High Stakes

Part Three

Part 3

SANG:

I’m exhausted, having not slept. My mother kept me locked in the closet all night. I couldn't sleep because of the pain.

This morning has been awful. Around six my mother opened the closet and peeled the silver chain from my skin. It had burrowed deep, and its removal was… horrid. I can’t actually put into words the feeling of the metal on my bare flesh. Nothing can describe it.

Also crappy? Because I’m terribly malnutritioned from the small rations of blood my family provides for me, I’m not healing well. There’s a deep rut of singed, ripped flesh around my neck, and a burned-in cross in my cleavage. Wonderful. Every once and a while it seeps a little blood.

I manage to tape some gauze around the flayed flesh, wincing. Then I have to find a high collared shirt, and button it all the way up.

I take one last look in the mirror. It’s as good as it’s going to get. I’m wearing a light pink blouse with cap sleeves and a flippy navy blue skirt. I let my blonde hair fall around my shoulders, grateful for a little more coverage over my mangled neck. There are deep circles underneath my eyes, part lack of sleep, part lack of nutrition.

I feel miserable. If you’ve even been so thirsty you’re entire mouth is dry, unable to produce saliva, and your throat aches, then you know half of it. Next, add in not eating for a few days, that pit in your stomach that makes it feel as if your body is being punched in the middle, your stomach constantly contracting over and over, wishing something was there.

I grab my bag, double-checking that my class schedule is inside, and trudge down the stairs. I slowly enter the kitchen, crossing my fingers that it’s empty so I can sneak a gulp of blood, but of course it’s not. My mother’s leaning back against the fridge, arms crossed, effectively blocking me. Marie, my sister, sits at the table, eating scrambled eggs and bacon--that my mom made her, like always. She is loved as much as I am hated.

I keep my head down and plod out the door, standing at the bus stop, in complete and total agony. I don’t look up when I hear two sets of footsteps approaching. I see a couple pairs of black leather boots under jeans--one pair blue, one pair black. They stop a couple feet from me--uncomfortably close. I can smell their blood racing through their veins, even through their body wash and natural aromas. I bite my lip subconsciously.

“Hey,” one of them speaks. To me? His voice is deep, but has an amused undercurrent.

I hesitantly glance up. One of them is smiling--I’m guessing that he’s the one who spoke. He has vibrant blue eyes and tan skin. I’m surprised he’s as tan as he is considering his dark red hair. I scan quickly over the rest of him, and gulp. He’s very strong. His shirt isn’t loose enough to hide his cut muscles underneath. He’s wearing the blue jeans, and they hug his thighs in a way that I can’t actually process how it makes me feel.

When I look back up at his face, he’s looking at me expectantly. Oh, yeah, he said hello.

“Hey,” I quickly reply, voice soft.

I glance over at the other guy with him, and am once again surprised at the muscle tone on the boy. Usually high school boys don’t have that kind of development. This boy has thick brown hair and dark-rimmed glasses, and green eyes darker than mine. He stares at me intently, as if he’s trying to read my mind or something. It’s unnerving. There is way too much wisdom and intelligence behind those eyes for someone so young.

The red-head holds out his hand for me to shake, saying, “I’m Nathan. This is my friend, Kota.”

“I’m Sang,” I say, dry-mouthed, half from thirst and hunger, half from nerves.

I reach out and grip his hand, only to pull away sharply with a gasp. I quickly ball up my fist to hide the small burn. Sure enough, looking back at his hand I see a silver ring. Stupid, Sang, stupid!

The other boy, Kota, crosses his arms over his chest, and Nathan shifts his stance slightly, widening his legs, as if he’s getting ready for a fight. What the heck?

“Sorry,” I mumble, “My clothes must have a lot of static. I got a little shock,” I force a laugh, trying to play off the weird moment.

Nathan grunts, looking down at me with a puzzled expression, “Yeah, sure. No problem. Happens to me all the time. Dryer sheets, you know?”

Kota cocks his head to the side, studying his friend, who just shrugs back at him. They’re having some sort of silent conversation with each other. Eventually, Kota uncrosses his arms, and Nathan relaxes his stance.

“So, you just moved in?” Kota asks, but in a way that sounds like he already knows the answer.

“Yeah, just a couple weeks ago.” I’m not exactly a conversational wizard.

“Are you excited for school to start?” Nathan adds to the talk.

“Not really.” Good Lord, I feel so awkward! I have to add more, “I don’t really like crowds.” Oh, that’s great--inform them of your socially ineptitudes, Sang… Jesus.

Nathan chuckles, “Right? Ashley Waters seems a little crazy.”

“What? You don’t go there?” I’m confused. They’re at the bus stop, aren’t they?

“It’s our first day too. We’re transfer students,” Kota provides.

“Oh.” I’m way too awkward to exist at this point. I shuffle back and forth on my feet. Thankfully the bus pulls up. I notice Marie standing over in another group, with a boy and girl who must also live in the neighborhood.

Kota motions for me to go ahead, so I board the bus. I end up sitting at a window, with Nathan sliding in next to me, smiling. I hesitantly smile back, and it looks like he’s studying my teeth. Weird. But who knew? Maybe they were normal? I’m not exactly one to talk about strange behaviors. I drink blood, for God’s sake.