Carnivora

Carnivora Part 3 of 4

3

Jake sat with slumped shoulders on a bed in the school infirmary. The chest of his t-shirt was soaked with drying blood. He moved the folded square of paper towel from his nostrils and saw faint red imprints. The bin next to his feet had four paper towels balls, bunched together from multiple sheets, and all pretty well soaked from his nosebleed.

It had hit him while on the way down to class after lunch. One second he'd been heading downstairs, everything normal, and in the next wet warmth had flooded over his lips. He had rushed to the infirmary. Kids had parted before him with looks and a few exclamations of surprise and disgust. Jake had registered shame, but his fright had overridden everything.

He shifted the icepack to the back of his neck. The nosebleed hadn't eased up after a few minutes and the nurse had said to switch it between the top of his nosebridge—the spot between the brows—and the back of his neck. Red blotches splattered his shoes. His mind wanted to go grey at the sight.

Jake was breathing through his mouth, yet could somehow smell the ruined and bloodied capillaries in his nose, an odour of copper and iron. The nosebleed was a known side effect of the the meds he took, but had only occurred in less than two percent of all patients.

I'm so lucky, Jake thought with weary savageness. From here came the real strong meds, the kind that had a good chance of eventually landing him bouts of leukaemia.

A soft knock came to the door. Tiffany leaned in. Her eyes had been puffy on Monday, as if she'd had a hard cry over the weekend, but her girlfriends had stuck close to her and she'd given Jake a smile earlier in the day.

"Hey, I heard you were in here," she said. "Can I come in?"

Jake shrugged.

She entered. She was dressed in soccer gear again. Was school over already? He hadn't heard the bell.

Tiffany's eyes were locked onto his t-shirt. "What happened?"

"Nosebleed. It's the pills I take for the smell thing."

Her eyes read his face and softened with concern. She sat next to him and spread an arm across his shoulders.

"It'll be all right," she said.

Jake managed a weak smile. "Yeah." His voice was clogged and nasal.

"I can get you a spare uniform, I think. You can change into it."

"My dad's coming to pick me up. He's bringing clothes."

"Good. That top is ruined, bro."

Jake found a smile coming to his mouth.

"What's it like?" she asked. "I thought it'd be cool, like having a superpower. Clearly it's not."

"It's not all bad," Jake said. He shrugged. "Food tastes richer." But he remembered all times he hadn't been able eat because of other smells—sweaty kids at school, the neighbour's lawn-care spray, uncollected garbage on the street. He went quiet.

Tiffany studied his face. "Tell me."

The door opened a few minutes later. A girl with long dark hair came in. "Hey Tiff." She tapped her wrist. "Almost time for practice."

"Tell coach I'll be a little late," Tiffany said. "Thanks."

The girl left.

"It'll get better," Tiffany said. "There'll be better meds, safer ones." She pulled out her phone and swiped it, beginning to smile. "You'll laugh at this."

She showed him a photo of a small boy with dark gel-spiked hair who was imitating Frankenstein, walking with his arms out. "That's my cousin Charlie," she said. She swiped to the next photo. It was a slightly blurred close-up of Charlie's face, and he'd crossed his eyes and looking as if he was laughing his head off.