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“I did.” And I hated myself for it.

“And she’s the reason you left California?”

I opted, to be as honest as possible. “Yes, I tried to stay there and coexist, but my presence put people in danger.”

“What’s that mean?” Chanel took another drink of water from her glass.

“Teresa killed a woman I went on two dates with. An innocent woman I barely knew. A woman died only because she casually knew me. I had to leave. I knew I would never forgive her, so I left L.A. I disappeared. I moved somewhere I knew shewouldn’t look for me. It took her five years to find me here in Chicago.”

“Five years is a long time to disappear.” Chanel placed her glass down on the kitchen island.

“It is. I refuse to believe she’s been pining away for me after all this time. I don’t understand her motivation for coming here, staying here and then murdering all those innocent women. Why did she turn Marisol? After all the things she’s done, it feels like I never knew her.”

“That was the same feeling I had with Lonzo. I thought I knew him, and I didn’t. He was a monster.”

Chanel reached for her purse and accidentally knocked her water glass off the edge of the island. The glass collided with the floor, sending broken pieces of glass in all directions.

I instinctively bent to clean it up. Chanel knelt too. I grabbed a large shard of glass. I didn’t even feel it pierce my finger. I only noticed it when I felt Chanel’s eyes on me.

“Oh, my god. You’re bleeding.”

My eyes peered down to my finger, and she was right. I was bleeding. I stood when Chanel did. She reached out and grabbed my hand, inspecting the cut on my index finger. Before I could tell her, it will heal in under a minute, she put my finger in her mouth to stop the bleeding.

It took less than two seconds before she realized what she was doing. I could see the panic spread across her face.

She took a step back, and I caught her by the wrist. Be careful. Broken glass.” I warned.

“Oh.” There was still alarm altering her features.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I tasted your blood. I mean, drank it. I don’t know. What’s that mean? What’s that mean?” She frantically asked.

I took her other wrist in my hand. “Chanel, it doesn’t mean anything. That’s not how it works.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. You’re shaking. Babe, you’re not going to be a vampire. You could drink a gallon of my blood, and it wouldn’t make the difference.”

I took a step over the broken glass that was on the floor. I released her wrists and took Chanel’s hand. I led her out of the kitchen and into the living room. I pulled her to sit beside me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I freaked out.”

“It’s okay. My cut is healed. You’re still human. All is right with the world.”

Chanel chuckled, but I could see she was still unnerved.

“I have to work on my reflexes.” I told her. “I didn’t know you were going to put my finger in your mouth.” I tried to make light of the situation.

“I didn’t know I was going to do that. I can’t believe I put your bloody finger in my mouth.”

“What did it taste like?” I asked.

“I don’t know. It was so quick.” Chanel’s panic changed into curiosity. “Does blood turn you on? Or is it just food for survival?”

“Your blood turns me on.” I licked my lips, reminiscing on its rich flavor. “A stranger’s blood would just be nourishment. The blood bags are just nourishment.”

“My blood turns you on,” she said, not as a question but as a diagnosis, an unwrapping of a secret I’d never meant to show her.