Porter's room was quiet while we worked. Quiet, of course, except for the ticking of keyboards, the shuffling in chairs, slurps from a can, the bubble of carbonation in the energy drinks, the heartbeats, the breathing. Underneath all that were the sounds that came from the rest of the people in the house: Porter's mom humming, his dad sanding something in the garage, Sid using a sewing machine in the basement while watching Asian dramas. And then there were layers and layers of the same kinds of sounds coming from the houses around us. Somewhere down the street, some guy cursed at his dog. Someone drove a moving van. Someone ate chips. Someone started a shower. Someone watched golf. Someone watched porn.

I began to realize that this was going to be the background music for the rest of my life. Noise. Constant noise I couldn't shut out.

Porter tossed my flash drive at me. I was still thinking about Emily and the drive bounced off my head and landed on the keyboard.

"This arc blows, Nate," said Porter. "The settings are good, but characters are boring and there's no freaking plot."

I knew this, and I hadn't figured out how to resolve it. I did my best work on stories that no one was ever going to see. Writing for Porter was like writing for my grandmother. I censored myself the whole time because I didn't want him to see the way I thought. Writing is like taking your clothes off and dancing for people who don't even like you. The last thing you want to hear is detached commentary on your lack of rhythm or your emaciated narrative or your flaccid prose.

"Sorry," I said.

"Don't apologize. Fix it. Put some sex in it."

"I'll work on it."

"Work fast," Porter said. "I talked Sid into doing the character designs for us, but she's picky and she might back out if she gets bored."

"How did you convince her to do that?" I said. Sid knew art, which was good because none of us did. But I couldn't think of anything Porter would have that Sid wanted. Money wasn't a problem for either of them. They didn't have chores or any other such menial things.

"I'm doing her trig," Porter said.

"Oh."

Porter went back to work. I guess I was supposed to be revising the arc, but all I could do was stare at the words on the screen. I kept thinking about Emily, and how much I wanted to see her even though I knew she was going to rat me out and maybe even kick me in the crotch. Emily. Her blood was so good. Even her name sounded like something that was meant to be tasted. Emmmily.

I could smell everything in the room, from the carpet to the potato chips to the sneakers, but suddenly all I could focus on was the smell of people. Porter and Zero. My canines started to ache, and that's when I realized what I'd been doing. Fantasizing about biting Emily again. I'd only learned two hours ago that she wasn't going to die, and here I was trying to figure out how I could get my hands on her and give it another go.

The tips of my fingers tingled. It was happening again. A day. That's how long all that blood had lasted me. One measly day.

"I have to go," I said. I stood up and started to put stuff back in my bag.

"You're not going anywhere," Porter said. "We have too much work to do."

He said stuff like that all the time. He wasn't being an ass on purpose, he was just very serious about his projects. Most of the time I did what he said. Today I couldn't afford to. It was blow him off or suck his blood.

"I can't," I began, but I didn't know where to go with it. I wasn't used to making up reasons to avoid Porter. "I just remembered I have stuff to do."

He stared at me like I'd lost my mind. "I can't program this arc until you finish it."

"I'll work on it at home tonight, I swear." I slung my bag over my shoulder, and I was all the way to the door before I realized I'd forgotten the sunglasses. I went back and snatched them off the desk. Then I put them on and I hurried out of the room.

I was an idiot. What was I doing, anyway? Playing Normal Life with Joe and Bob? Life was never going to be normal for me again. My number one priority, my only priority, was going to be not hurting people. Friends, the game---none of that was important anymore. I couldn't afford to be this careless.

I almost crashed into Sidney on my way down the stairs. She pressed herself against the wall as I brushed past her. Her blood. I could smell it through her skin. I made myself keep walking. I heard her go up into Porter's room and say, "Why are all your friends so bizarre?"

I heard her go up into Porter's room and say, "Why are all your friends so bizarre?" [https://img.wattpad.com/52124a46f63870c66c52fdfd4eb7160fe7de5478/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f4e7736457a6d3041334e6d436b773d3d2d313335383833333630332e3137366536623661616438646532363133323331303432323534322e706e67?s=fit&w=1280&h=1280]

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Once I got to the street, I felt a little better. It helped not to be in such close proximity to other people. But the tingling was spreading into my hands and feet and I knew I was in trouble. It would take half an hour to walk home, and even if I made it there without hurting anyone, what was I going to do then?

Mom. I had to tell her. There was no other choice, and maybe if I explained to her, made her understand . . .

I shoved the thought away. Absolutely not. This was how it started yesterday. Trying to give myself permission to victimize my own mother. I'd kill myself first.

The sun baked me as I walked. I felt like a bug, and some sadistic bastard was following me with a magnifying glass wherever I went. But I focused on the pain and tried to ignore the sounds of life coming from the houses I passed. I ignored the elderly woman who said hello to me as she retrieved her mail. I ignored the house with the little kid's birthday party going on inside.

