Bite Me_ A Love Story Part 16

"Why? She's my girlfriend. I wouldn't hurt her."

"She's my BFF," said Jared. "He's the one who can't be trusted."

"I'm taking her with me. I'm not going out there without someone watching my back. Haven't you ever seen a horror movie? When you split up and go off by yourself, that's when the monster gets you."

"I thought in this movie you were the monster," Foo said.

"Only if you don't do what I say," Tommy said, a little surprised to hear himself say it. "Wake her up, Foo."

JODY.

The last thing she remembered before burning up were the orange socks. And here they were again, fluorescent orange, highway safety orange socks, at the base of a tiny, blood-encrusted man who was fussing about at some sort of workbench.

"Well, don't you look yummy," she said, and she was surprised at the sound of her own voice: dry, weak, and ancient.

The little man turned, startled at first, but then he composed himself, bowed, and said something in j.a.panese. Then, "Sorry," in English.

"It's okay," she said. "This isn't the first time I've woken up in a strange man's apartment where I can't remember how I got there." This was, however, the first time she remembered where she had been on fire at the end of the night. Before it had gone quite that far, the girls she worked with held a lunchtime intervention in which each told her, frankly and sincerely, as people who loved her, that she was a drunken s.l.u.t who took all the hot guys at the TGIF bar crawl every week and she needed to knock it the f.u.c.k off. So she did.

Now, as in those days, she was disoriented, but unlike those days, it didn't even occur to her to be afraid.

The little j.a.panese man bowed again, then took a square-pointed knife from his workbench and approached her shyly, his head down, saying something that sounded very much like an apology. Jody held up her hand to wave him off, say, "Hey, back off there, cowboy," but when she saw her hand, an ash-white desiccated claw, the words caught in her throat. The little man paused just the same.

Her arms, her legs? She pulled up the kimono-her stomach, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s-she was shrunken, like a mummy. The effort exhausted her and she fell back into the pillow.

The little man shuffled forward and held his hand up. There was a bandage on his thumb. She watched as he raised his hand, pulled off the bandage, and put the point of the knife to the wound that was already there. She caught his knife hand and ever so gently, pushed it down.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No."

She couldn't imagine what her face might look like. The ends of her hair were like brittle red straw. What must she have looked like before he had done this, done this too much, she could see.

"No."

With him close, she could smell the blood on him. It wasn't human. Pig. It smelled of pig, although she didn't know how she might know that. When she had been at her best she would have smelled blood on someone just walking by on the sidewalk. It wasn't only her strength that was gone, her senses were nearly as dull as when she had been human.

The little man waited. He had bowed, but did not rise up again. Wait, he held his head aside, his throat open. He was bending down so she could drink. Knowing what she was, he was giving himself to her. She touched his cheek with the back of her hand and when he looked she shook her head. "No. Thank you. No."

He stood, looked at her, waited. She smelled the dried blood on the back of her hand, tasted it. She had tasted it before. She felt something tacky in the corner of her mouth-yes, it was the pig blood. The hunger wrenched through her, but she fought it down. He had fed her his own blood, obviously, but also pig's blood. How long? How far had he brought her?

She gestured for him to bring her paper and something to write with. He brought her a sketch pad and a broad square carpenter's pencil. She drew a map of Union Square, then drew a crude figure of a woman and wrote down numbers, many numbers, her sizes. What about money? Rivera would have her things from the room, but she had hidden most of the money in another spot. From the brick-work in the apartment, the window frames, the angle of streetlights coming down from above, she guessed she was in a bas.e.m.e.nt apartment right near where she'd been running on Jackson Street. Nowhere else in the City looked like this, was this old. She pointed to herself and the little man and then to the map.

He took it from her and drew an X, X, then quickly drew a stick version of the Transamerica Pyramid. Yes. They were on Jackson Street. She wrote a " then quickly drew a stick version of the Transamerica Pyramid. Yes. They were on Jackson Street. She wrote a "$" where she'd hidden the money, then scratched it out. It was hidden in a locked electrical junction box high on a roof, where she had been able to climb easily, two floors above the highest fire escape. This frail little guy would never get there.

