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Yes. I know what you're thinking, ANOTHER vampire story by me? The answer is yes. Deal with it ;) o and mind the cover. it's a crappy 20 minute drawing I did because I had nothing else to use for the cover.

He had fallen to the floor.

The memory flashed through my mind. A year or two ago, when my friends had dared me to use the boys bathroom, it had happened.

I was standing in the stall, pants remaining on as I stared at the wall. I counted the seconds to make sure it seemed believable, when a thud from farther down the room had interrupted my concentration.

I stood, shocked, unsure of what to do. Ask what was wrong? Then I would give away my voice, and the fact I was a girl. I stood, holding my breath and straining my ears to hear something more. Silence.

I quietly unlatched the stall door and let it swing open. Then, feeling like a FBI agent looking for the criminal, I stepped forward and looked up and down the long room. At eye level, everything was alright, but as my eyes drifted down they stopped on the thin trail of blood starting to drip down the floor drain. My scream caught in my throat: it came from the last stall. I took a hesitant step forward, a toilet flushing in the girls bathroom on the other side of the wall.

The walls were moist from leaking pipes and they dripped, swirling the blood with it, and joining it down the drain. I took another step forward and a foot came into view from the last stall. A single black converse shoe. Someone had collapsed.

I finished the walk in a rush now, dropping to my hands and knees and crawling into the handicap stall, not minding the blood that stained my clothing.

A teenage boy only a bit older than me lay there, his dark hair in his slack face. He had fallen on his side, one arm over his stomache and the other reaching out to where a razor lay. I looked at the razor, then back to him, compassion filling my chest. I finished crawling to him in a hurry, lifting him so he was in a sitting position. I didn't recognize him. He was a pale boy, with sharp features, he looked like he would be rather tall if he were standing. His dark jacket was zipped only half way. He was definately a student.

I pushed the hair out of his face, his lips parted slightly. I somehow remained calm as I grabbed his cut wrist and applied pressure to the deep cut.

I had no idea who he was. I had never seen him before. And I would have remembered someone so attractive. I bent over slowly, letting his head tilt back as I put my mouth over his.

I remember thinking that his skin was so cold. Where my thumb pressed on his wrist to where my lips touched his. I blew strong the air from my lungs into his. I felt his chest rise and then fall.

Okay, nothing was obstructing his breathing, even though it was obvious what had happened.

I looked around quickly, finally deciding on my scarf and wrapped it around his wrist, lying him back onto the floor, on his back. I levelled my hands and pressed quickly onto his chest. I only pressed four or five times when he coughed and stirred.

I moved back and watched him as he slowly gained consciousness.

He turned his head from side to side and moaned, his voice sounding like angels would if they cried. When he opened his eyes, they were the most stunning blue, as if they were windows to the winter blue sky.

He struggled to sit up. When he looked at me, a single tear trailed down his cheek.

Then the memory dissapated and I was back to the present, sitting up and breathing heavily into the dark. I could almost still see his eyes, filled with tears, looking at me in a way that I still have not figured out. Hatred? Had he meant to die? Thankfulness? Agony? I had left the bathroom in a rush. Never looking back. I didn't even know his name.

That was two years ago.

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