9. LAST DAY

After I finished my shower, I reluctantly shuffled back towards my room. I hesitantly opened the door—not knowing what I would or wouldn’t find waiting for me. My suspicions proved true. Ryan was no where to be seen. There was, however, a piece of loose-leaf paper in the middle of my bed. I walked over and grabbed it, anxious. It said:

Emma,

I’ll be back at Two O’clock. Go to sleep until then. I’ll wake you when I arrive.

-Ryan

I read the note over three times before sighing and folding it up, and setting it on my bedside table. I looked at my cell. It was eight forty-five. I really didn’t have anything to do for another hour, so I decided to go to bed early. I walked down the hall, peeked in my dad’s room and told him goodnight. Then I walked to the bathroom—just to kill some time—and brushed my teeth; it’s not as if there was anything that needed brushing away. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for the past few days. But I figured, What the heck.

After brushing my teeth, I went back into my room, flipped the light off and curled up under my covers. My hair was still wet, but I didn’t care. I curled in a tight little ball, thinking about how tonight would go. I thought about what could go wrong with my transformation. I wondered if I might, in fact, die. That was scary. I mean, I knew I might very well die in about a year’s time, but I didn’t want to die now.

Ryan said everything would be fine, I tried to calm myself. I trusted Ryan, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t still a little afraid.

I rolled over onto my other side. I noticed my book bag shoved against my wall, next to my computer desk. Oh crap. I was going to have to go to school tomorrow. That’ll be fun, I thought sarcastically, grabbing my phone and setting the alarm for six forty. Well, at least it was my last day—that was a plus. Ha! I hope that all the teachers give excessive amounts of homework; it’s not as if I’ll have to do any of it. I probably wouldn’t see anyone from my school ever again, and in some cases, that was a really good thing. But in some cases—like my friends, Jay, Laina, Jessi, and Kelley—that was a bad thing, a really bad thing. I was going to have to say goodbye to them tomorrow—maybe for good. What am I going to tell them? I worried. I couldn’t feed them the Arborson lie; they might say something at school, and the teachers would have no idea what they were talking about. I could just say I was transferring. I wouldn’t give them the details, just that my dad’s making me. Then if the teachers found out, they would have nothing to look into and become suspicious about. Yeah, that’s a good idea, I congratulated myself. Having a plan of attack wasn’t going to make saying goodbye any easier, though.

I sighed. Hopefully Arborson wouldn’t be so bad. Ryan said it wasn’t just fighting; that, I was not looking forward to. But I was curious as to what I’d learn, despite the fact that I was dead-scared at the same time. I had never been much of a fighter, and I didn’t exactly approve, but I didn’t have a choice, so I figured I might as well learn as much as I could. Because if I didn’t, I’d die. But if I did, Sam would die.

I frowned in frustration. This whole situation was much too complicated for my taste. Sometime during my mental dispute between me and myself, I couldn’t help but fall asleep, not at all content with my life, or my current situation.

* * *

“Emma,” someone hissed. “Emma, wake up.”

Someone was shaking my shoulder, whispering fiercely for me to wake up. I turned my head, annoyed.

“Ryan?” I had been expecting a slightly different wakeup call from Ryan—gentle caresses, or violently kissing me awake would’ve been preferable—but he was shaking me awake, hissing at me to get out of bed. What’s his problem? I silently asked myself. He unknowingly answered my question.

“Emma, I’m a little late. It’s one fifty-eight. I have to bite you at two. Please, get up,” he pleaded.

I sat up, obeying. He sighed in relief. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Of course I wasn’t ready. “Yeah,” I sighed.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Ryan asked.

“Why?”

“Well, it might be really painful.”

I understood what he meant.

“I’ll be quiet,” I promised.

“Okay,” he said hesitantly, sitting on the bed next to me. “Emma, you have to be silent. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” I said, a little peeved. Couldn’t he trust me?

“Here goes nothing,” he murmured, as he leaned in towards my neck. I turned my back to him, so he’d have better access to the back of my head. He grabbed my neck between his two strong, cold hands, holding my head in place while he leaned in for the bite.

