14; Sex with a Vampire

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(It's getting good!)

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It is truly a day of firsts. Not only is it the first time I've ever made such a loud scene in public, but I've become a truant as well - instead of going to fifth period history, I skip class.

Brenda's taking me to the house even before I've fully registered that I'm driving there. To the one person I need to speak to before I explode.

Anxiety roils in my gut as I have flashbacks to screaming at Santana. I know she won't have taken kindly to being spoken to like that, and at some point, she'll get me back.

What have I done?

My subconscious is dancing around and ripping pages out from her history textbook. Screw school!

Seriously, what's gotten into me? Did I really just call Santana Quebec a bitch in front of the whole school?

Icon status! My subconscious cackles. Who even cares? Santana is a bitch.

I get to Emma's house much quicker than I expected to. Her faded-yellow buick's still parked in the driveway, so I know she's home. Today is the first day in a long while we haven't been in class together; I miss her terribly, not used to being away from my best friend for so long.

I walk to the door and knock. A few moments pass with no answer, and I knock again - still no one.

I know she has to be home; Emma rarely leaves to go anywhere without her car. Why isn't she answering?

I try a different tactic; I walk around the back of the house, towards her window. With relief I notice it's open.

"Hello!" I call out, cupping either side of my mouth like a megaphone. "Earth to Emma!"

A head pops out; dishevelled hair and too-big glasses. As quick as it appears it's gone.

I walk back towards the front door and Emma's stood there. She's wearing her oversized khaki jumper with the holes in it, the one reserved exclusively for heartbreak and illness.

She looks like a banshee, my subconscious remarks.

Ignoring it, I walk towards her and squeeze her arms.

"Em," I say, the concern making my voice sound heavier. "Are you ok?"

Suddenly her expression breaks - Emma's face crumples and she bursts into tears.

"Santana's going to kill me," she sobs, leaning into my neck.

Panic flares in my bloodstream at the mention of her demon sister's name. What has Emma done to warrant this type of reaction?

I let her cry on me for a few moments before I gently push her back and guide her inside towards her bedroom. It's an absolute pigsty; dirty clothing piled on the unswept floor, unwashed cutlery crowding her desk, the air stale with neglect. I guide her to the bed and go to open the window further.

"Em," I try again. She's looking down at her fingers, still sniffling. "What's going on?"

She only shakes her head. "Santana's going to kill me."

I make to repeat my question but then she starts shaking silently with repressed emotion, and I know I have to change the topic. Instead, I do what we always do when the other's sad (like when I first found out my mother was marrying Richard, or when I was sick with the flu, or, worst of all, when Emma found out One Direction were breaking up.)

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⏰ Last updated: Apr 25, 2021 ⏰

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