I Like Your Fangs

Chapter 17

Pancakes don't exactly taste good when you've become partial to human blood. In fact, they don't taste like much of anything, and the texture doesn't sit easily on my tongue. Growing up,  I used to want nothing more than a chocolate chip stack piled high. Now, the urge to puke wrestles my stomach. I watch as Timothy piles pans into the sink, his hair tousled from sleep. Funny, I don't remember his hair being so golden from the sun, and then chestnut in the dark.

He pads barefoot over to the stove, switching off a flame as his pajama bottoms hang loosely off his hips. I gulp down a harsh lump of pancake, tearing my eyes off his bottom. I'm a pervert and a shitty friend. Fantastic.

"You like em'?"

I half grimace, half grin, either way it comes off twisted.

A light hint of a smile play at his lips, but he sits down across from me, "I didn't have blueberries, sorry."

He knows everything about me, down to my favorite flavor of a breakfast food I now find absolutely revolting.

"Don't apologize, you didn't have to make me pancakes."

I stab my fork at the fluffy stack, letting my haze pass as I take a gander at my bare feet and soiled dress. Tim chews quietly, I peek over at his shirt, a faded red tee of our Battle of The Classes. I bought it for him a year ago.

"I'm sorry you had to take care of me. I was a fucking mess."

Tim shrugs, still devouring his breakfast.

I stare at him, drowning in our silence. We sit there, my fidgeting coupled with the scrape of his fork.

"I'll help with the dishes," I hop off my stool and make my way to the sink.

"It's okay Rachel," Tim waves his hand.

I let the hot water flow and pick up a sponge, "I got it."

Tim groans and spins around from his stool, "Rachel, put the dishes down."

"I can do it, I'm perfectly capable!"

"Stop washing!" Tim grabs for a sudsy plate but I dodge.

"I want to!" I wrestle out of his grip.

"Let go-"

I knock into Tim and crush his foot, stumbling as we clash and the plate goes flying, smashing into hundreds of porcelain shards onto the tile of the kitchen. I feel the breath catch in my lungs, and I glance sheepishly at his blank expression.

"Jesus Christ, Rachel. Do you ever fucking listen?"

I make a move to gather the shattered fragments but Tim slaps away my hand, "I don't need you cutting yourself on anything. Don't move."

I stay frozen, scrunching my knees together as my legs wobble. He returns with a dust-pan and a broom, crouching at my feet. Tim sweeps gently, his forearm brushing past my calves as he swoops around my feet. My fingers shake oddly, and I fist my hands against my sides. And then I feel it. This deep ache in the pit of my stomach, a pang of excruciating desire that pounds against my temples. My gums throb, and suddenly I become fixated on Tim's hunched figure.

I hone in on the powdery debris that surrounds my legs, and fixate through all of the glass, on a small, perhaps even microscopic rivulet of rich, red blood. It streams from the heel of Tim's foot, nothing seems to matter anymore. My tongue presses to the roof my mouth, hands slowly unclamp, and with such smooth ease, two sharp incisors portrude over my wet lips.

"There, finished," Tim snaps up and I stumble back, snapping harshly out of my delusion. I slap a palm over my mouth and glare at my toes, I can't eat Tim!

He dumps the mess into the garbage and then turns to me, but frowns as he takes in my awkward state.

"Look I freaked out a little, yea,  but don't take it personally."

I shake my head vigorously,  but the smooth surface of my fangs still press against my upper lip.

"Rachel it's fine really!" Tim takes a step forward but I dart to the opposite side of the counter.

"I know, I'm sorry. Look I'm gonna go, thanks for everything," I mumble through the cracks of my fingers and briskly walk into the foyer, whirling as I try to locate my shoes.

Tim paces after me, wearing a suspicious expression that causes one eyebrow to rise, and take no mercy. Fuck the shoes. I go to unlock the front door but his hand slams it into place and I squeal in surprise.

"Rachel. I am sick of this shit. You've been acting like a maniac for the past few weeks and I have no idea why - but I've had enough. Ow!"

I slap Tim hard and quickly - I need to distract him. As he rubs his cheek I scramble with the lock and turn the latch, but Tim shoves me aside.

"That's it - you're a psychopath!" He shouts.

"Then let me leave your god damn house! "I stamp my foot, hands flying.

Tim glares, but bends towards his foot where he sees the gash from the broken plate, and I realize just how much blood has actually seeped out. He swipes two fingers against his heel, and brings two red stained tips to his eyes. I swallow dryly, my gums screaming again. I become transfixed with his hand.

"Rachel?"

I don't hear him, but I feel him, and before I can get a hold of myself Tim comes too close for comfort. He's silent, pupils dilated, his scent musky and sweet. But I listen, to the dull throb of his strong veins and the fierce beat of his heart, coursing with what I wish for most in this moment, all ringing in my ears. Tim reaches, his fingers suddenly breaking through my line of sight, our proximity growing smaller by the second. I shudder as fear and desire grips me, as the most foreign sensation washes over my hyper-sensitized skin, and Tim's course thumb skims over my fangs.

"...What are you?" he whispers in awe.

He's not afraid, in fact, he's drawn and for some reason, I welcome him. I angle my torso, tilting my lips towards Tim as he stands, utterly mesmerized. Because I know what I need to do. I catch him with my eyes and lift my palms, cupping his sharp jawline as I skim my lips against his stubble. He sighs, satisfied and eager. His arms wrap around the small of my back, his chest rising rapidly as he pulls me flush against him.

And I'm so close, his smooth, roughed throat mere inches from my fangs. I duck my head, burying my lips against the smooth surface between his neck and collar bone. I feel his energy, the warmth of the sanguine liquid that pumps throughout him, and my tongue skims. 

But his hands slither towards the nape of my neck, thrusting his lips against mine,  molding ourselves until he has me pinned against the wall. He wants this, he wants me to take anything and everything, to drink. It terrifies me. I snap out of the moment, my fangs slipping back as my terror overshadows my hunger.

I shove him as hard as I can muster, Timothy gasping in surprise. It gives me just enough time, and I fling myself out the door. Hurdling onto the street,  I break off into a run and don't look back, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I'm a monster.