I wondered when he was going to do it, because I hadn’t felt anything yet; it seemed like he was hesitating. Just as I was about to ask him if he was going to bite me or not, I felt a sudden, mind-splitting pain in the back of my skull. Acid shot through my veins, burning its way through my body. I wanted to scream in agony, but I knew I couldn’t. I squirmed and jerked, but Ryan held tight to my neck; his teeth still dug into my flesh.

I tried to hold still, but it wasn’t easy. My head felt like it was going to burst. It felt like a train of fire was burning down my spine. Damn it! Why did I ask for this? But it didn’t matter; it was too late.

The wound at the back of my neck was throbbing. It felt scorching hot, like someone had dropped acid on my skin, letting it eat away at my flesh. But, just around the wound, Ryan’s lips were as cold as ice, contrasting with the fiery hot-spot they were surrounding.

Another burst of fire shot down my spine. Acid continued to burn through my limbs, my chest—my whole body. Pain was radiating throughout my body, driving me mad with anguish. How long is this going to last? I thought. I could feel my heartbeat speeding up, which wasn’t helping. My heart seemed to be pumping more vein-burning venom through my body with every beat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain—trying to forget the acid scorching my veins, the feeling that my skull was going to explode. After what seemed like an eternity, but had only been a few minutes, I felt Ryan’s teeth pull themselves out of my flesh, leaving a tingling sensation behind. My whole body was tingling, in fact.

“Emma, do you want to go to sleep?” Ryan asked.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t speak yet; the pain was still so severe. I just turned around and flung myself at Ryan, squeezing as tightly as I could, as if it would relieve the pain I was feeling. He put his arms around me and squeezed me tightly as well.

“I’m so sorry, Emma,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

I sobbed into his chest, not able to control myself. He stroked my hair, which was damp with sweat, as was the rest of my body.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed. “Calm my angel. Dream happy dreams and you’ll forget this pain; a pain all of our kind must feel. And now that it is over, I’ll stay with you forever. Don’t you fret, you’ll be okay. My angel, don’t you cry.”

With the closing of Ryan’s song, I drifted to sleep in his arms.

* * *

Beep-beep. Brrrrnngg. Beep-beep. Brrrrnngg. My phone alarm shut off, seemingly by itself. I hadn’t had a chance to reach over and turn it off myself.

I rolled over onto my side, towards my bedside table. I reluctantly opened my eyes. And gasped. Ryan was staring back at me.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled. Well, except for the fact that I felt especially crappy today. That last night of transformation had really taken its toll.

“Are you in any pain?” he asked.

“A little,” I admitted.

“Well, I’d say I’d get you some Tylenol, or something, but it really wouldn’t do much good,” he said.

“That’s okay,” I mumbled. “I’m fine.” I attempted to sit up. I felt dizzy. And numb. I think I started falling back down, because I suddenly felt a cool, firm hand on my back, supporting me. Then I felt the bed disappear from under me. Ryan was cradling me in his arms, now standing next to my bed. He gently set me down, still holding on to my shoulders. I just stood there for a moment, trying to gain enough composure and balance to stand by myself.

“I’m good,” I told him, when I was pretty sure I’d be able to walk without falling over.

He slowly let go of me, watching to make sure I wasn’t going to fall. I took a step towards my door, swayed a little, then felt Ryan’s arm around my waist. I held up my hands and said, “I’m okay. Really. Just give me a minute.”

Ryan let go of my waist and I slowly started walking towards my door again. When I finally got there, I had regained my sense of coordination (well, as much as I usually had, anyway). I turned around and told him I was going to go take a shower. I felt gross from sweating a lot last night. Plus I wanted to clear my head a little, and a shower was just the way to do it.

As I passed the stairs, I saw my dad walk out of the living room and into the kitchen, probably to get coffee. He was still in his pajamas. When I got into the bathroom, I stripped down and tossed my sweaty pajamas down the laundry shoot that led to the laundry room. I turned the water on, but I wasn’t in the mood for a steaming hot shower. I turned the dials so the water was lukewarm and stepped in. I let the water beat down on my face and neck, relieving the tension that had been building since last night. I started washing my hair, inhaling the scent of the lavender shampoo, trying to clear my mind.

