100 Yellow Doors

august 21st, 2019, 1:52 a.m.

Thank God Iman was virtually the only person wasting away the night at the corner burger joint, for when she snuck Julien inside and straight to the restrooms, there was no one to gawk at the blood-covered man or the clearly distressed girl trying to disguise him.

She slid the lock home, green disappearing in red, and switched on the light. Julien was bracing himself against the sink, chest heaving like he'd just run miles. Iman stared at him; in the harsh white light, there was almost something apocalyptic about him, his face unnaturally gaunt, an unhealthy flush to his cheeks where the rest of him was utterly pale.

Looking at him, she had thought of the night he'd come over for dinner, and how terribly it had ended. Now, she worried if this night would end worse.

Silently, Iman reached around Julien to retrieve a paper towel. She held it under the tap for a moment, then lifted it to his face. He yanked himself away, however, before she could reach him. "I don't need you to coddle me."

Hurt bubbled up in Iman's chest, but she squashed it before it could percolate. She let him take the paper towel, then turned for the door.

"Im," he said. She paused. "It's not what you think."

But she wasn't sure what she was thinking. Would it be better if the blood that soaked his skin and clothes was his, or someone else's? They were both equally terrible thoughts, posing equally terrible questions, and Iman wasn't sure if she wanted to know their answers.

Iman opened the door a crack and shimmied herself through the opening. "I'll be outside."

Iman waited in her car, parked on the street right in front of the burger joint. There, she unwrapped the cheeseburger she bought and took a sip from the soda she knew was awful for her but no longer had the energy to worry over. The last few hours had been crappy, in the worst sense of the word. She'd fought with Beck. She'd avoided Beck. Hana had called and she'd avoided her, too. She'd fallen asleep alone and upset, and hadn't woken up much better. A burger was supposed to cheer her up, not lead her to a bloody Julien who seemed to be in a bad mood.

At this point she doubted the night could get much worse.

The car door opened, and Julien slid in. Iman held out the soda to him; he took a sip, his face screwing up just seconds afterward. "Dr. Pepper? You disgust me."

"Jules," she said, not in the mood.

He looked up at her. His face was clean now, and though his shirt was dry, it was still stained a dark red. Iman looked away as he said, quietly, "I know."

"Just please tell me you didn't—" Iman stopped, sucking her lip. She didn't want to ask. She wanted to believe. To just believe that Julien was who he said he was, that he would never do that again. But what did she know? The craving was not easy to fight, Julien had told her. Sometimes it was safer to give in. "Tell me you didn't kill anyone?"

Julien shook his head. "I didn't. I promise, I didn't, Iman."

She heaved a sigh of relief and rested her forehead upon the steering wheel. "I believe you," she said, squeezing her eyes shut. "I believe you."

"It was Sera," Julien added. "Sera kidnapped me and she wanted me to—"

Iman shook her head. "Don't."

Something cold, sharp, like a pinprick, poked at Iman's nape. A second later she realized it was Julien's fingers, trying to get her to look at him. "Iman, I'd never kill anyone. No matter how badly Sera wants to control me, I'd never let her."

Iman sat up, letting her hair fall back from her face as she looked at him.

"You know that," he added. "Right?"

Iman reached for her soda and took a long, lingering sip from it. Julien watched her in anticipation; she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the pained look on his face as she delayed a response.

Iman finished her drink and returned her hands to the wheel. "I know you, Julien," she said. "And I know that you're strong and you're wise and you're used to being alone. But it's okay to need help every once in a while. Even if you're a really old vampire."

Julien blinked at her, all his calmness, his collectedness, gone in that brief moment.

Then he frowned, mumbling, "I'm not that old."

Iman rolled her eyes, started the engine, and drove.

She did not go home, and nor did she take Julien back to his home. She just drove, getting on the highway, getting off of it, taking backstreets and detours and looking up into the lit windows and wondering who behind them was still awake. If Julien was at all alarmed, he didn't show it. He merely craned his seat back, resting his hands beneath his head, and shut his eyes. Iman knew he wasn't asleep; his body wasn't wired for sleep any longer. Still, it was strange to watch him there, his mouth slightly parted, eyebrows furrowed. He could almost be dreaming.

Iman was weightless, and not the good kind.

When the car swerved onto the shoulder, Julien jolted up, startled. "Is it happening?"

Iman nodded, placing the car back in park. Her mind was racing a million miles a minute. How much longer can I do this? she asked herself. I'm not sure I want to do this anymore. "Can you get home on your own?"

"Sure," said Julien, grabbing the car keys from her. "I'll leave your car in the parking garage."

Iman's vision was beginning to spot, the weightless feeling spreading to her extremities, but she managed a quiet, "Thank you."

"And Iman?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful," Julien said. "Call me when you get back."