Six days. Fifteen calls. Seventeen messages.

While Camila's body purged Yohan’s blood from her system, hallowing her insides and emptying her stomach, she watched the phone turn on and off, beaming his name. Between the cold tiled floor and the saliva-filled toilet, she replayed the moments in her head, horrid memories flashing in her eyes. The horror and confusion on Yohan’s face, the taste of his skin, and the blood on her tongue.

She showed him a dangerous part of herself, and the pleasure of his skin outweighed the guilt of pushing him against the wall. Yet, she laid her body on the cold floor until it hurt to move her head or fingers, pushing her body to punishment for such enjoyment. Her tired body now lies on the floor, saliva dripping on the side of her mouth. There's no hunger in her stomach or ribs, but rather a desire for something else.

Camila crawls to the small white fridge, crawling at the gallon filled with pig blood. The red liquid drips on the side of her mouth; It burns the nostrils, sharp and coppery, with an underlying sweetness that is almost sickening. Camila shakes the gallon, stomach still empty and rumbling.

It takes three hours for her to move, shower, and dress. She walks out of the cold apartment, allowing the moon to bathe her face. A quick glimpse at the glass of a closed restaurant and Camila grimaces. She looks sickly with dark bags and red eyes. It’s a surprise that they allow her in; the bouncer takes one hard look at her, examining her from head to toe, and nods.

Studio 90 smells of cigarettes, a mix of body odor and alcohol. It's disgusting enough that she heads to the bar, orders a Jungle Juice, and nurses the drink. Camila stalks the bodies on the dance floor moving with the flow of the music, mouth salivating at the erratic pulse under the music.

From her left, a man swoops in orders a cranberry vodka, and turns to Camila. He swirls his drink until Camila acknowledges him and looks in his direction. Despite the dim blue and purple lights, she makes out ruffled brown hair that falls on his eyes but does not cover them, button-nose, thin lips, straight bushy eyebrows, and light dark circles. He doesn't smell like Yohan, but if she closes her eyes and remembers the scent of his dirty shirt, it almost feels like he’s in front of her.

"Hi,"

The man smiles and leans in on her ear. "Hi. The name is Nick. You don't come here often, do you?" He asks.

Camila ignores the idiotic question, hearing his veins. She shakes her head and leans in, tossing her hair over her shoulder to show her neck. "No. It's my first time."

His lips curl and he nods, "What are you looking for tonight?"

There's a hint of suggestion in his voice. A small tinge of hope as he gets closer to her, invading her space until his shoes are touching hers, the smell of old spice lingering in her nose.

"My ex-boyfriend broke up with me. I'm looking for a rebound," Camila replies, not an inch of sarcasm in her voice.

She tries to smile at the end of her reply, an effort to make herself look normal. Despite there being no truth in her statement, it almost feels like she’s not lying to him, only twisting the truth.

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Nick laughs, "A rebound? I have some...experience with that."

"My place or yours?" She asks him tilted slightly to the left. Her hand falls on his biceps, giving it a small squeeze, and despite the willing gesture, her face twitches.

“Why don’t…we meet some of my friends first?”

Camila bites the inside of her cheek, and somehow, Nick perceives her silence as a yes, and he pulls her towards the dancing crowd. They push through people pushing and pulling, with their arms swaying above their head. When they pass through the crowd, Camila sees the table Nick maneuvers them to. A chill runs down her spine, watching Nico run pale as the woman beside him touches his arm.

He shoves her, and she huffs turning her attention to another man, who grins and offers her a drink. Nick brings Camila closer, allowing her to see a heavy-lidded Yohan, being caressed by a woman in a tight leopard dress. Yohan looks over at her, his eyes wide and lips apart.

“Nick,” Nico drawls out, “Thought you would’ve been halfway into Florida, by now.”

Nick shrugs, a smile painted on his face. “Changed the plans and it worked for me.” He purrs the last words looking at Camila who’s still staring at the woman's grip on Yohan’s arm. Rage clutches her face and Camila’s nose twitches. There’s something else underneath that controls Camila's senses and forces her to watch the woman bring her face close to Yohan’s neck. Her eyes glow brown, and for a second Camila is convinced the woman is one of her kind.

A pull from her hand forces Camila to look to the side, and Nick stares at her with his eyebrows raised. “You don’t want to linger for a little?”

Camila turns pulling Nick's hands off her, “I’m going home.”

Nick scoffs, and Camila’s stomach jumps. It’s not anger, anxiety, but an unknown feeling that attacks her intestines pushing and pulling them aside. She can hear Nick's voice through the crowd calling her until she’s out of the club. Camila inhales the alcohol-infested air, at the same time, Nick appears behind her.

“Hey, come on. Look, we can leave now.”

“Not interested anymore.”

Camila walks away from the club, empty bottles and piss hound her nose, yet Nick is persistent and walks behind her. She can feel him extend his hand, then a sudden grip on her shoulder that makes her stop. She swings around and although they’re in the dark, she can make out his face better than inside the club.

“Come on. I’ll pay you for the night, I have money.” Nick's voice is rough, almost aggravating as he caresses the skin of her shoulder. “How much do you want?”

Under his eyes, Camila somehow feels like a cockroach, powerless and small. “I’m not interested.” She grabs his hand, slightly twisting it until she can feel his bones move and he shrieks, inching away from her.

“Okay, okay”, he hisses and moves away. She hears him curse as he walks away and heads back inside the club. Camila’s body feels stiff, staring at the long line of people lingering in each other’s presence while they throw their burnt cigarettes on the ground.

She smells jasmine and musk when Yohan comes out of the club, coat floating behind him as the wind blows softly. She looks down, feeling her cheeks bloom red when he whispers her name. There’s a heat in her stomach that she can only describe as utterly disgusting yet amatory. When she turns away, her name is called out again by his sultry voice.

Yohan is quick on her heels, and she lets him pull her wrist, twisting her body until they’re eye to eye. “You left me.” He begins, “Why?”

“It’s best if we keep our…distance from now on. I’m protecting you.” The words leave her lips, and she almost regrets them when Yohan’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“That’s not up to you. I can my own decisions.” His voice isn’t rough, but there is an edge to it as he keeps her wrist wrapped around his hand.

Camila scoffs, “I almost killed you that night. And tonight…if I wanted to, I could scatter your body where no one will ever find you, not even your brother. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Her words linger in the hair, and as Yohan lets them sink in, his expression doesn’t change. He simply looks exhausted and pained. “You kill me tonight or tomorrow is up to you but please…don’t leave.”