When I finished, I turned off the water and stepped out, wrapping myself in a towel. I reached for my clothes on the counter—then realized they weren’t there. Damn it. I’d forgotten to pick up some clothes on my way out of my room. I really didn’t have any other choice but to walk across the hall, and back into my room with just the towel on. I approached my door, quietly opening it, peeking to see if Ryan was still in there. I didn’t see him, so I opened it the rest of the way and walked in. Damn. He was still in there. He was standing in front of my dresser, looking intently at something that was on top of it—a picture.

He heard the door open and turned around to face me. His eyes widened slightly as he took in my appearance. I tried not to blush as I shuffled over to him and my dresser, where my clothes were. He stepped aside so I could get my clothes. I grabbed them, then turned around and looked at Ryan.

“That’s your mom,” he stated, nodding towards the picture.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyebrows slanting. The picture was of me, Sam, my dad, and my mom. It had been taken when I was eight and Sam was ten. “How did you know?”

“She looks a lot like you.”

My face fell. Yes, I knew my mom looked a lot like me; she had the same green eyes, the same dark hair, the same, well, everything. In essence, I was my mom. I sometimes wished we didn’t look so similar. Sometimes I would look in the mirror and see nothing but her reflection staring back at me with wide eyes, wondering what had happened…

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Ryan said. “What happened?”

“My mom had Sam when she was seventeen and me when she was nineteen,” I explained. “So she didn’t really have time to go to college or anything. She went when she was twenty-six. She really wanted to be a psychologist. She was fascinated by human emotions and subconscious behavior. She always got me, you know. She could figure out someone’s whole personality just by asking them a few questions.”

“It sounds like you two were really close,” Ryan observed.

“Well, I was only eight, but yeah, I guess we were.” My eyes budded with tears. Thinking or talking about my mom was never a good thing.

“So what happened?” Ryan pressed.

“She went off to community college as a psychology major. She ended up transferring to a different college—supposedly a better one. It wasn’t nearby, so she had to leave Sam, my dad, and me. She was there for a year, then disappeared. The college said she just disappeared from her dorm sometime during the night.” The tears threatened to overflow.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Ryan said, sympathetically. He reached out as if he was going to wrap his arm around me, then hesitated. It seemed he wasn’t sure what the boundaries were—me being in nothing but a towel, and all.

“No one ever heard from her again,” I concluded. “I like to think she’s out there having a great life, you know.” I sniffed, trying to stay strong.

“But somehow you can’t help but think she’s not,” Ryan finished for me.

My defense faltered. A few tears escaped and fell down my cheeks. Ryan turned to face me full on. He reached his hand up and wiped the tears away. “That’s terrible, Emma,” he said. “I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I sighed, gulping back my tears. “It’s not your fault.”

“I hate seeing you in this much pain, though,” he said, softly.

I sniffed. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “It’s in the past. There’s nothing anyone can do to change anything.”

“I know, but—” Ryan began.

I placed a finger over his lips, cutting him off. “Please don’t. It’s fine,” I insisted.

He sighed and lightly kissed my finger. One corner of my mouth turned up in a half-smile. He grabbed my hand and gently pulled me toward him. I looked up, into his swirling emerald and gold eyes, and became mesmerized by them. He bent down and kissed me softly on the lips. The moment was absolutely perfect—not in the, ‘my life is all-around perfect and this is the best kiss I’ve ever had’ kind of way, but in the, ‘this is the tenderest, most caring, fragilely perfect moment of my life’ kind of way.

Ryan stared into my eyes for a moment more, then released me, saying, “You should probably get changed.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. But first, I took the picture off my dresser, walked over and grabbed my knick-knack suitcase, hauled it onto my bed and unzipped it. I placed the family portrait in its simple, silver frame, right on top of my hoodie. I zipped the suitcase back up and put it back against the wall with the other luggage. I looked back at Ryan one more time, before closing my door and walking back over to my bathroom to change.

After I’d slid on my jeans, white tank top, and green plaid hoodie, I did my makeup, keeping it simple again—mascara, silver shadow, and a little liner.

I walked back across the hall, into my room, where Ryan met me with a smile.

“You look nice,” he commented. I blushed.

