Jane woke up extremely happy today. Who wouldn't, if hundreds of thousands of dollars had fallen right into their laps?
The seat next to her was empty, and it remained that way even after the lesson began. Peter had chosen her for a purpose, and whatever it was, he had achieved it.
When class finished, the unexpected-and-expected one showed up. He was waiting outside the door, leaning against the stone column with his hands in his pockets.
"I said I can go there by myself," she silently protested, stepping into the space next to him.
"But isn't it better to have someone pick you up?"
The question suddenly brought Jane back to the few times her father would wait outside her school with an ice cream cone in his hand. And though she was sick of the flavors, not once did Jane not eat them.
As they walked, their path strayed away from the usual route to the club. The splashing of the water fountain grew louder, and Jane quickly realized where they were headed: the front gate.
"We are picking up my lawyer," he said.
The lawyer was standing at the security booth. The guards had him standing with his arm raised to the side while a metal detector swept him from head to toe.
Beep-Beep-Beep.
"My piercing, again," the lawyer sighed, pulling his collar out to reveal a snakebite piercing on his collarbone.
The lawyer and the guard shared a friendly handshake before he walked over to join them. He seemed young, no older than twenty-five, but looks were deceptive around here.
"So this is the girl?" he asked. "I'm Lauren."
"Jane."
Then he shook her hand too.
The rest of the process went smoothly. She was promised 540,000$ for the three months, plus a 60,000$ bonus if the market was "exciting"—his word.
"Did you bring your ID?" Peter asked.
"Here."
It was awkward at first, admitting to Peter that she had no bank account. But Peter didn't show any emotion; he only told her to bring the ID to the signing. And now she knew why.
By next week, Lauren would step in the gate with a functional bank account in her name, and step out with 500 milliliters of blood in his hands.
"Thanks. A lot," Jane said.
Peter helped her. It didn't matter that he was probably benefiting greatly from their deal, too. She would still be grateful.
Jane didn't have any dreams or goals. If she had one, it was to be a nameless speck of dust in the air, just drifting with the wind until the end of time.
Kidding. Her dream was to own a small house. Something cozy, with a living room that connected to a big balcony, and preferably, no guest room. Thanks to him, she could actually start envisioning that life.
Peter stared at her. He stared and stared for so long Jane started to wonder whether she was being too expressive.
"I never would have imagined that money was the closest way to your heart," he laughed softly, half of his face buried in his hand.
"What? Do I look like someone who doesn't love money?"
"No. You just look like someone who's deprived of life."
Still smiling, Peter gently wrapped his hand around her wrist. He pushed the door open again. Only this time, it wasn't the way out.
"This is Jane. A friend of mine."
She stood in front of the same table with the same vampires, but they no longer stared at her with those leering looks.
The spiky punk was Arlo, while the other one—who Jane recalled wasn't any better—was Samuel.
Arlo offered a cocktail, and she accepted it willingly. The ombre pink glowing from the freezing glass was calling her to take a sip. She tried it, then put it down. It still tasted like alcohol, but mixed with a lingering fruity sweetness.
Nevertheless, Jane picked it up again every time she didn't know what to say. And before she knew it, glass after glass was emptied.
Her head unconsciously nodded along with the melody. She started to understand why people liked this place.
The music was loud, and the lights were dim. In an atmosphere as such, everyone could say whatever they wanted, and no one would have heard it. They could cry, or they could act crazy, be themselves, or be another self for one night, and no one would ever remember.
She leaned her head back against the leather couch and stared up. There were tiny dots of light scattering across the dark ceiling, mimicking a sky full of stars.
"What are you looking at?" Arlo asked. She seemed lost in her own world, and how could that be more wonderful than the one right in front of her?
"Your tongue. I thought you were a masochist at first." Jane had also mistaken the piercing for a grain of rice, but he didn't need to know that. Just like he didn't have to know she was trying to connect the ceiling lights to create the Dippers.
"And we thought you were a killer."
His words brought her back down to earth. Arlo took a sip of his drink, the rim of the glass covering the lower half of his face, leaving only a pair of dark blue eyes staring right at her.
"With what? This?" she smirked, pointing to her chest. Jane was a bit dizzy and sluggish from the alcohol, but she had trained herself to deny everything. To completely erase him from her mind.
It wasn't that hard. At first, she was scared of being found out. Then, she feared that she had killed an innocent, harmless vampire with no intention to kill her—just a "fetish," they said. So she tormented herself by pretending to mourn his death. But it was just an act. And who was she even acting for? Deep down, she never once regretted killing him.
Suddenly, her heart skipped a beat.
Something was wrong… something… a tiny detail… had just slipped through her mind…
"You have made quite a few enemies, though." Arlo's voice cut through her thoughts. "Right there."
She followed his gaze to see James sitting two tables across from them. It was hard not to pay attention to him when he was glaring at her with such hatred.
Jane was the first to break eye contact. Looking back, there were a lot of shady things about the whole situation—he bullied her, and Rose stepped in. Yeah, it was too convenient, and Rose wasn't that nice. But what comes shall come.
Jane slid lower on the couch. Her chin was merging into her neck when she caught sight of another familiar face, Jack. He looked very… punchable.
