The week after was another typical week for Jane. For Peter, it was unusual — she was unusual.
"Are you sure?" He said, the deep confusion shone through his eyes as he heard her request.
"Yes. I have really good… blood recovery."
Jane had worried he might ask, and she had neither a reasonable answer nor a convincing explanation.
Getting another blood drawn just three days later was probably not a good idea for most of the population. But Jane had faith in her half-vampire physiology, and in the number of steaks she had shoved down her throat at the cafeteria.
"Let's go!" she said, grabbing his wristband and dragging him forward.
Within two steps, Jane realized the difficult situation she had put herself in. The joint between her shoulder and arm was protesting, and how were they supposed to talk in this position!? (╯°□°)╯
She really wanted to fix this, but how? Slowly drop his hand and moonwalk back to his side? Didn't seem any less awkward either; Jane quietly sighed.
So, straightening her back and elongating her stride, she determinedly forged ahead, aiming straight to the staircase where they would separate naturally.
He was quite heavy, though… even with her strength.
Behind her, Peter was smiling. From his angle, she looked like a sledge dog, or a chihuahua even, biting at its owner's pants.
He would let her slide, just this once.
With one hand in his pocket, Peter leaned back and enjoyed the ride. There was one factor he hadn't accounted for, however.
"Go straight ahead."
"Turn left."
"No… Pass the garden."
Jane had zero sense of direction.
Soon, the wooden door with the crisscrossing pattern appeared, sunken a few inches deep into the stone wall.
"After you," she said, letting go of Peter's sleeves and gesturing toward the stairs.
Without hesitation, Peter walked through, leaving behind a sudden breeze that carried his own unique scent.
Huh. She had thought he wouldn't miss the chance to say something like "ladies first," but Jane didn't mind it.
Ducking her head slightly out of instinct, she followed his lead and stepped over the threshold.
Suddenly, a hand entered her vision.
Thin but not too thin. Every finger was well-proportioned, showing a glimpse of the straight joints beneath the flawless skin…
"May I?"
Jane looked up. Peter stood three steps below, patiently extending his palm.
"No need…it's fine," she said, declining his offer with a nervous smile. "I can see the stairs."
"Holding hands won't make you pregnant."
The very charming voice that was supposed to make her blush did make her flustered, born out of embarrassment.
As if she was that childish, Jane thought, calmly placing her hand in his.
His temperature was slightly colder than her own, creating a neutralized comfort that guaranteed the hold would never turn suffocating.
"Shouldn't you say something more romantic, like hold my hand… or let me help you?"
"Would you prefer it if I did?"
"Not at all."
And that was the last happy memory they shared.
Crack.
Gulp.
Dot, dot, dot.
Jane collapsed backward onto the mattress beneath her. She knew better than to do this anywhere else.
Then, a strange flower bloomed from her chest. Its roots and seeds dug deep into her flesh, multiplying until her whole body was covered by a thick bush of blossoms, sinking her deeper into the blank space below.
"What kind of flower is this?" Jane asked, plucking the stem and pulling it out from her hair. Its petals were soft and paper-thin, each painted in a different shade of red. They were roundish at the edges, like roses, but less charming and more childish.
"Coquelicot," a voice replied. "One of the first to bloom on the battlefield."
Jane fell silent for a few seconds, her gaze drifting toward a dense patch of coquelicot blooming in the blue water: "Is it your favourite flower?"
The girl's eyes widened, a subtle, fleeting shift before she began to move.
"You are not sleeping," she said, a small smile touching her lips as she began to circle around Jane. "How?"
The moment the word left her mouth, a wave of electricity flooded all over Jane's body. Images flashed before her eyes like a slideshow: the white ceiling dyed in warm yellow light, her ten stretched and closed, thump thump thump — the sound of her racing heart…
"What the fuck?!" she said, her hand rose and fell with the ragged rhythm of her chest. Just then, she saw her room again, but it was like… someone had pulled her eyelids open and forced her to see it.
The girl was busy staring at her own fingers. Then she looked up, that same faint smile lingering on her face.