“Last day of school and all,” I teased half-heartedly, as I walked over and picked up the pair of gray high-tops I hadn’t packed. I brought them over to my bed and sat down on the edge. I could feel Ryan’s eyes on me as I unlaced the Chucks and put them on. I figured I didn’t need to wear my snow boots today. The high school campus would be cleared by now, so I wouldn’t be walking through knee-deep snow on my way to class.

I laced up my shoes and hopped up, surprisingly anxious to go to school—anxious to go and get it over with. But at the same time, I knew that once school ended, I’d never be going back. The end of going to Gunnison High was like the official end of my life as I knew it.

I shrugged. Oh well.

I walked over to my bedside table and grabbed my phone. I flipped it open, looking for the time. It read: 7:24 AM. I flipped it shut, put it on vibrate, and stuffed it in my pocket. I walked over to where Ryan was still standing near my dresser.

“I’ve got to go feed the cat,” I told Ryan.

“Emma,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me everything you do. You can just do it. I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to control you or anything.”

“No, no. I don’t,” I said, quickly. Because I didn’t. I just had the unreasonable urge to want to tell Ryan everything. I didn’t have a clue why—I just did.

He smirked playfully at me. I smirked back, narrowing my eyes a little and shaking my head at him.

“I guess I’ll head off for a while, then,” he said.

“Oh.” I tried not to be overly curious, but I couldn’t help myself. “Where are you going?”

“I need to hunt,” he said, shocking me. I guess it made sense—I knew Vampires hunted—but the casual way he said it put me back a bit.

“What?” he asked. “You don’t think Vampires can just choose when they are or aren’t thirsty, do you?”

“I-I didn’t really think about it that much,” I stammered.

“Of course I’ll be hunting animals, so don’t worry.”

“Right,” I breathed.

“Emma,” he began. His toned changed instantaneously to one of dead-seriousness. “Are you thirsty?”

“W-What?”

“Are you thirsty?” he asked again, emphasizing the last word.

“You mean like—” I hesitated, horrified— “Like, for blood?” I choked.

“Well, you are progressing so fast, I thought I’d ask,” he clarified.

“I-I don’t think so,” I said, hesitant. How was I supposed to know if I was “thirsty” or not?

“Does your throat feel like it’s on fire?” he asked. “And do you have an acidic taste in your mouth?”

“No.”

“Okay.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I figured you wouldn’t, since you’re not technically done with your transformation, but I thought I should make sure.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Although,” he said. “Since you have a little blood left, and since you’re changing so rapidly, your body could just be using up the blood that’s already in you.”

“So I could be eating myself alive?” I asked, horrified.

“Well, it’s just a theory. I told you, nothing like this has ever happened before. I don’t know what to tell you to expect.”

“Oh,” I replied. “Thanks for trying, I guess.”

“No problem.” He let out a short, quick breath, then said, “I’d better go.” He turned away from me and headed for the window.

“Okay. See ya,” I said, nonchalantly, even though, inside, I was aching. I didn’t want Ryan to leave, but I wasn’t sure what would happen if he didn’t feed.

“Emma, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said suddenly, turning around.

“What?” I asked, confused.

He walked back over to me, spreading his arms wide. I ran toward him, throwing myself into his outstretched arms. He wrapped them around me, squeezing me tight. He kissed my forehead and said, “See ya, Emma.”

I smiled, overjoyed. He opened the window and hopped out it, onto the tree. I dashed over to the window and watched him climb lithely down the tree. When he touched the ground, he looked up at me and winked. I smiled a little. Then I blinked, and he was gone.

I sighed as I shut the window and turned around, heading for the door. Oscar met me at the top of the stairs.

“Mleup!”

I picked him up and carried him into the kitchen, where I set him down in front of his food dish. I got his food out of the cabinet, scooped some for him, which he began scarfing down right away, then got him some fresh water. I scratched his ears and he “meuped ”.

I left the kitchen and walked into the living room where my dad was sitting on the couch, his left arm propped up against the armrest, reading the paper and watching the news. I plopped down in the recliner, just relaxing, and directed my gaze at the TV. I heard my dad’s paper rustle as he set it down next to him. Uh-oh. He was going to have a talk with me.

“Hey, Emma?”

I knew it. “Yeah Dad?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about a couple things,” he explained.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “Like what?” I asked.

