Warning: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence that some individuals may find triggering.

Amy didn't get nearly as much time to herself as she had hoped. Her mother had been obsessive over the save the dates, and by the time dinner rolled around, Amy hadn't gotten the chance to go to the print shop. She hadn't even gotten the chance to take a shower.

When she finally gathered her papers and got in her car at 8:00, she was still bothered by what Karma said that afternoon. She'd only really made a move on Liam that morning, and she was already using the word "dating"? Amy realized she had no right to feel upset- if Karma wanted to pursue a guy, Amy should be nothing but supportive. Still, she couldn't help that it irked her, how quickly things were apparently moving between them.

The print shop was the only store on the block with its lights still on. It was usually populated by tired-looking college students, but tonight the office-like establishment was unusually empty. Amy parked in the lot to the left of the building and walked in. She didn't notice the peculiar shadows that crept closer and closer behind her.

By the time Amy trudged back to her car, it was nearly nine. She damn near fell asleep at the binding station, not quite being able to concentrate enough to line up the pages. The storeowner had given her heaps about being out so late alone. This assignment had given her almost more trouble then it was worth- it would be a relief to hand it in. She was far too tired to continue worrying.

The cool night air fell over Amy like a blanket of relief as she stepped outside the shop. She slipped into the shadow of the brick veneer building and fished around in her pocket for her keys.

Amy felt a pull around her waist. She found her back to the brick, arms above her head.

She felt something sink into her neck.

Amy gasped, thrashing hopelessly against the shadow that imprisoned her in its grasp. A burning sensation spread through her clavicle, creeping up her jaw, bursting through her skin. She tried screaming. She tried freeing her wrists. The searing in her veins spread further, shooting to her core. The pit of her stomach was nursing an inferno, she was sure of it.

The night blurred before her. Scarlet clouded the edges of her vision. The dewy night dripped with a sickening scent. She found the power to glance down.

Greasy waves of black writhed on top of her.

Amy felt her knees buckle, and suddenly the pressure was gone.

She caught a glimpse of cyan orbs before their owner slipped away.

The pain in Amy's neck was replaced by a wave of violent nausea. Amy staggered over to a dumpster.

Suddenly she regretted having pasta that night.

Amy felt her knees give out again. She sank back against the wall. Something was dripping over her clavicle, running between her breasts. She lifted a pale, quivering hand to her neck.

Her fingers smoothly glided through thick liquid.

Amy tasted copper on her tongue, and felt the urge to throw up again.

Fuck.

She was still too drained to stand. Her breath came in shallow gasps- all of the oxygen in the air refused to fill her lungs. She wanted to die. She wanted to pass out and wake up in front of pearly gates, if she woke up at all.

Hot tears slipped from her eyes, mixing with blood. It seemed pointless to move, even if she thought she could. So she remained there, stained by crimson, tainted by the poison that still throbbed ever-so-slightly through every inch of her flesh.

I have to get up.

I can't get up.

But I have to.

Whatever had happened to Amy, it became apparent that she wasn't going to be allowed to curl up and die. She felt achy and weak, but she needed to take care of herself.

She didn't remember much between putting the keys in the ignition and walking through her front door. It's a miracle she wasn't wrapped around a tree off the side of the main road.

She closed the heavy wooden door, clicking the lock shut behind her. Her feet took her, in shaky steps, to the kitchen. Bruce and Farrah, as well as Lauren, had gone to bed early. Amy flicked off the downstairs light and climbed the stairs, stumbling every few feet.

The fluorescent light of the bathroom seemed too brilliant for her tender eyes. They refused to focus for near on a minute. When they finally did, Amy nearly gasped.

She looked like hell. Deep russet blood was already flaking off her bruised skin. Crimson still oozed slowly down the curve of her neck, crawling in rivulets through the threads of her t-shirt, blooming anew intermittently from her skin. Where her hair was once platinum, it reeked of iron and fury. Her pallor looked more like that of a ghost than a living human.

Amy dampened a facecloth and wiped away the blood. The cloth may as well have been paper, for all the help it was. When Amy could finally see porcelain amidst the grime, she examined the wound.

Two small, well-spaced puncture marks dotted her skin. The flesh around the wounds was swollen, already blackened with bruising.

She refused to believe it, at first. It was madness. Or a cruel prank, or a bad dream. She'd had herself convinced that vampires were nothing more than an ill-thought manifestation of mutant fantasy. Never had she believed the kids who swore they were bitten, or saw one of their friends attacked, least of all the ones who said they'd had a vampire "in thrall". They actually used that expression, too, like a human debilitated by extreme anemia was Romantic with a capital R.

