bag under my mother’s bed and dash out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I fly to the stairs and take them four at a time, feeling as if I’m actually soaring through the air as I ascend. I can hear the front door opening and Rock is only just turning around to stare wild-eyed back at me as I enter the room. What do we do, he mouths, the tawny skin of his face drained of a significant portion of color. I take the items from his hands and kneel down at the mini fridge next to my desk, opening it and shoving the contents behind as much energy drink and seltzer water as possible.

“Gy’? Are you alright?” My mom’s voice calls from the bottom of the stairs. A creaking sound drifts in through the door, signalling ascent. I meet Rock’s gaze and motion for him to take the lead. He looks panicked for a moment, opening and closing his mouth several times before finally responding.

“H-He’s fine. It’s just me, Mrs. Glow…” Rock stares at me and shrugs. I nod to him and slip under my covers. Sitting up in bed with my head on my knees, I wait for my mom to enter. Rock silently rolls my desk chair across the room to my bed and settles in, just as the door opens.

“Hi, Rock, how are you?” Mom says, as she approaches. Her voice is smooth and kind, exactly as a mother should sound and eerily similar to my high school’s principal. I raise my head to offer her a close-lipped smile, which she returns. Her black and copper hair falls gently on her shoulders in loose ringlets that appear to be flames climbing the sides of her moon pale face; A visage that’s attracted the lustful attention of every high school boy and girl with an affinity for the fairer sex. In fiction, having a gorgeous mother almost always provides some sort of social advantage, or at least a cushion. No such luck for me. I just have to put up with the murmured catcalls and sordid comments any time a schoolmate passes by the nurse’s office on Mom’s monthly volunteer days. Speaking up has only ever solidified my status as an outcast, earning me the oh-so-creative Momma’s Boy label and incurring incest-themed taunts. Sometimes I wonder why high school students weren’t members of the horror trope pantheon, right alongside vampires, werewolves, and zombies.

“I’m great.” Rock lies.

“Are you okay, kiddo? You don’t look like you’re feeling very well.” Mom says

“I’m okay, just had a crazy bad migraine all day, so I stayed home. How was work?” I ask, hoping my sick-voice is convincing. She comes to sit on the bed, peridot eyes scanning my face. She checks my temperature with the back of her hand.

“Well, the Baron was having a good day, so he let a couple of us nurses go home early. You’re feeling pretty clammy.” Must have been a miraculous day for a man so old he’s practically half-dead to dismiss one of his primary caregivers.

Though Mom’s title is officially a nurse, her advanced medical degree and noteworthy career as an MD is what got her the job. From what I hear, Baron Ghastenhauser exclusively hires vastly overqualified and attractive women as his nurses, offering far more than what they could ever hope to earn through employment at metropolitan hospitals. The eccentric geezer also happens to be the landlord of Ghastenhauser Grove, the very upper middle-class neighborhood I loosely call home. His ancient, sprawling mansion is situated at the top of the hill, overlooking the houses that perch on rice paddy-like steps all the way down to Cloudsdale Courts, the neighborhood at the foot of the hill.

“Yeah, Rock just put back the drinks I was using to cool off. Felt a bit warm earlier.” I glance at Rock who’s giving me an impressed look at the improvised lie. I’m feeling mildly impressed, myself. “Feeling better now; migraine’s almost gone.”

“Okay, kiddo. Well let me know if you start feeling bad again. I’ll call to cancel the appointment with your instructor. Mr. Skeleter is going to be disappointed, but I’m sure he’ll be happy to reschedule whenever you’re ready.” Mom says. I laugh and correct her.

“‘Heleter Skeleter’ is just his internet alias. His real name is Brace Kidstar; he’s an orthopedics student. Parkour is just his hobby.”

“Oh.” Mom mutters, making that ‘oops’ face that used to drive my father mad with adoration any time he saw it, despite what always comes next. I should have remembered my mother hates being the only embarrassed person in a room. “No wonder he was chuckling the whole time we spoke. Well, since he’s a medical student and you two seemed to hit it off so well the other day, I almost wish you were more interested in men.”

“Mom!” I almost shout, barely managing to maintain a weakened tone. Rock bursts into uncontrollable laughter and I glare at his doubled figure. I throw the blanket over my face in exaggerated, but very real, mortification when I remember what Rock said about my eyes when I get flustered.

“What? He’s cute, intelligent, and a very nice young man. What more could I ask for, for my son?” Rock begins gasping for air after this comment and I pencil them both into my mental black-book.

“Yeah, well, he’s not into guys either, so take your shipping to the post office.” I spit.

“Oh? Have you asked him?” She counters. I can’t believe I’m getting roasted by my mom.

“You know, some chicken soup sounds pretty good right now, Mom.” I say over Rock’s continued laughter, adding just a few subtle barbs to the words. Mom hums a laugh to herself and rises from the edge of the bed.

“Okay, kiddo, I’ll make you something shortly.” As I hear her foot land on the top step, she calls back, “Such a shame you didn’t get to ask that girl to the dance. Those rehearsals sounded pretty solid last night. I bet you’re gonna sweep this Twilight girl right off her feet!” Rock falls off my desk chair, wheezing through such a fine hole in his throat, I think only dogs and vampires could have heard it. He might actually die.

“Mo-o-o-O-O-M! Come on!” I shout at full volume this time, then mutter a curse to myself.

“Love you!” She answers, a smile in her voice.

Sam Tinnesz - Even If It Hurts

What a life. Un-life?

What is life, anyway? Did you know there's no single universally accepted definition of what constitutes a living being?

Mrs. Glow