In her three years at the Vortex Club, first as a member and then as co-director, Victoria Chase had seen her fair share of parties gone wild, and experienced her fair share of difficult mornings. But nothing like that before. She groaned as soon as she opened her eyes and rolled over, and sighed deeply. She was absolutely exhausted, her head felt like a massive lump of lead and her body felt like it had been run over by a truck five times. Yet, somehow she also felt very relaxed deep inside, a feeling of complete tranquility she usually experienced when she smoked a lot of weed or when she had particularly good…
Sex?
She sat up in a startle, wincing at the throbbing pain in her neck and shoulders. She was stark naked, and she didn't sleep naked, usually. And her bedsheets reeked of porking.
What the fuck?
Victoria Chase liked to party as much as the next guy, but bringing a hookup back to her room? Not like her at all. The heiress of the famous and respected Chase family had standards to uphold, after all. So what happened? Last thing she remembered about the party was her taking that pill with…
Max!
Oh my God, yeah, we danced and I started tripping balls, seeing her eyes glow and feeling like we were flying and shit! Then she started hallucinating, thinking she was a real vampire or something, cause she bit me and drank my blood!
The memory of this particular event made butterflies dance in her belly, and she wanted to bury her head in her bedsheets in utter embarrassment as scenes from last night played out in her head:
Then I got all slutty with her, we came back here and…
Five times! Five! Fucking! Times! Who would've thought Little Miss Wallflower was such a sex beast? Everytime I thought we were done, exhausted, she'd just bite me again and then ask for more, as if my blood was fucking cocaine! Girl's batshit insane! No wonder I'm feeling so tired, she must've siphoned at least a liter from me!
As she remembered, she started caressing her sore neck and shoulders, feeling with the tip of her fingers the red spots where she'd been bitten, and just this touch was enough to make her feel hot and bothered again.
Seriously, Victoria? A bite fetish?
As much as it appalled her to admit it, it looked indeed like she'd just discovered an inclination she didn't know she had, for the very thought of Max's teeth against her skin was…
What the fuck! I'm not gay!
Yeah, right. You were totally not hoping to hook up with her last night, that's why you were not anxious at all about her not coming.
That's because I enjoy her company! I like to hang out with her, she's a good friend.
What happened in this room looked very friendly indeed…
Shut up, Inner Vicky! We took MDMA and it went off the rails, that happens, it doesn't mean anything!
And now you're gonna tell yourself this was not the best sex you've had in ages?
That very thought made her bite anxiously at her lower lip. I hate you, Inner Vicky.
She got up, put on some satin pajamas and a kimono (a real, hand-made kimono imported from Kobe, of course), then took a couple tablets of Tylenol with water. Then she thought about the little silver box she kept under her bed. Her private stash. In it were her diary, a few precious pictures, and… a few grams of coke. Enough to help her through the day. Nah, not a good idea. She couldn't rely on powder everytime she had a hangover, that's how you become an addict. And Victoria Chase would never, ever become a junkie. A hot shower, a nice breakfast and a large coffee, and she'd be good as new!
Don't stress over it, she told herself while under the water. I'm not stressed, I'm Victoria Chase, I never get stressed. *sigh* And I sure love to lie to myself. Anyway, I'll just play it cool. We're good friends, we had a slip, we're the only ones who know and we'll not talk about it ever again, end of story. No big deal, right?
Right, no biggie. What happens at a Vortex Club party stays at the Vortex Club party.
She finished her shower and froze when she got out of the stall. Another girl was at the sinks, brushing her black, red and blue ponytail in front of the mirror.
Shit, not her…
Straightening up with dignity, the blond girl walked to another sink and started combing her short hair and putting on her expensive skincare products, briefly acknowledging the other girl with a cold:
"Scott."
"Chase," the other girl replied with the same disdainful tone.
One does not become as popular as Victoria Chase without making enemies, and throughout her three years at Blackwell, only two people counted as serious foes: her best frienemy Rachel Amber, obviously, the only girl more popular than her, the girl who was everything Victoria wasn't. The other was Brooke Fucking Scott.