She wanted to break the mirror. She wanted to go back in time and convince her past self not to be such a skeptical idiot. She wanted to punch Lauren in the face for stopping her from using the binder. She wanted to reject Karma's plea for help. She had every opportunity to avoid this, and it ate away at her- she swore she could feel it.

Amy had done the reading. She knew what being bitten meant, even if she didn't initially believe it. The venom, as they called it, didn't always take. Some people had immune systems that could take the venom. Sometimes there wasn't enough venom in the body to start with. She'd heard rumors that somewhere, a vaccine was being developed. All this meant nothing- Amy's immune system crumbled to dust in response to common cold every winter, like clockwork. Whoever had attacked her had contact for at least a few minutes. Medical help seemed all but futile.

She leaned over the basin, srutinising herself in the mirror. Tears still stained her cheeks, and weeping still rimmed her eyes.

Her arms shook against the bench.

Get it together. She wouldn't allow herself to cry again. Anything that she did now was a shot in the dark. There was nothing left to hope for but hope itself.

She sank to her knees again, allowing her calves contact with the cool bathroom floor.

Then Amy did something she hadn't done for five years.

She awkwardly clasped her hands together, and prayed.

"Hey, God."

Silence.

"Sorry it's been so long. You know how it is."

"Look, they all say you've got some sort of plan. Some grand idea for everyone. They say you've got it covered."

"God, please don't let the venom take. I know I have no right to ask, but… please."

She felt the tears returning, but heard nothing but the close and sterile echo of her own voice.

"Why did you let this happen to me?"

The tears flowed freely now, and it was all Amy could do to keep from screaming. She heaved silent sobs into her forearms, cursing her faithlessness and stupidity all over again.

Never in her life had Amy felt so alone.

Alone, on her bathroom floor, Amy cried until tears would no longer come. Her bloodstained cardigan was growing itchy on her shoulders. She was shivering, but barely noticed it over the wracking spasms of her chest.

The barest hint of sunrise was already creeping over the east when Amy stripped out of her shirt and crawled beneath her downy covers. She would be content to sleep forever. To sleep would be to forget how broken she felt, how tainted she felt. To sleep would be to leave behind the aching in her neck and the throbbing in her chest. She counted her heartbeats- one, two. Three, four.

Every beat could be sending a monster further through her veins. By morning, she could be consumed. The thought made the bliss of sleep even more elusive. Yet Amy hoped, and eventually, she slept.

Amy woke feeling heavy. Her eyes were bleary, reacting a few seconds slower than the rest of her. She glanced to her bedside table. Her alarm clock was not there- it was still on the floor, where it had landed yesterday. Her phone was buzzing, lighting up every few seconds. Amy scooped up the vibrating device and scrolled through the notifications.

Karma must have texted her at least fifty times. She swiped open the messages.

Hey, is your assignment all done? (sent 9:05 pm)

Amy?

Hellooooo?

Why didn't you reply to me last night? (sent 7:43 am)

Amy?

Are you ignoring me? (sent 7:51 am)

Did I say something to upset you?

Amy, please, talk to me. (sent 8:15 am)

Are you even at school yet? Nobody's seen you (sent 8:38 am)

Please reply to me. I'm worried about you.

It was 9:23 on Friday morning. She had overslept. Both Bruce and Farrah left early on Fridays, and Lauren hadn't even bothered to rouse her before leaving for school herself.

Amy pushed aside the covers and set her feet on the floor. Her legs were clad in denim. Denim isn't pyjama material.

She turned back to her bed. The pillows rested in a pile at the bedhead, as they always did, mussed and lumpy.

Only her pillows weren't normally deep red.

Amy staggered over to the mirror. Half of her blonde hair was caked in auburn. Her eyes were now a peculiar acrid green, shining like marble. And, God, she was pale. More so than her usual pallor, it was like no colour whatsoever would take to her face. She leaned closer, wrinkling her nose. Her lip lifted, revealing an unnatural gleam of white.

Oh sweet Jesus, she had fangs.

It was nearly enough to cause her stomach to convulse again. Her stomach had never felt to empty before, so agitated by hollowness. She was so sure that the bizarre flashes of terror she remembered were just stray nightmares. Now she knew they were 100% real.

The venom took, she realized. I'm infected.