After a few minutes, I heard a car slow down behind me. It pulled over to the curb and stopped. I turned around to see Sidney, driving her Lexus.

"You okay?" she called.

"Not feeling so great."

"Well, get in. Let me take you home."

I shook my head and kept walking. Women and cars. No more women and cars. Never again.

"Nate," she said, in that irritated, big-sister voice that she always used on Porter. "It's going to take you forever to walk home. I can have you there in ten minutes. You just got beat up, anyway. You shouldn't be out walking around."

Great. How many other people had Porter told about that?

"I'm fine," I said.

"You're a weenie. Real men can admit when they need help."

She was going to need help if I got in the car with her. Although, there might be some wisdom to letting her take me home. A few minutes alone with Sid, versus an hour of trying to restrain myself as I walked past houses full of elderly people and little children.

Now, at this point, if you're starting to suspect that I was talking myself into accepting the ride so I could get at Sidney, you'd be right. I know enough now to catch myself doing stuff like that. But, back then? No. I thought I was being logical.

I opened the door and got in.

"You look terrible," Sid said.

I clutched my knees and tried to not think about how good she smelled. I said, "Just drive, please."

Mercifully, she put the car into drive and pulled out.

I wish I'd thought a little harder before accepting the ride. With the windows rolled up, it only took a minute for Sidney's smell to fill the car and saturate my brain. I could barely remember why I wasn't supposed to get blood from her. Only that it was strictly forbidden. I would not do it.

"So, I suppose Porter told you about Emily," Sid suddenly said.

"Uh-huh."

"Did he tell you what happened to her?"

"He didn't know."

"I do."

I looked at her. Her eyes were on the road. Her throat pulsed just below the edge of her jaw. I tore my eyes away and focused out the window.

"Oh, yeah?" I said.

"Her blood was gone. Not all of it, but a lot. She had to have a transfusion."

Blood. Emily's blood. Sidney's blood. I ran a hand through my hair and tried to stay lucid.

"That's weird."

"Not as weird as the fact that there wasn't a mark on her. Just a couple of hickeys."

She stopped at a red light, and I could feel her looking at me. I turned my head and looked at her, too. She was studying me with her icy gray eyes, and I started to worry. She looked clever. Way too clever. Not confined to the ideas of real and unreal, the way Porter was. Maybe being in this car with her wasn't such a good idea.

"How did you hear about that?" I said. Just curious. Not suspicious at all.

"We used to be friends, believe it or not. I still have my sources."

"Oh."

"We hung out all the time. Birthday parties, slumber parties, that kind of thing. She still lives in the same old house. 916 Maple Drive. Two houses down from you. Did you know?"

I had no idea which answer was the right one. Which was more likely to deflect attention away from me. And then I realized that waiting so long to answer was more damning than a simple yes or no would have been. The light turned green, and Sid smiled. She put her eyes back on the road and drove.

"Do you think you could let me out?" I said. "I need some fresh air."

She rolled down my window.

"There you go," she said.

I couldn't breathe. I had been so worried about the police, but I should have realized it would take a cynical teenager with a pitch-black imagination to start putting things together. Still, the instinct to protect myself was stronger than my integrity.

"I don't know why you're telling me all that stuff about Emily," I said.

"Me, either. I just have this feeling it's all connected. You're slinking around like a bad dog, and every time I say her name you get this guilty look on your face."

"Let me out, okay?"

"I'm not trying to trap you. Whatever the two of you did, it's done. She's not going to die. I couldn't care less about that part, but the point is I have no reason to tell on you."

Trapped. I was definitely trapped. And the more cornered I felt, the more I wanted to put my teeth into Sidney's neck. I could feel them growing, and I pressed my lips together to hide it.

"Nate," she said, and this time her voice was a little softer. "You can tell me if you want. Yes, I'm curious bordering on perversion. I can't help it. But I can tell the secret is killing you. So the offer is there."

The car stopped in front of my driveway. My mother's car was gone, thank god. She'd left for work already.

Here was the part where I was supposed to fling myself out of the car and dart for the cover of my house. The thing was, I kind of did want to tell her. Everything. I don't know why. I didn't even know her that well. She was always around when I hung out at Porter's, but it's not like we were friends. She was a junior, I was a sophomore. She was cool, for a geek; I didn't even aspire to be cool. But it was something about the matter-of-fact look in her eyes. The way that nothing seemed to scare her. And she was safe, in a way. My mom would die to learn what I'd done to Emily, but what did Sid care? Who was I on her radar, other than one of her brother's bizarre friends?

"How do I know I can trust you?" I said around my teeth. My voice was all distorted, but I don't know if she noticed.

"You don't," she said. "If you don't think you can trust me, then don't tell me."

For whatever reason, that was the answer I needed to hear. I turned my face toward her and bared my teeth.