“Well, this is your last day at Gunnison High School. I just wanted to know how you felt about that—how you feel about this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?” I asked, playing with him a bit.

“You know, the Arborson thing. I just wanted you to have the chance to talk about it, if you want to.”

“Dad, I want to go,” I said.

“I know that. I just meant—Emma, you’re not going to be able to see your friends at Arborson. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. I was going to say goodbye after school today.”

“Well, I assume you’ll still be able to call them and stuff.”

What was he getting at? “What are you trying to say, Dad?”

“I just don’t want you to ditch your friends because you’re not going to be around them as much,” he explained.

“Why would I do that?” I asked him.

He started to look a little uncomfortable. “Aw, I don’t know. I just hope you know how much you mean to those kids.”

Huh? “Yeah, I know,” I said hesitantly, still not quite sure where this was going.

“And I just want you to know how much you mean to me, Emma.”

Ah. There we go. “Dad, you mean a lot to me, too,” I said, finally understanding where he was going with this.

“I just want to make sure you won’t forget your old man while you’re off at some ritzy new boarding school, that’s all.”

“Dad, I won’t forget about you.”

“Okay. I just wanted to make sure.” He smiled shyly, and I did, too.

I noticed the clock on the wall. Seven forty-two. “Hey Dad, I have to go,” I said.

“Oh, right,” he said, flustered. “School.”

I chuckled. “Yeah, you know, that building with the classrooms and the teachers?”

He laughed. I turned around and jogged up the stairs and into my room. I grabbed my bag and headed back downstairs.

“See ya, Dad!” I called.

“Have a good last day!” he called back.

I grabbed my car keys and headed out the door. I was careful not to slip again on the icy driveway as I headed for my little black Accord, nestled against the curb, right where Ryan had parked it.

I hopped in and shoved the key in the ignition. Thankfully, it roared to life. I put it in drive and headed straight for school, thinking about how this was probably the last time I would be driving this route.

When I got to school, I parked in the Student Parking Area, as close to the school as I could get. I hoped there wasn’t any slush in the parking lot. I wasn’t in the mood for wet feet. I got out of my car, shoving my keys in my pocket. I started walking toward the huge, prison-like building. I opened the heavy, dark gray doors and stepped in to a loud, adolescent-filled mathematics hall, buzzing with life and conversation. My first class, AP Calculus was on the other side of the hall, opposite the student parking lot.

As I walked to my class, I looked around at the faces I would most likely never see again. The students I had known since pre-school, the teachers that had taught me for the past four years. I had to admit, it was a little saddening. Then, thinking about how much I would miss all these people, (some of which I barely knew) it hit me. I wasn’t just giving up my humanity. I wasn’t just giving up my friends, my family. I was giving up my whole life. Everything that I’d always known was going to be out of my life, probably forever. Everything was going to have to change—and, most likely, never change back. I suddenly felt very alone.

I reached the door marked, AP CALCULUS. I pushed it open and walked into my own hell on Earth. I hated calculus with a fierce, fiery passion—especially AP calculus. I dare ANYONE on the face of the earth to give me a reason why I will need to know this stuff later in life.

I sat down and pulled out my textbook, turning to the page that our teacher, Mrs. Hudson, had written on the whiteboard, groaning when I saw what we would be doing: Chapter Review.

Just as everyone was moaning and groaning about the day’s assignment, Mrs. Hudson walked in. She was a short, middle-aged, outspoken, Hispanic woman, with a mind of her own and a love for torturing innocent students by forcing Advanced Placement Calculus down their throats.

“As you can see, class, we’re doing a Chapter Review today. So, study hard, because that means we’re obviously having a test tomorrow,” she said.

“HA!” I exclaimed, then quickly covered my mouth. Everyone, including Mrs. Hudson, stared at me.

“Is there something you’d like to say, Miss Garett?” She asked.

“Uh, n-no,” I stammered.

She sighed heavily and started giving further instructions. After she finished, everyone started on the review. I only did four problems before I began absentmindedly doodling on my paper. What did I care? I wasn’t going to be taking the test.

When Mrs. Hudson dismissed us, I quickly got out of my seat and practically ran out the door. AP Calculus was one thing I would not miss.