The little man smiled and nodded, pointing to the dollar sign. He went to his workbench, opened a wooden box, and held up a handful of bills. "Yes," he said.

"Okay, then, I guess you're buying me an outfit."

"Yes," he said.

She made a drinking gesture, then nodded. He nodded and held up the knife again.

"No, you can't afford it. Animal." She thought about making a piggy sound, but wasn't sure that might not give him the wrong idea, so she drew a stickman on the sketch pad, then Xed it out and drew a first-grade stick piggy, a stick sheep, and a Jesus fish. He nodded.

"Yes," he said.

"If you bring me a Christian petting zoo I'm going to be disappointed, Mr.-uh-" Well, this was embarra.s.sing. "Well, you're not the first guy I've ever woken up with whose name I don't remember." Then she stopped herself and patted his arm. "I'm sounding really s.l.u.tty, I know, but the truth is I used to be afraid to sleep alone." She looked around the little apartment, at the meticulously arranged tools on the workbench, the one pair of little shoes, and the white silk kimono he had wrapped her in.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank you," he said.

"My name is Jody," she said, pointing to herself. She pointed to him, wondering if that might not be rude in his culture. But he had already seen her nude and burned up, so perhaps they were past formality. He seemed okay with it.

"Okata," he said.

"Okata," she said.

"Yes," he said, with a big smile.

His gums were receded, which made him look like he had big horse teeth, but then Jody touched her tongue to her fangs, which it seemed were not retracting in her new, dried-up state, and she realized that she should probably be less judgmental.

"Go, okay?" She pointed to the sketch pad.

"Okay," he said. He gathered up his things, put on his stupid hat, and was ready to leave, when she called to him.

"Okata?"

"Yes."

She made a face-was.h.i.+ng gesture and pointed to him. He went to the little mirror over the sink, looked at himself covered with blood, and laughed, his eyes crinkled into high smiles themselves. He looked over his shoulder at her, laughed again, then scrubbed his face with a cloth until he was clean and went to the door.

"Jody," he said. He pointed to the stairs outside. "No. Okay?"

"Okay," she said.

When he was gone, she crawled from the futon and stumbled from there to the workbench, where she rested before trying to move farther, to look at Okata's work. Wood block prints, some finished, some with only two or three of the colors on them, proofs perhaps. They were a series, the progression of a black, skeletal monster against a yellow futon, then the gradual filling in of the figure. The care, wrapping her in the kimono, feeding her his blood. The last print was still in the sketch stage. He must have been working on it when she awoke. A sketch on thin rice paper had been glued to the wood block and he was carving away the material for the outline-the black ink in the other prints. They were beautiful, and precise, and simple, and sad. She felt a tear rise and turned so as not to drip blood on the print.

How would she tell him? Would she point at the first sketch, the one where the figure looked like a medieval woodcut of Death himself, and point to his frail chest?

"The first thing I noticed when I saw you was the life aura around you, and it was black. That's why I wouldn't let you give me your blood, Okata. You are dying."

"Okay," he would say. "Thank you," he would say, with his newly found grin.

19.

Being the Chronicles of Abby Normal: Oh Day Dwellers Doth Betray Me?

My heart has been torn asunder, and I am faced with the revelation that my most awesome-haired mad scientist of pa.s.sion may in fact be an uncaring a.s.sbag who has sullied my innocence and whatnot and then cruelly cast me aside. So, that sucks.

'Kayso, like it says in the Bible, "with great power, comes great responsibility," which I totally learned by pus.h.i.+ng my vamp abilities too far in trying to show off for Foo by diving through our boarded-up windows. So I was "doh," and I pa.s.sed out-real pa.s.sed out, like head-injury pa.s.sed out, not vampyre pa.s.sed out. But in my unconsciousness, Foo and Jared gave me blood, and I healed, so when I woke up in the bedroom, I came leaping out into the living area, my claws ready to rend flesh and kick a.s.s.

And I was all, "Rawr!"

And who do I see there but the vampyre Flood, my most recently escaped master gone mad, who has never even seen me in this outfit, let alone as a vamp.

So I was all, "Rawr!" hoping my fangs were showing.

And he was all, "Hi, Abby."