For Victoria had always thought of the social structure of Blackwell Academy as a well-organized pyramid, with herself on top, the other members of the Vortex Club just below, the rather popular ones another tier below, and the insignificant mass of the dorks and losers at the bottom. Of course there could be some people Victoria had beefs with, such as Juliet, but all in all, everyone was conscious of this structure, to varying degrees. They may not all like her, but they respected her position. They respected the system.
Except Brooke. Brooke was the speck of sand in the cogs that ruins the whole machinery, the glitch in the Matrix, the chaos factor, the division by zero. She had absolutely no respect for Victoria or for any other Vortex Club member, whom she would gladly call a "total loser", a "jackass" or an "attention whore" in their face. No other girl at Blackwell looked at Victoria that way, without a single drop of admiration, envy or fear, only sheer, unfiltered contempt. It wasn't even like she was acting that way out of spite or jealousy, which could've given the Queen a bit of leverage, no. Brooke simply had her own set of standards that she enforced without concessions: clothes didn't matter, cars didn't matter, good looks, popularity or the ability to throw a party didn't matter to her, if you couldn't code in Python, hadn't read a single word by Ursula K. Le Guin or couldn't discuss in details all 26 episodes of Cowboy Bebop, you were a drooling imbecile not worthy of her time and attention.
Well, I know all 26 episodes of Cowboy Bebop by heart, but no way I'm gonna let her know, I have a reputation to protect.
And she couldn't even be bullied the old-fashioned way, like Alyssa, because she purely and simply did not give a shit. And the Queen and her minions had found out much to their chagrin how dangerous it was to try to pick on a girl who had absolutely awful tastes in music that she was more than happy to share with the whole dorm floor. Especially early in the morning.
If Victoria was truly honest with herself, she had always been a bit wary of Brooke, that girl she couldn't control in any way, and also jealous of her for living out her dorkiest hobbies so proudly, other people's opinions be damned. If only she was that brave…
So throughout the years, both girls had settled for a policy of mutual ignorance and it had worked fine so far. Hence Victoria's surprise when Brooke asked her:
"Did you have fun last night?"
On her guard, Victoria replied: "Why do you care?"
With a shrug and a smug smirk Victoria didn't like at all, the dork replied: "Just curious, it sure sounded like you had fun."
Victoria froze, her brain suddenly flickering with alarm signals. "What the fuck are you talking about, Scott?"
And to the blonde's utmost horror, Brooke suddenly shut her eyes and started panting and screaming in high-pitched mock orgasm: "Oh yes, Max, bite me! Hurt me more, Max! Ooooooh God you make me so weeeeeet!"
Victoria grabbed the sink and squeezed hard. Her heart was beating like crazy.
"You heard us?"
Brooke scoffed: "These walls are thin. Everybody heard you."
Victoria's ears were now buzzing, her vision started to blur.
Shit, a panic attack, no, not now!
She heard us. Everybody heard us. Everybody knows. I can see it already: Victoria Chase the Dyke Queen of Blackwell.
What am I gonna do?
Calm the fuck down! Don't give Brooke more satisfaction!
"You know," Brooke continued, oblivious to Victoria's distress, "you got me surprised, here. You hooking up with Max? I wouldn't have bet on it. And who would've thought sweet little Max was a domme, right? But to be honest, now that I know the Queen Bitch is a dyke and a sub, it makes you… I dunno… more sympathetic."
Seeing Victoria didn't respond, she simply put her brush back in her bathroom bag, grabbed it and headed toward the hallway, adding, with a mischievous wink:
"I'll see you round… you naughty girl!"
Once alone, Victoria finally allowed herself to sit on the floor and have her meltdown.
Night was falling. At her desk, Victoria sighed, her eyes too sore to stare at her computer screen any longer. She rubbed her eyes, then decided to shut down her computer and take her diary from her secret silver box. She had a lot of things on her mind about that day and felt the need to put those on paper.
