Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Kisses or any characters. It all belongs to the wonderful Ellen Schreiber.

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A/N: Damn! It's been like, what, four months? My most sincere apologies! I've been so busy I almost forgot about this story. I wonder if anyone's even gonna bother reading it now, heh. Well, if you are still keeping up with the story, here's the next chapter!

Here I sit in this shitty desk chair in a room adorned with "motivational" posters in which are minorly entertaining to read while the teacher yaps on and on about Shakespeare…not my kind of literature…I wish she'd enlighten us (well, mainly just me) with some straight-up Anne Rice or Poe.

Trevor is in front of me, as usual. We still haven't spoken much to each other since…Becky's funeral. I glanced to my right to see her empty desk where she used to sit and sighed. My heart breaks more and more with every blessed memory between me and that girl, I was choking back tears now, and to make things worse, today marks the day of three weeks since Alexander and Jameson left.

All I've really gotten from him were a few bouquets of roses and a few texts, telling me things were bad with his father and that he misses me and loves me and hopes I'm okay with "our" baby. He promised he'd explain to me everything when he got back since it's too complicated to explain now.

What's so hard about it? A vampire was burned by the sun, that's, like, instant death, right? Or, mass-injury…but I didn't want to be a nagging girlfriend, and decided to give him the space he needed. Besides, I had greater problems of my own at this point…like…

All of a sudden there was churning in my stomach, pressure in my chest and bile beginning to creep up my throat. I sprang out of the desk, leaving my bad and books behind, and sped out the door, ignoring my teacher's concerned calls to me and the stares from all the other students in the class.

I raced to the nearest bathroom, threw myself into a stall and fell upon the floor. I stuck my head in the toilet as I emptied the contents of my stomach into the bacteria-infested porcelain. There was vomit in my hair, but I didn't care…all I could think about were the black spots dotting my vision and the excruciating pain in my stomach. Tears were streaming down my face. This felt worse than regular puking, worse than the time I had the flu a few years back…was morning sickness supposed to be worse?

It's not even morning anymore, and I remember reading online last week that morning sickness was nothing to worry about, but fuck, this hurts.

I heard footsteps behind me and groaned into the bowl. I sensed someone stepping into the stall behind me and laying a strong, muscular hand on my back and rubbing it in soothing circles.

I turned, cloudy-eyed, to find Trevor staring down at me with a worried expression. He had my bag as well as his slung over my shoulder.

"What are you-" I began to question but before I could finish I whipped my head back around for another session of hurling. He swept my sticky black hair into his fingers, brushing it back like he was making a pony-tail to keep the mess out of my hair.

When I was done, I closed my eyes and leaned against the seat for a few minutes. My stomach was still burning and I was sweating and panting, but I didn't feel anything else coming back, relief at last.

"Trevor?" I choked out. He took toilet paper and wiped the chunks from my chin and picked me up in his arms. It felt wrong, being in someone else's arms that clearly weren't Alexander's, but it was just the comfort I needed at this point, since I felt like I was about to die from puking, and I doubt I would be able to walk myself around the school without falling down the stairs or something else totally reckless that falls into the "dumbass tipsy pregnant chick" category.

"Let me take you to the nurse."

With that I was carried out of the bathroom, turned down the hall and slowly beginning to be walked cradled in my nemesis' arms. A loud female voice made me cringe, and Trevor jumped, startled. He turned to see the vice principle headed towards us, dressed in an unflattering pantsuit and overly-glamorized cat's eyeglasses. She had her pen and pink pad out, scrawling something predictable down on the paper.

"What were you doing in the women's restroom, Mr. Mitchell?"

Trevor gestured to me, shrugging his shoulders and replying in a calm voice with, "Raven here is sick. I found her vomiting in the bathroom and figured I'd help her to the nurse."

"That doesn't answer my question," she shook her head, ripping off the sticky note to hand to Trevor. "And not a legitimate excuse. That is a violation of school conduct and I think you've well-earned yourself a detention."

"She really is sick," he told the woman, who glared down at me.

"Then what in the heavens are you doing standing here telling me about it? Take her to the nurse, then it's back to class."

"Understood, ma'am."

Trevor, quickly this time around, escorted my to the nurse and approached the counter where a horrified nurse was seated.

"She was throwing up in the bathroom," he simply explained and proceeded to lay me down on one of the unattractive spinach-green cots on the other side of the room. She wrote Trevor a pass to get back to class. I watched him open the door to the office, looked back at me and did nothing more than nod, then make his way back to class.

I sighed and closed my eyes. My stomach felt like it was on fire, and I just wanted to go to sleep. The second I was close to internal drowsiness the nurse came over and jammed the thermometer forcefully into my mouth.

"One-oh-six!" she exclaimed, racing to the phone. "You're going home."

Pfft, like I was really gonna argue with her over that one?"

A half-hour later my mother walked in the door, woke me out of my sleepy-trance and she and the nurse helped me stand.

"Can you walk?"

"Yes, I should be fine." I assured them both. My mother held my shoulder just in case I was about to face-plant onto the parking lot macadam and led me to her car. I sat in the front seat, closing my eyes once more.

"I think it's morningg sickness," I told her.

"It most likely was," she said with an emotionless chuckle. "You'll get used to it sooner or later, trust me."

I wasn't so sure I could agree with her on that one. What happened in the bathroom just barely an hour ago couldn't compare to any other pain I've had in my entire life. I took some deep breaths and the sleep came.


When I awoke I was in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My hair felt like a bird's nest and I smelled like garbage. There was a note on my nightstand. I sat up in bed to read it.

Raven,

Went to the pharmacy to get you some medicine. I had to fill out a new prescription so I'll be a little while. If anything's wrong, call my cell.

Love,

Mom.

I crumpled up the note, haphazardly tossed it into my wastebasket and climbed out of bed. Without bothering to stop at the bathroom and comb my disheveled hair, I sloppily pulled it back with the black elastic band I had on my wrist and descended the stairs and entered the kitchen.

My mouth was dry and I felt clammy. There was no coffee in the pot, and since I didn't feel up to brewing some more, I figured some ice cold water would be just as refreshing. I filled the tallest glass I could find with ice cubes and water from the tap and knocked it back, drinking it all.

I was still thirsty so I re-filled the cup. It was cold, nice, but I was still so thirsty. It was unbelievable that I could be so desperate for fluids as I re-filled the glass again and again.

Okay, now this is really weird…must be a pregnancy thing, I guess. I set my glass by the sink and opened the fridge after realizing I needed to tend to my growling stomach. There was some un-cooked chicken in the fridge which I took out, heated up a skillet and dropped one slimy breast into the pan with a little oil, salt and pepper. On the back of the package it said 12-15 minutes were needed for the chicken to reach full-temperature, but as just three minutes slowly dragged by, the practically raw-but-warm chicken smelled like the most appetizing thing in the world. Without thinking, I grabbed a knife and fork from the drawer and dug in, eating right from the pan. It was good, and really wet and my thirst was finally satisfied. Once the breast was gone, I realized what I had done…

I just ate raw chicken.

And it tasted good.

And there was blood in it.

Oh.

My.

Goth.

I dropped to the floor, shaking against the linoleum. I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and dialed Alexander's phone number. I got his voicemail. Five minutes later I dialed again. I needed to talk to him, I was just so scared that I was clueless on what else I could do at this point. Voicemail again.

I snapped my phone shut and closed my eyes.

What's really happening to me?