Caramel (wlw)

chapter 6 - the agreement

Laura started yelling when I walked into the room with a serrated bread knife. She screamed louder when I advanced with it toward her.

"Relax, I'm cutting it off."

She kept complaining. "Did you use the whole roll of tape?"

"Maybe."

"Christ."

Once segments were free, I had to rip them off of her, which led to more yelling. I wonder what the neighbors think. Finally, I tore the last piece and she stood.

"Take your time," I said, as she walked towards her bathroom. "Don't go anywhere."

There's no windows in that bathroom, so she's not going to jump out and escape, so I headed to my own shower. Only when the water was running did I realize that she has a window in her room and she could leave through there.

I took the fastest shower of my life and waited in her room. She's still in there, judging by the sounds when I put my ear against her bathroom door. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Soon enough, she, wrapped in a towel, walked out on me sitting on her bed.

I stood and wordlessly left the room. Moments later, she joined me on the couch.

"What were you doing last night?" I'm not holding back, I've waited long enough.

"Drinking," she said, not looking at me.

"That's obvious, the other woman was drunk too. And was probably on something else. What happened after?"

"No, that was what happened after. I was drinking," she mutters, looking me straight in the eyes, "her blood."

"So you're a vampire."

Irritation crossed her features. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"You drink blood, what am I supposed to call it? Quirky?" I shot back. She put her hand over her eyes and dragged it down her face.

"So you drink blood? Do you need to do that?" She side-eyed me in reply. She's adorable when she tries to be angry because you can't even tell at all that she's mad.

"Wait, do you have blood?"

"Y—yes?"

"Why don't you drink your own blood?"

"Do you get thirsty? Why don't you swallow your own spit?" She snapped at me.

"That's not the same thing." I crossed my arms over my chest; she glared back.

"Okay, just go ahead and tell me about yourself. I won't interrupt," I said, turning toward her and placing my elbow on the back of the couch.

"I was always sick as a child, which baffled everyone, because everyone in my family had no health problems. The doctors called it anemia, and we chalked it up to genetic misfortune. That is, until I was seventeen."

"What happened at seventeen?"

"I found out. After that—" I cut her off.

"Wait, how? You can't just leave it at that."

She gave me an exasperated look. "Valentin, I don't want to talk about that."

I stayed quiet.

"After that I put two and two together, and just drank blood whenever I could. I stopped being so sick after that."

"Has that been what you're doing every week?" She nodded, averting her eyes, her hand on the back of her neck.

"Do they know?" She sat unmoving, looking at the coffee table. "All your victims, was it consensual? Isn't that rape?"