Dear Diary,
Well, wasn't too bad, was it? I mean, yeah I had a fucking breakdown in the bathroom, but then I recovered, armored up and went out to start the day with my head up high like a true Chase.
Sure, the first few minutes of breakfast with Court and Tay have been kinda awkward, there was a fucking dinosaur in the room that nobody wanted to be the first to address, but eventually I broke the ice, being like, "Okay, if you girls have something to say, just say it!"
And turns out they were very supportive. They even stunned me with how little they actually care. Of course they were surprised I had some action with Lamefield of all people, but then again, as Tay said, Max was pretty hot last night. Court even complained about being so hopelessly straight when being a lesbian was "so chic in 2013". Court, you fucking idiot! Like it's a conscious choice! And I'm not even a lesbian, I had to repeat that to you both like a million times but you just wouldn't fucking listen. This was a fling, nothing else. Oh well, at least I know now that I can count on you. Thank you, girls.
And Lab Class went on surprisingly well this week. I submitted a photo of the old boat I took at the junkyard. I called it "Pirate Ship" and explained I saw in it a tribute to imagination and a nostalgic contemplation of childhood lost. Monsieur Lacroix loved it and praised me to no end. My parents would be proud. Maybe they would even bother with a compliment, for once. I guess I have to thank you for the inspiration, Max. Even if you stole the show right after with your "neat trick", submitting a photo of your room's reflection in your mirror, the trick being that neither you nor your camera are visible in the mirror, how the fuck did you even do that? You couldn't Photoshop a Polaroid, could you? And that title, "Born Again", what's that supposed to mean? You gave a pretty weird explanation about how someone may feel after a life-changing event, feeling like your old self is no longer there and you're like a blank slate, hence the lack of reflection. Max, is that how you feel at the moment? What's that life-changing event? Is it our night together? Quit dreaming Vicky, you're giving yourself way too much importance here!
Gosh, here I am thinking about you again! Let's just talk about something else.
Okay, not everything was perfect today. First, I'm so worn and hungover I had to fight to keep my eyes open a couple times. And Brooke and Alyssa thought it was funny to moan and make bite noises whenever they saw me, and a lot of others quickly picked up on the trend, and it's getting old real fast.
Now I have an idea how you must've felt, Kate, being laughed at for a party fuck-up. Except that you were set up while I'm sole responsible for what's happening to me.
Still, looks like the Queen's gonna have to work hard and be extra bitchy to protect her throne.
But do I really want to? Maybe it's time to resign, I wonder what it's like to be a regular girl who lives the way she wants to without a care in the world about people's opinions. Someone like Brooke, or Kate. Or Max.
Pour l'amour du ciel, again?
At least, people seemed to be laughing at me for having loud BDSM sex, and not for having sex with a girl. On the contrary, everyone seemed okay with that. Everyone except Logan who makes dyke jokes that make no-one laugh but him. Come on, Logan, everyone knows you're just bitter because a "dyke" drank you under the table, you pathetic loser! Shit, I even saw people high-five Max in the hallways! Could Brooke's words actually be true? That I'm more sympathetic as a lesbian?
But I am not a lesbian!
She sighed again, stowed her diary back in its box and massaged her temples. She was fatigued, bone-weary, and even though it was still a bit early, she couldn't wait to get to bed. Oh well. She'd told Tay and Court she needed some alone time to finish some work and wouldn't stay up long, no-one was waiting for her, she might as well call it a night and chill in front of an anime (with the sound turned low, of course, so no-one could overhear it). She settled for Cowboy Bebop, thinking about it this morning had made her want to watch it again.
Would be nice to watch it with someone, she thought as she was curled up on her couch with a blanket. Someone who would enjoy it with me, without judging me for my tastes. Someone who would cuddle with me on this couch and stroke my hair…
Someone like Max?
Maybe… I'm sure hipster dork loves Cowboy Bebop…
Max… who are you, for real?