"Do you need to bite me today?" Jane turned to Peter. Thank god he was a vampire, so she didn't have to lean over and speak into his ear.
"No. Unless you want to. Why?" Peter asked, eyeing her lazy posture and the sloshing glass in her hand. He attempted to confiscate the drink, but it was a failed mission.
"I want to poison someone," Jane smiled. She pulled out the pill and swallowed it down with the rest of her cocktail.
Peter watched as she blended into the crowd. He saw her glance back over her shoulder, but she wasn't looking at him.
Then, another figure followed her path. A buzzcut vampire. Jack—Valensko's dog, whose sense of smell was as keen as the animal's.
"Aren't you going to help?" Samuel asked.
Peter didn't answer. He just kept his eyes on the situation, quietly enjoying the bourbon in his hand.
They watched Jane's figure disappear from view as Jack entered the picture. He towered over her, and the vein in his neck became prominent as he buried his head into her neck.
Samuel turned away. He already knew what was going to happen next. But just as his eyes drifted, Jack's body collapsed, exposing Jane under the dimming lights once again.
There was no fear on her face. She took a step back—not to run, but simply to observe Jack as he almost fell to his knees on the floor.
Jack wiped his mouth aggressively, snatching a glass of water from a nearby table.
"Hey!" The people sitting there objected, but they all quickly shut up when they saw his state.
"What did you do with your blood?" he grunted, choking.
Jane was going to say, "Nothing. Your mouth just tastes bad," but she suddenly wasn't in the mood to play with him anymore.
"This is how it will be whenever your fangs touch my neck," she said bluntly, turning to walk away the second the sentence ended. She hated the way he was looking at her, as if she had done something unforgivable. It was her blood. She could do whatever she wanted with it.
Suddenly, her body was jolted backward, slamming hard into his chest.
"Where do you think you're going?" he muttered, bending down. His breath brushed against her ear with every word.
Jane resisted the urge to cover her ear and scrub the feeling away, but her impatience still bled through.
"Away from yo—"
The word stuck in her throat. His hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing it to force her chin higher.
"Careful, Jane. You're no longer Rose's pet," his voice softened. "It's best if you find someone immediately, someone who is still interested. So I will ask again. What did you do to your blood?"
He loosened his grip just enough, waiting for Jane to give him the answer he wanted to hear.
"None. Of. Your. Business." She twisted her head to look at him dead in the eye. Her daring expression never faded.
His hand tightened instantly, pressing on her vocal cord.
"You think I can't do anything just because your blood is spoiled?" he smirked. "Do you know what else I tasted that day, Jane, that made it so unforgettable? Your emotions. You wanted to dig your finger through my throat, to rip out my tongue, didn't you? If those ugly feelings were that delicious, I can't imagine how fear would taste on you, Ja—"
"Why don't you bite in now and find out?"
Jack froze. A complete coldness swept through his body when their eyes met. He hesitated, but it didn't stop him from accepting her invitation. And when he finally bit her, he understood it wasn't coldness in her eyes—it was pure emptiness.
What is this? What is this heaviness inside his chest?
He pressed on his bone, pinching the skin, squeezing the meat. This… this feeling. He was behind his eyes, watching his hand clawing and mutilating his own body.
No, he doesn't want this. He doesn't want to feel this... this pain. Help! Help! Someone help! But why couldn't he speak? Why wouldn't his limbs follow? Move, move, MOVE!
Jane shoved him off her neck. The blood from his chest blended into one with her blazer. Jack collapsed on the ground, the front of his shirt dyed red.
She dove deeper into the crowd. The darkness embraced her, and anyone blessed under its softness. They laughed, they danced, they immersed in lust and in pleasure. Their clothes and their bare skin rubbed against hers—suffocating, disgusting—but she kept moving forward, until she couldn't.
"What's wrong? Did he hurt you?"
A familiar voice, the same concerned face. Liar. He could have helped, but he waited until now.
"I want the venom."
"You know I can't. You have polluted your—"
"Then give me the drug. I know you have it."
The words came out steady and firm, dropping from a relaxed throat. Peter caught the difference in her tone, but her eyes were what anchored him. They were two black holes, pushing him out instead of pulling him in.
"This is too dangerous for you, Jane," he said, his eyebrows knitted together while his voice softened. "It's made for us, so the dose will be higher. And you're not in the right state of mind."
"Isn't that what you want?" she smirked. "To see me go out of control, to see how much more interesting I can be. Stop acting, Peter. Would you really prepare a new pill just for me? So give."
Peter's face went still. Then, his features relaxed, and his mouth twisted into a charming smile.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the white pill, and caught it between his teeth.
"Here. Come get it."
And Jane did. She stood on her tiptoes, her hand gripping his shirt as she pulled him down. Their lips crashed. His hands were on her waist, squeezing her tightly against him.
Crack. The pill broke in half—one piece for him, one for her. The fragments ran between their mouths, pushed and pulled through every corner, until they dissolved into a silver string.
The pain in her lips disappeared, replaced by a warm, electric numbness. They held onto each other, floating weightless in the dark. She wanted to laugh, so her joy spilled over into a breathless laugh. He looked into her eyes, and then he laughed too, for whatever reason, they couldn't tell.