"Mom was right to keep you away from bad friends. She always said you were easily influenced…"
"That's not true."
Their voices overlapped seamlessly.
"...whether it's from the books you read, or the junk you watch…"
"I do not learn from anything," Jane grunted.
"…or your environment."
Silence stretched between them. Jane stared at the girl, her chest heaving while her jaw clamped tight. The girl's hair was as beautiful as the sun, so blindingly bright that her eyes began to sting.
"My mother hasn't said that for years, and I have never seen it in a dream," she said, red veins swelling across the white parts of her eyes. "So what are you? A projection of my mother? Or a… a… repetitive memory?"
"Maybe the latter."
The hostile edge dissolved from Jane's face, replaced by pure shock. Never in a million years had she expected a figure in her dream to answer, with no riddles.
"Everyone might have lied to you. But not me," she continued.
Jane's chest rippled, like a small pebble thrown at the surface of a river. The ripples soon faded, but the stone sank heavy to the very bottom.
Everyone did lie. From the people at the lab to Peter. Lauren was whispering something to him. Amidst the haze of alcohol, she could still feel their gaze laid upon her. Maybe it was some good news about their business, but the stiff lines on their faces said otherwise.
"Will you try to tell the truth?"
Jane had always found it interesting how the same tense used to describe the uncertainty was also used to forge a promise.
"I will."
…And yet, there was nothing more perfect for delivering a contract.
"You do have to be careful with those drugs," the girl said, sitting side-by-side with Jane in the quiet void.
"I know. I can resist it once I want to," Jane said, her face dropped, and her eyes drifted to the side when she remembered an important thing: "And DO NOT do whatever the fuck that was again."
"Fine."
But things never went her way when she was confident.
It started as a longing feeling in the middle of the classroom. A small moment when the lesson became boring, and she wished to be teleported back to her room.
Jane didn't know how other people used it. She knew Arlo did it to get high. Samuel took the pills and became more… social. Peter rarely touched it; he just sat there quietly, talking to her like behind him weren't two people getting out of control.
For Jane, it was her only way to get some rest.
The sleeping pills the lab gave her no longer worked. The nights here were long, but she made it till sunrise, only to realize her mind was still restless. Jane wasn't sure if insomnia was a part of the transformation, or if it was because she had been introduced to a more powerful kind of "sleeping pill."
All she knew was that she couldn't sleep without it.
"So it's because you want to go to sleep?" the girl said, her chest pulsing with a silent scoff. "I don't think so."
Jane gave her a side-eye. She took a deep breath, ready to defend herself, but the words got stuck in her throat right when her lips parted.
"I count the moments from when you close your eyes to when you actually fall asleep," the girl said. "It takes about nineteen times of planning what you would do for the rest of the week, forty-seven random thoughts, thirty-two iterations of how to get another pill, and fifty times repeating the phrase: you stay still."
"You count all that?" she said, genuinely at a loss for words.
"No, it's an estimation. The point is, you can still fall asleep. It's a bit harder without the drugs but not impossible."
Jane didn't reply. Laying her chin on her knees, she stared aimlessly into the clear water.
"Is it worth trading the risk of addiction for something in your ability?" the girl asked softly.
"Kinda. I don't know. I've had dreams every single night since the day I was born, estimately," she smiled. "But… there are no dreams when I take that pill, and I wake up feeling… not tired. I think that's how a normal person feels, you know?"
"Then keep doing it."
Jane blinked.
"Really? That's it?"
"Yes. I'm only here to help you accept the truth, not change your mind. Besides, you will become immune to it. Isn't that the whole point?"
Jane swore her little question paired with that naive expression felt like a manipulative tactic.
"Right. I will get sick of it!"
In fact, no vampires ever got addicted to the drugs, according to Arlo. It was more like they grew accustomed to it; not that their bodies would go through withdrawals without a dose.
"I don't know about humans tho," he said, his mischievous smile disappearing behind a glass of margarita.
"That's mine."
"I know. Good taste."
Arlo was mostly right, but what if he, and all of them, were mistaking addiction for something else?