It seems like with each passing day, I get to see a new side of Max Caulfield I've never suspected before. Mousey hipster dork. Sweet and caring friend. Occasional pothead. Then last night you turned to a vampire pirate, and damn, Max you had such passion in you, such a fire, a goddamn superhero, you took the whole party by storm!
You took me by storm.
And today, another Max again. The punk-rock grrrl Max. Not that I'm gonna complain, you had the audacity to wear a leather jacket and black nail polish and you managed to make it look awesome. But you were so… cool and aloof. You responded to people's high-fives and jokes with the mandatory politesse, yet without blushing and sheltering behind your earpods like the old Max used to do, and without boasting either. You were simply a million miles away, as if you were focused on something way beyond our understanding. One would think you were probably too hungover to think straight, but you didn't even look that hungover. And you acted like nothing happened tonight, and gosh it makes me crazy! I should be relieved we're both on the same page on this matter.
I'm not.
If only I knew what you want or how you feel, it would make it easier, wouldn't it? But I can't even try to guess how you feel because of those stupid shades, you fucking hipster! Should I call you? Send you a text? Knock on your door?
"Max?"
A voice calling from the hallway pulled Victoria out of her reverie. She paused her episode and listened. She heard a gentle rap on Max's door, followed by Kate's voice, calling:
"Max, it's me, Kate. Do you want to chat?"
Intrigued, Victoria stood up and opened her door.
"Kate?" she asked. "Are you okay?"
The Christian girl turned around to greet her with a weak, sad smile: "Oh, hi Vic."
Kate, what's going on? You've been like this all day, looking down, demoralized. And now you want to talk to Max, is that about her? About… about what we did? God I sure hope not! I didn't even think about how you may feel, you being in the Abstinence Club and having close friends who… didn't really act abstinent. If we hurt you, I'm so sorry, Kate, we didn't want to.
All those things that crossed her mind, but Victoria was still not very good at this kind of conversation. Instead, all she could mutter was:
"You… look sad."
"Huh?" Kate was so far away that it took her a moment to register Victoria's words. "No, no, it's okay, just… tired, you know."
"Yeah, me too," Victoria smiled warmly. "You… want to come and chill out a bit?"
"Oh, no, thank you, I… I just wanted to say something to Max, but it looks like she's not here…"
"She's not? You want me to call her?"
"No, it's okay. I guess I'll see her tomorrow."
"Are you sure everything is alright?" Victoria insisted with concern, then, muttering her courage, she added: "Kate, if this is about-"
"It's," Kate interrupted, "it's… it's okay, really. I had m-m-my headphones on, I fell asleep to music, so I d-didn't hear anything. Uh… maybe I should get to bed, I'm tired. Good night, Vic."
"Good night, Kate. And remember, if you need… my door is always open."
"Thanks."
Another weak smile, then she was gone. Victoria returned to her room and looked at her phone on the table.
I'm only doing this for Kate, she told herself as she dialed Max's number. It rung. Again. And again. Victoria felt her pulse quicken a bit more each time. Finally, her voice that made the blonde girl gasp:
"Oh, hi Tori! What's up?"
"H-h-hi Max! I'm, uh, I'm good. And you?"
"Pretty good!"
She sounded excited. By what? And what was that sound in the background? The sound of a car door opening and closing?
"Are you out?" Victoria asked.
"Yeah, I'm on a photo op with Monsieur Lacroix tonight. You?"
"Oh, just chilling in my room. I, uh, Kate's been looking for you."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, she knocked on your door, but obviously you're not there."
"She doesn't have a problem, does she?"
"I dunno, she wouldn't tell me. Said she just wanted to chat with you."
"Oh, kay. Well I'm a bit busy here and I'm probably coming back late, so I'm gonna see her tomorrow. And you too?"
"Yeah…"
There was a pause. Victoria looked at her TV screen, her episode paused. She swallowed hard and struggled to control her trembling, sweating hands.
