Morganville (Justin Bieber)

Chapter 98

There were two doors - one that said EXIT, one that had nothing on it at all. Justin passed the unmarked door, hesitated, and backed up.

"What?" I asked. Justin took hold of the handle and eased the door open.

"Just a hunch," he said. "Shhhh."

On the other side was another waiting area, and there were people standing in line. This part of the Donation Center was darker, with fewer overhead lights. Three people were standing in front of a long white counter, like at a pharmacy, and behind it stood a tall woman wearing a lab coat. She didn't smile, and she was about as warm as a flask of liquid nitrogen.

"Oh crap," Justin breathed, and about the same time I realized that the blond guy first in line at the counter was Michael. He wasn't home. . . . He was here.

He finished signing something and shoved the clipboard back, and the woman handed him over a plastic bottle, about the size of the bottled water I had been drinking.

This one didn't hold water. Tomato juice, I told myself, but it didn't look at all like juice. Too dark, too thick. Michael tilted it one way, then another, and his face - he looked fascinated.

No, he looked hungry.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. Michael unscrewed the cap on the bottle as he stepped out of line, put the blood to his lips, and began to drink. No, to guzzle. I was distantly aware that Justin's grip on my hand was so tight it was painful, but neither of us moved. Michael's eyes were shut, and he tilted the bottle back and drank until it was empty except for a thin red film on the plastic.

He licked his lips, sighed, and opened his eyes, and looked straight at the two of us.

His eyes were a bright, brilliant, glowing red. He blinked, and it went away, replaced by an eerie shine. Another blink, and it was all gone, and he was back to being Michael again.

He looked as horrified as I felt. Betrayed and ashamed.

Justin shut the door and dragged me toward the exit. We hadn't reached it before Michael came barreling in after us.

"Hey!" he said. His skin had taken on a flush, a faint pink tone, that I remembered seeing before. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you think we're doing? They hauled me here in cuffs, man," Justin snapped. "You think I'd be here if I had a choice?"

Michael stopped in his tracks, and his gaze flashed down to the stretchy bandages on our arms. Recognition flashed, and then he looked . . . sad, somehow. "I - I'm sorry."

"What for? Not like we didn't already know how much you crave the stuff." Still, I heard the betrayal in Justin's voice. The revulsion. "Just didn't expect to see you chugging it down like a drunk at happy hour, that's all."

"I didn't want you to see it," Michael said quietly. "I drink it here. I only keep some at home for emergencies. I never wanted you to watch - "

"Well, we did," Justin said. "So what? You're a bloodsucking vampire. That's not a news flash, Michael. Anyway, it's no big thing, right?"

"Yeah," Michael agreed. "No big thing." He focused on me, and I couldn't fit the two things together - Michael with those terrifying red eyes, gulping down fresh blood, and this Michael standing in front of me, with that sad hope in his expression. "You okay, Ana?"

I nodded. I didn't trust myself to talk, not even a word.

"I'm taking her home," Justin said. "Unless that was your appetizer, and now you're looking for the main course."