C a p t u r e d

22: Stupidity

       

Chapter Twenty-Two- Stupidity

Psy vs sanguivore

1.      A sanguivore is the kind of vampire with the need for blood. These guys are the real kind... [They] are only sensitive to light. They can go out in the sun and eat garlic and touch roses so get that fairytale crap out of your head.

2.      A psy vamp feeds off of energy rather than blood. Sometimes a sang vamp is short on food and resorts to psy techniques. AKA an energy vampire.

3.      Both vampires still sleep and breathe, but their bodies run off of blood/energy rather than food or drink. Their heart beats, but it's only a sham of living.

  A few hours later, I woke up in Tyson's bed, with the satin around me, to the soft sound of his breathing.

  Ugh. Vampires.

  I opened my eyes, and was horrified to find that in sleep, I had shifted positions in bed. Now I was facing his back, practically pressed up against him.

  I shrunk back away, and tried to pretend like I'd never been so close at all. But his eyes popped open.

  "Tyson," I asked, sleepily. "How do you kill a vampire?"

  His expression changed, and grew icy. He shoved the silken blankets off himself, and onto me. I seemed to shrink into them.

  "Are you kidding?" Tyson asked.

  "No."

  "No 'good morning'? No 'thank you for helping me'?"

  Oh God. I was getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'd swallowed a whole apricot. It was disrupting the way that I breathed.

  "I don't want to kill you. I'm just curious."

  "I'm the only vampire who you'd have the opportunity to kill," Tyson snapped. "So forgive me if I'm peeved by a question like that."

  "Um. I'd better go. Sorry."

  I yawned, crept out of his bed, and tiptoed over to the doorway. Slowly, squeakily, I opened it. Then I wandered to down the hallway, as if in a dream. I stepped into the gameroom and shut the door behind me.

  I've decided not to think or reflect on what Paul said, or my faux pas with Tyson. I need to take care of myself.  I need to deny it ever happened.

  And frankly, Ji and Paul were killers. I don't know how to fix it. I couldn't take responsibility.

   If us Donors ran away, Tyson would have more time to deal with them. Maybe if we found a way to disappear, it would actually help him.

  I hate emotions. I always push away my emotions. Sasha, meanwhile, was the opposite.

  The cornrowed girl, Sasha, was rolled into a ball in the corner of the room, by the bowling alley. She was crouched downward with red eyes, as if she'd fallen asleep sobbing.

  Sasha's sadness made the room's air un-breathable. It made me want to run from the room and scream.

  "Come on, Sasha," I muttered instead. "You must be hungry."

  Sasha whimpered, trying to stretch while half-asleep, but crashing into the linoleum. Then she gasped, and sat up, staring at me. She still wore the new black nightgown Tyson had given her. It had a conservative high-collar and was made of chiffon that flowed to her feet.