"Tori?" Max asked. "Is there anything else?"
"No, uh, well, yes, actually. I…"
Goddamnit, Vicky! You're like a nerdy bookworm about to ask the quarterback for a date! Get a hold of yourself, you're Victoria Chase, you're the Queen, and you just want to hang out with a friend, it's not that hard!
"I-I-I was wondering if you would like to watch a movie with me some night?"
On the other end, she could hear Max chuckle with relief: "Shit, the way you sounded, I thought there was a serious problem! Sure, always up for a movie night!"
She said yes!
"Cool… I know you'd love to watch Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within on my huge-ass screen, so we can make it happen."
There was a short pause, then: "I said that?"
Victoria giggled, she couldn't help it, it was cute how Max sounded when she was embarrassed. "You were kind of thinking out loud last night. You were, uh, pretty drunk."
"Ooooh maaaan…"
"But it's okay, you know… I kind of like this movie too."
"For real?"
"For real. But if you tell anyone else, I'll probably have to kill you. After lots of gruesome tortures."
"Mmmh, I'm looking forward to that… so Victoria Chase likes Final Fantasy? Now that's unexpected!"
"Well, we… all have our little secrets, don't we?"
Max sighed: "You have no idea…"
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing, just… anyway, I need to get back to work, see you tomorrow? Good night, Tori."
"Good night, Max."
She put down her phone, still trembling.
That's a date!
A friendly date.
Totally.
She tried to calm herself down now that was done, and focus again on her show. But her mind was now entirely focused on an image of her laying on her couch with her head on Max's lap.
"Max?" Monsieur Lacroix asked as he climbed out of the passenger side of the truck and closed the door. "Is everything alright? You look giddy. Even more than at the cemetery."
Max put her phone back in her pocket and turned toward her teacher: "I… think I have a date with Victoria."
He rolled his eyes at this: "In my time, people went on dates before having sex."
"In your time, you mean back in the good old days when racism, misogyny and homophobia were in?" She shot back cheekily. "And don't get me started on the facial hair…"
He smirked: "Touché. Now…"
He took a glance at their surroundings, looking positively unimpressed. Which was no wonder. Max had parked the car inside the barn on Matheson Road, and the rotting wood and old haystacks and rusting chains made for a pretty underwhelming sight.
"I hope this is not the best you could come up with for a safehouse?" he said.
"Course not, Monsieur, this is just a camouflage. Check this out."
And the girl knelt down beside a trapdoor, unlocked the combination padlock, and opened it to reveal a concrete staircase leading underground. She went down the stairs, Lacroix following, and landed in front of a blast door, a thick, impenetrable slab of steel with a wheel in the middle and a digipad on the wall next to it. She dialed the code 542 and the green light shone.
"How did you know the code?" Lacroix asked.
Max shrugged: "The numbers 2, 4 and 5 are worn, so it wasn't hard to guess. I got it on the second try."
She then turned the wheel and opened the door, letting them both enter the first room. The girl found the switch and turned on the light to the lowest setting, which was still pretty dark but more than enough for their sensitive eyes.
A good thing about the former secret lair of a mad photographer, you can be sure he had a dimmer installed!
The first room was a small kitchen area, with a large sink, a fridge, a micro-wave oven and steel shelves full of canned food and bottled water and some kitchenware, napkins, cleaning products, matches and various such items. On the left there was a large opening, behind transparent vinyl curtains, that led to the second and main room: a large, rectangular room, bare concrete walls, white tiled floor, and dark acoustic ceiling. As furniture, the room featured a couple steel cabinets, wheeled shelving units, a steel desk with chair, another large, sturdy-looking chair, an expensive-looking black couch with white cushions and a sleek, fancy coffee table. And that was all. The only items here were the crowbar and syringe Max had left on a shelving unit the day before.
"So this," Lacroix said, "is the infamous Dark Room." He frowned. "I expected something… more."