And I was all, "Rawr! Fear me!"

And he was all, "That's not a thing. Saying rawr rawr is not a vampyre thing." is not a vampyre thing."

And I'm like, "It is too. I'm totally showing my animal power and fierceness."

And he's like, "No, you're not, you're just saying rawr rawr in a big voice. It's not a thing." in a big voice. It's not a thing."

"It could could be a thing," I go, in my defense. be a thing," I go, in my defense.

And Jared is like, "I don't think it's a thing, Abs."

And I'm like, "Well then how about I drain you until you're dust and put you in the cat box, Jared? Is that a vampyre thing?"

And he was all, "'Kay. I'm sorry. Rawr Rawr is totally a thing." is totally a thing."

So I looked at Flood with pity, having humiliated him on the field of battle. But it is in the gentler monster that humanity is revealed, so I'm like, "It's a thing for some of us. So, check it, I'm nossssss-feratu. Like you, only, you know, not fas.h.i.+on r.e.t.a.r.ded. Speaking of, why do you look like the window at Banana Republic?" Flood was always sort of jeans and flannel before, like he was caught in some '90s grunge vortex, but now he was like linen and tan leather.

And Flood's like, "I was running around the streets naked until a few hours ago."

And I was like, "'Kay. My bad."

So he's all, "Abby, we need to go. I need to find Jody and I need your help."

And then Foo, who has been doing science stuff in the kitchen, comes over and he's like, "Abby, I can switch you back. I can switch you both back. I already have Tommy's serum made from before."

And I'm like, "You are tres tres cute when you're threatened." And I jump over there and kiss him deeply-like I can hear a couple of his vertebrae crack. But then I go to slap him, so he won't think I'm a s.l.u.t, and Tommy catches my hand. cute when you're threatened." And I jump over there and kiss him deeply-like I can hear a couple of his vertebrae crack. But then I go to slap him, so he won't think I'm a s.l.u.t, and Tommy catches my hand.

And he's all, "Abby, you have to stop doing that. You could kill him."

I'm like, "Really?"

He's all nodding. And Foo's all mouthing "thank you" to him, like I don't have vampyre hearing and don't know that he's being a total little b.i.t.c.h about it. So I, like, turn on Foo and go, "Rawr."

I don't care what Tommy says, Foo trembled in fear.

And Tommy's like, "Let's go, Abby." Like Foo hasn't said a word.

And I grab my Pirate Bunny Pirate Bunny messenger bag and start to pack in my laptop and charger, and Flood is all, "Leave that here." messenger bag and start to pack in my laptop and charger, and Flood is all, "Leave that here."

And I'm like, "How will I express my angst and dark inspirations and whatnot?"

And Flood is like, "I thought we'd go suck the blood out of some people."

And I was like, "'Kay, but I'm still taking my laptop. I have to do my blog. I have subscribers." I do. Well, a a subscriber. subscriber.

And he's like, "If we have to go to mist you'll lose it."

And I'm like, "You don't know how to do that."

And he's all, "I do now."

And I'm all, "Teach me. I didn't go to ancient evil vampyre school like you."

And he's like, "I'm nineteen, remember? I went to public school. In Indiana."

And Foo's like, "You're only nineteen? You're not even old enough to drink?"

And Jared is like, "Shut up. He's her dark lord. Our dark lord."

And Foo's like, "Fine. Go. Be careful. Text me. I'll be here trying to save the world."

And Tommy's all, "I'm just going to try to save the woman I love, and that's as good as the world to me."

And I was like-nothing. I just looked at Tommy. But I would have done him on a bed of carpet tacks right then.

So outside the love lair, which is technically not mine and Foo's anymore, now that the rightful owners are not imprisoned in bronze, I go, "So, where do we start?"

And Flood is all, "We start by finding a safe place to sleep during the day."

And I'm all, "The love lair. Foo and Jared will be our minions and whatnot."

And he's like, "The last time I went out there I woke up inside a statue, and the last time you were up there your love ninja gave you blood with a sedative."

And I'm all, "No."

And he's all, "Yeah."

And I'm all, "Foo, you c.r.a.pacious little geek! Can I go slap him around a little?"