My next class was Art, and I was kind of looking forward to it. I stepped out of the mathematics hall, relieved, and into the cold, winter wind. I hurried over to the Art Department. When I got there, I went in to Sketching Realistic and Unrealistic Portraits. The teacher, Miss Cassatt, a young hippie-ish woman always greeted her students as they walked through the door, so of course, I got a warm, “Hello, Emma” as I walked into the art room. I smiled and took my seat.

When everyone was settled, Miss Cassatt told us we would be doing realistic portraits today, but we would be making the colors unrealistic. Everyone got up to get paper and colors. I chose some heavy, textured paper and chalk pastels.

When I finished my drawing, I showed it to Miss Cassatt. I had ended up drawing an eye, swirling with bright green and gold.

When Miss Cassatt dismissed us, I told her that I was transferring, and asked if I could pick up my work after school. I was a pretty good artist, and I was really proud of some of my sketches. I wanted to be able to keep them. She said that that was okay, told me she would miss me, then wished me luck at my new school. I asked her not to mention it to any of the other teachers, yet today, because I didn’t want to cause a commotion. She promised to keep it to herself.

After art, I went to choir. That was uneventful, as usual. I wasn’t even a good singer, but at Gunnison High, you could substitute a music class like choir, band, or orchestra, in for your P.E. class. I couldn’t play an instrument, and I couldn’t sing well, but I rather do either of those than have Gym every day.

After choir, it was time for lunch. Joy. I walked to the lunchroom and met up with Laina, Jay, Kelley, and Jessi at our usual table. They went to go get food, and I told them I wasn’t hungry. I had to breathe through my mouth the whole lunch period, so I wouldn’t smell the aromas of all the different foods all around me, which was sure to make me sick. My repulsion to food had definitely increased in the past few days.

When the lunch period was almost over, and everyone was just chatting about random things, I knew I had to tell them.

“Hey guys?” I asked, quietly.

They all stopped talking, obviously realizing by the tone of my voice that this was something serious.

“Um, is it okay if we all meet up after school today?” I asked. “There’s something I need to tell you all.”

They just stared at me.

“Why can’t you just tell us now?” asked Jessi.

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, is something wrong?” Jay asked.

“Not really,” I hedged.

I saw Jay open his mouth—probably in protest to me not telling him that instant, what was wrong—but the fourth period bell rang, saving me from further explanation. I quickly told them when and where I wanted to meet, before rushing out of the lunchroom.

Fourth period was Chemistry. I had it with Laina, so we walked to the science hall together. I worried the whole way there that she would ask me to tell her what I refused to speak of during lunch, but she didn’t.

When we got to the room marked 12th GRADE CHEMISTRY we pushed open the door and walked in and took our seats in the back. Laina and I were lab partners, so we were at the same table. More students filed in and we awaited the arrival of our teacher, Mr. Scheele. Everyone was talking loudly over one another; it was making my ears hurt.

Just then, Mr. Scheele walked in. The noise level gradually decreased.

“Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be making pH indicators using red cabbage,” he announced.

Everyone groaned. That meant we were probably going to have to boil the cabbage, which made it smell disgusting—we’d worked with cabbage before. Plus, this was not going to be good for my stomach. I had barely survived lunch, let alone boiling cabbage.

“Hey, hey, settle down,” he called out. Everyone stopped moaning.

“I’m going to hand out a list of materials and ingredients you will need, then, table by table, I’ll call you up and you can get them. The steps for doing the experiment are on the back.” He started passing out the papers. Then he started calling groups up, one by one, starting at the front of the room.

When Mr. Scheele finally called Laina and me up to get our materials, we had to make two trips. From watching the other groups, so did everyone else. When we got all the ingredients and materials back to our table, Mr. Scheele told everyone that they could start, and to let him know when they finished.

I tried to breath through my mouth, just as I had done during lunch, but the aroma of stewing cabbage was all around me. Laina started cutting up the cabbage and I got the water and placed the beaker on the hotplate that was on our table. Soon, the water started boiling. Laina dropped the cabbage in. The water turned a deep red almost instantly. It made me think of blood.

