Page 32 of Bite Back

DELILAH

“Let me get this straight—”

“Homophobic,” Kirby interjects as Sarah and I finish our shift and claim a table in the corner of the bar.

A laugh sparkles in Sarah’s throat, a sound that’s been too rare since Declan came by. Dark circles rim her eyes, purple under the glow of the neon signs on the wall, and her nails are bitten short. Kirby and I have asked her repeatedly if she wants to talk about it. She doesn’t.

So instead, we’re dissecting my latest interaction with Asher.

Sarah nods in Kirby’s direction. “Correction. Let me clarify: you and Asher are going on a road trip together? And you did karaoke together?”

My mind fills in all the questions she leaves unspoken. What’s between you and Asher? Can you forgive him? Can you trust him? Can you trust yourself?

Okay, that last one’s just me. But the question hangs heavy on my heart. My gaze follows the burls on the tabletop in front of us. Tangled and twisted, like my emotions. I feign a lightness I don’t feel.

“Yes, a road trip. To follow a lead. To find Luka.” Even now, his name tastes like ash in my mouth.

“Sure,” Kirby draws the word out, extending it out four or five syllables.

“Really.” I flop back, my arms colliding with the leather of the booth.

Sarah nudges me, needling my ribs. “Really? Really?” She and Kirby dissolve into a fit of giggles, and then Sarah turns to Kirby with a mock seriousness. “What’s our verdict? Do we like this Asher?”

Kirby strokes a finger over her chin, a portrait of consideration. “Jury’s still out.”

Sarah leans in, searching my face. “But really? How are you feeling about everything?”

I pause. How am I feeling about everything?

Like there’s a storm inside me. Like everything’s been turned upside down. Turning and churning.

Unsettled. Uncertain. Untethered. There’s only one thing I’m sure of and one thing I cling to. My anger at Luka. My desire for vengeance.

But anything beyond that, anything more?

How do you trust yourself when everything you’ve wanted, everything you’ve believed in and hoped for, has crumbled to the ground?

I bite my lip, the sharpness provoking clarity.

“I don’t know.” It’s the truth. My head sinks into my hands. “I really don’t know. I wish I knew. I wish I could say I like him, I’m falling for him. But, with Luka, I fell for a lie. I can’t do that again. And I’m not even sure there’s a way forward. Even if I wanted him.”

“Oh, he wants you,” Kirby says. “He’d be a fool not to.”

I feel like a schoolkid, wondering if my crush like likes me.

It’s hard to imagine what happens next if he does. Could I fall in love again? Love. There’s something so scary about that word. So many other things that masquerade as it. So many bad things done in the name of it. We’re not there yet. And I don’t think we can get there.

Like, though. Lust. Those are things I can handle. I want Asher. And he wants me.

Or wanted. Despite what Kirby claims, I’m not sure if he knows what he’s feeling.

I groan into my hands. “Does he?”

Sarah purses her lips. “I’m not sharing popcorn dates with people I don’t like.”

Kirby mimes eating popcorn. And we dissolve again into laughter.

Our laughter echoes in my ears as I head home.

Sarah and Kirby opted to linger at Hector’s, but exhaustion weighs heavy on me.

My footfalls echo on the concrete, melding with the throbbing bass spilling out of a window above.

The beat calls to mind the pulsing music of Aconite.

Images bloom in my mind, the red glow of the street lights morphing into the strobing lights of the club.

The pink hues gleam off the shiny black of a leather jacket.

Asher. No. Luka. A fanged smile traces across his lips as he pulls me onto the dancefloor.

A car horn blares.

I shake my head.

But snatches of nights with Luka, days with Luka, the good times, the bad times continue to replay in my head as I wiggle the key in the lock and mount the stairs to Sarah’s apartment. The darkness of the stairwell feels like an embrace.

It was all so nice. So why is bile rising in my throat, an acidic burn tracing its way from my stomach to my mouth? The apartment’s front door groans open, and I kick off my shoes.

When I was with Kirby and Sarah, it wasn’t like this. I felt…full. Normal. Good, even. But now my body and brain riot, screaming, spiraling, protesting. A hollow emptiness thrums inside me now that I’m alone.

I stalk to the kitchen, the wood floors rough under my bare feet. My toes curl into a knot beneath them, tracing out the uneven spiral. There’s a wine rack, and I peruse it aimlessly. The thought of pouring the liquid down my throat makes it parched. It’s not what I need. Not what I crave.

I reach towards the fridge, my fingers brushing the cool metal of the handle. I pause. Is this who I am? I’m not hungry. I made sure I had my fill earlier at Hector’s.

But even without the clawing hunger commanding me, the blood still calls to me like a siren. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I’m hyperaware of the press of my fangs on my lip.

Fuck it.

I yank open the fridge door and grab a bag of blood.

Inspiration strikes me, and I seize a wine bottle as well, giving the label a cursory examination.

Good. Nothing fancy, nothing expensive. I twist off the screw top and upend the bottle over the sink.

The dark liquid glugs down, circling the drain.

Two thirds of the liquid spills out before I right the bottle.

The remaining liquid swishes as I bring it over to the blood bag.

Carefully, I marry the two, pouring the blood into the wine bottle.

The blood produces a satisfying splash as it hits the remaining wine.

Plugging the top with my thumb, I slosh them together once the bottle’s full, mixing the two together. I bring my thumb to my lips, painting them with the residue from my efforts. Sweetness explodes across my tongue, cut through with the earthy, oaky aftertaste of the wine. A sigh escapes me.

I take my spoils back to the sofa, sinking and settling into the cushions.

My limbs sprawl out, mimicking a relaxation I don’t feel.

Praline settles on my chest, butting my chin to demand attention, and, obediently, my fingers stroke her soft fur.

I’m in denial she’ll be staying with Asher for a bit once we’re back from tomorrow’s road trip.

Her presence pushes my churning thoughts from the forefront of my mind, but the anxieties still tangle at the edges of my consciousness.

I draw a swig from the bottle, chugging down the concoction and wishing I could drag my thoughts down with it, swallow them whole.

But as Luka and Asher’s faces dance behind my closed eyes I fear the opposite is true. My thoughts might drown me.