“I just need to get hydrated and get some sleep. I’ll be right as rain in the morning,” I told Sophie, even as her face doubled and swam before my eyes.
She smiled at me, although, much like the rest of her, there was no warmth in it. “That’s the spirit.”
Teeth chattering from full-body shivers, I drifted in and out of consciousness as Sophie drove me to my apartment. She waited for me to unlock my front door before she whipped her car back out of my driveway. I was wobbling as I stumbled into the house, lost in that strange floating sensation where I knew I was about to pass out but couldn’t seem to communicate to the rest of my body to get to some soft location for landing.
I just needed to make it to the couch. If I could make it to the couch, the room would stop spinning and I could collect myself long enough to avoid throwing up on my nice, clean carpet. I should call Jane. She’d know what to do, and if she didn’t, she’d Google it until I was on the road to recovery. Digging through my purse, I closed my cold, trembling fingers around my phone before I dropped the bag on the floor.
I flopped face-first onto my sofa, muttering an “ouch” when my forehead collided with a remote control. Vertigo had my head spinning again. Shivering, I pulled a chenille throw from the back of the sofa and dragged it over my body. I prayed for some warmth from the thin material to seep into my skin.
I held the phone in front of my face, struggling to remember how to open my contacts and dial Jane’s number. My eyelids were so heavy it was difficult to focus on the lit screen in front of my face.
Suddenly, a loud ping sounded from the phone. I winced at the noise and squinted at the text scrolling across my screen from Dick.
Hey, Red, just checking in. Jane gave me your # for emergencies.
I frowned. I definitely wasn’t going to tell Dick about my current predicament. He would only use it against me in the argument against my profession. Jane would do the same thing, but she’d be gracious enough not to be smug about it.
Everything is fine. Or at least, that’s what I thought I typed. I couldn’t seem to move my thumbs to the right buttons.
I squinted at the screen. It appeared that I had typed Ensrygtuhn so eufd.
What? Dick replied. You drunk, Red?
Mp, I typed. Jisr q litwwe dixxo.
Where was autocorrect when I needed it? I tried to backspace, undo the message, and explain that I was just a little dizzy, but I ended up hitting send.
Great. Now Dick thought I was some sort of wino. I would have blamed this on autocorrect if I could have seen the stupid screen.
Seriously, you OK?
I wiped at my eyes and forced myself to focus on the phone. The texts were so blurry. The outer edges of the screen were blurry, too, and dark. Getting darker.
The last thing I remembered was my phone ringing—the sound barely rippling across the murky depths of my head. My whole body collapsed like a marionette cut loose from its strings. I felt my hand slap against the side of the couch and heard the clatter of my phone hitting the leg of my coffee table. I couldn’t muster the strength to reach down and pick it up. My head was heavy, and I couldn’t seem to get a deep enough breath. Was this death? After years with vampires, was I going to get taken down by some newborn in a pink cardigan?
A spike of fear flared through my chest. I couldn’t fall asleep. If I fell asleep, I might not wake up . . . I might not . . .
5
You will resist being vulnerable again. You will avoid connecting with others, both human and vampire. This is not healthy. Everybody needs that one friend who will bail them out of jail, no questions asked.
—Surviving the Undead Breakup: A Human’s Guide to Healing
I was swimming through some immense darkness. My head ached with a dull throb that I felt in my teeth, my mouth was so dry that my throat made a clacking sound when I swallowed, and I was shaking so hard that I couldn’t move my fingers.
I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The living room was dark, but I could see weak sunlight peeking around the edges of my window shades. I blinked my eyes and saw pale hands hovering over me and felt a sharp pinch in the back of my hand. Cool fingers stroked my forehead, and Dick’s face appeared over me.
He was smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Those vibrant green orbs were practically glowing with anger and worry and despair. With one arm, he pulled me up on the arm of the couch and propped me against some pillows so I was in a sitting position. He held a glass of water to my lips.
“Come on, Red. Come on, sweetheart. We need to get some fluids in you any way we can.”
“Fluids?” I rasped. I forced my eyes open and saw an IV pole standing next to my couch. I followed the lines from the bag of saline and another of donor blood to the IV ports in the backs of both of my hands. An empty IV bag marked Human Donor Blood lay discarded on the floor.
Dick Cheney had put IV lines into both of my hands. I wasn’t sure how to respond to that.
“’M fine,” I told him, batting my hands at the water he was trying to force into my mouth. When I turned my head away, I felt the pull of medical tape against my skin. A fresh new bandage the size of a postcard had been applied to the bite on my neck. A smaller bandage had been taped over the cut and the bites on my wrist.
“Yeah, you’re a regular Chuck Norris. Come on, baby doll, please drink for me,” he pleaded.
I stared at Dick, doubtful expression in place. But maybe a glass of water would make the freeze-dried squirrel taste in my mouth go away. I nodded and let him lift the glass to my lips.