Just months before I start medical school in Boston, I decide to let loose for one night. A dark club, a loud band, strong drinks--and the attention of a dangerous-looking man who says he's in the city for only a week.
I know exactly what he is: a...
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I've been in bed for what seems like days — it's really only been a few hours since I staggered back to the dorm from Matteo's — when Kerri walks in. I'm lying under a thick, scratchy wool blanket, the sting of shame making my entire body feel raw and tender.
"Oh my God, Evan, did you hear the show today?" She shrugs off her leather jacket and deposits it on a nearby chair.
I reply with a grunt in the negative. Kerri is a DJ on our college radio station on Sunday afternoons, playing — what else — the latest in goth and punk, and usually I never miss the program. Sometimes I even go with her into the studio and help her pick out records and answer phones.
"Chris from Gang Green called in to request a song. He was soooo nice on the phone and I think we might get drinks later this week. Can you believe it?"
Normally the news that a locally famous punk rock singer wants to take my roommate out for drinks would be cause for celebration, but I'm not in a mood to rejoice. Or discuss men. Or acknowledge guys even exist on Earth.
I stay silent, burrowing further under the covers.
"Hey, it's six, you want to head to the cafeteria for dinner and I'll tell you more about what Chris said? He has some hot band gossip."
"Mmph. No. Not hungry." My voice is muffled under the covers.
I shut my eyes, then feel the mattress near my feet sag with the weight of a person. I open one eye to see Kerri peering at me.
"You never nap. Are you sick?"
I sniffle and pull the green blanket over my head. "Yeah," I whine.
She flips the blanket down, revealing my puffy, pink face and red-rimmed eyes. "What the hell happened to you? You're never in bed before one in the morning. Is it the flu?"
Maybe I should lie and say yes, but Kerri will know instantly that I'm not sick from my scent. Damned vampires. I respond with a snortle, and wipe my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
Kerri strokes my hair. Under her tough-talking exterior she's really quite nurturing. "Is it your brother? Did you guys have a fight?"
I shake my head and flip onto my back, clutching a pillow to my chest. "John stood me up."
This tips me into another crying jag, thinking of my brother's anger last night, and his desire to kill the very thing that I just spent hours enjoying. To kill the one thing I want to be.
Suddenly everything seems so wrong and weird.
"Hey. Hey. What's going on? What happened? You're never like this. Is it your mom or dad? Did something happen?"
"It's Matteo," I say with a snorting honk of my nose.