All of a sudden, my stomach gurgled. Oh my god, I thought. Not now. I could feel the blood rising in my throat. I tried to swallow it back down, which worked for a couple of minutes. But then, it just came right back up again. I pressed my lips shut, but that forced me to breathe through my nose. Not a good idea. The smell of boiling cabbage filled my nostrils, nauseating me further. Not good. Not good! The blood was rising further up my throat. I could feel it seeping into my mouth. I pressed my lips tighter and tried to swallow it back down again. I was unsuccessful. It just kept coming.

Finally, when I was about to blow, I shot up and, covering my mouth with both hands, bolted up the aisle, pushed the door open with my shoulder, and ran as fast as I could to the nearest restroom. I heard Laina’s voice behind me as I exited the classroom.

“Emma! What are you doing?!”

When I got in the bathroom, (which was empty, as far as I could tell) I flung myself into the first stall, bent over and vomited. My sobs and gags echoed throughout the otherwise empty stalls. I prayed that no one had followed me. I had no idea what I would tell someone if they saw the blood in the toilet, or on my face.

When I finally finished Purging, I ripped off some toilet paper and wiped my face and mouth. I threw it in with the blood and flushed it all, disposing of all the evidence. I opened the stall and found that, thankfully, no one had come into the bathroom while I was puking. I walked over to the sink and turned on the faucet, cupping my hands under the running water, catching it and then washing my mouth out with it. I looked in the mirror to make sure there wasn’t any blood anywhere on me. All clear. I washed my hands and headed back into the hall. No one was in sight.

I knew I couldn’t go back to chemistry. I might just end up coming right back to the restroom and puking my guts out again. I decided to go to the nurse’s office. I told her that I had just thrown up and asked if I could go home. She willingly ushered me out of her office, obviously thinking I might vomit again. She said that she would tell the secretary to let my teachers know that I was going home sick. I thanked her and began walking back to my car, letting the cold January air clear my mind.

When I got to my car, I hopped in and started it up. I pulled out of the parking lot, then drove off campus towards home. My dad was at work, so I didn’t have to worry about what I was going to tell him. Plus, I still had to go back to school and get my artwork, and talk to my friends. I could just leave before he got home. My dad would never have to know about my little “incident”.

I parked my car in its usual spot against the curb, got out, and carefully walked up the driveway. I opened the front door and walked in, relieved to be home. I threw my keys on the table by the door and then trudged up the stairs to my room. The door was partially shut. I didn’t remember closing it this morning. I opened the door and gasped, almost having a heart attack. Ryan was stretched out on my bed, picking a Post It note to pieces. He gasped as well and sat bolt upright.

“Emma,” he breathed. “What are you doing home?”

“I got sick.”

“Oh, Emma,” he sighed, then got up off the bed and rushed over to me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I wrapped mine around his waist. I started sobbing. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized.

“It’s-s not y-your fault,” I said over my tears.

“But I feel bad, just the same.”

“When is the Purging going to be over?” I asked desperately.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’d think it would be over soon, since you’ve already Purged so much.”

I continued to cry into his chest, staining another one of his shirts with my tears. I didn’t know where all this was coming from. I didn’t think I still had this many tears left in me. I hadn’t felt like crying or complaining when I’d gotten home.

Then I felt Ryan kiss my hair, and I knew. I cried now because I felt completely safe with Ryan. When he held me, when he kissed me, I felt like nothing bad could happen to me. I complained because I trusted Ryan deeply, despite only knowing him for a short time. And that scared me. Reality check, Emma, I silently told myself. You’ve only known the guy for five days—not even that, and you already trust him with your life. What is that?

Whilst he continued to hold me, I internally battled with myself over what was right and what was wrong with my relationship with Ryan. The crazy in love part told me to keep letting things happen as they happen, to not think about the fact that I’d only known Ryan for about five days, and to enjoy every second I spent with him to the fullest degree. But the scared and rational part told me to step back and take things slower, to not let myself be blinded by his beauty or his charm, or his obvious devotion to me.

I tilted my head up and looked Ryan in his sparkling jade eyes. They were blazing with passion and sincerity. He leaned down and kissed me, his lips parting under mine, his cold, sweet breath rushing into my mouth. And the crazy in love part of me kissed back, telling the rational part to shut the hell up.