"Well, the place has been cleaned up. According to what was leaked in the papers, there was a lot of stuff in there, it was a real photo studio with lighting rigs, expensive as fuck printers and equipment, in the cabinets there were folders with pictures of all his victims, and some even say there were sick photos of bondage and torture on the walls. The cops took it all away. When I first visited, yesterday, it still looked kind of like a psychopath's dungeon. I mean, the couch was wrapped in clear vinyl, what the fuck! I ripped that off right away. And that chair." She pointed to the thick, sturdy chair. "Looks pretty out of place, it's all square and heavy. I wonder if he didn't use that chair to tie girls up… ugh! I didn't get rid of it yet cause I'm still short on furniture here, but I think I will."
Her teacher shrugged: "Why, I guess a rug would really tie the room together. It is a good choice, however, secluded, lightproof and soundproof… are you sure it is completely safe, though?"
"I guess, the cops didn't make its location public, probably cause they didn't want to have dark tourists in here. The place is still technically owned by Sean Prescott, but I doubt he has much use for it, and since the cops took everything they needed here, nobody has any reason to come back here anymore."
"Très bien, then… shall we proceed?"
"Sure. Uh, Monsieur? Just a question, if you don't mind."
"Of course."
"Uh… I was wondering… in case Tori and I end up dating for real… how does it work? I mean, between a human and a vampire?"
Lacroix sighed, a pained look in his eyes: "I will be honest with you, ma chère: nine times out of ten, it does not work. After a while, increased intimacy will raise questions that you will have to answer."
"You mean I'll have to… tell her?"
"If your relationship gets truly serious, then yes, eventually you will have to. And this is where it is most likely to fail: first, Mademoiselle Chase will have to believe you. Then, she will have to accept you, which is even more unlikely. For you see, though I firmly believe we are still mostly human in spite of our peculiar condition, the idea that we are but dangerous, ruthless predators is still firmly ingrained in the human mind. If, however, she believes and accepts you, the issue of turning her will be raised eventually."
"Turning her? You mean, into a vampire?"
"Yes. How else can you seriously consider the possibility of having a relationship with someone who will eventually grow into a mature, then an old woman, and finally die, when you will forever remain and eighteen-year-old girl? The question being, will she want to become like you, with everything such a transformation entails?"
"Is that… how it went for you and Nigel? He was a vampire, and he turned you so you could stay together, right?"
"That is right."
"What happened next, so you're no longer together?"
Again, the pained look in his eyes. He simply murmured: "That is a story for another time. We have much to do tonight. Let us proceed."
Max barely repressed a yawn. She was exhausted! She hadn't had time for a proper nap all day, as it was All Saints' Day and she'd spent her lunch break with Joyce and David, visiting Chloe's grave. The hardest part being trying to look as grieving as they were while in reality, she was looking forward to digging her up tonight. How many times had she struggled not to yell: "Quit crying, she's coming back!"
But she couldn't, of course. No-one was to know. Not yet. Then, afternoon classes, then coffee with Joyce to comfort her some more before she was to head to Lacroix's place for work. Work which had consisted mostly in vampire education. The first lesson being about discretion:
"I know how you feel, Max, every young vampire goes through a phase when they're drunk on power and feel the need to go and raise hell. When Nigel turned me, we spent countless nights in the seediest cabarets of Montmartre, getting drunk and picking fights with the rowdiest crowds, just because we could. I still remember the look on this lad's face, one night, when he stabbed me in the stomach with his knife and I just stood there, grinning at him. As long as you refrain from killing anyone, it is perfectly healthy to go through this experience. But this is not 1853 anymore. In your world, Max, everyone has a camera on their fingertips, and this is where lies the danger: for if you get noticed, people will want to take pictures, and videos. How do you think they would react when, upon looking at those, they see you do not appear? The first time, they might shrug it off as a glitch or convince themselves otherwise that it is no big deal. But should it happen too often, people would start enquiring… can you imagine how much trouble you could be getting yourself into? You certainly gave this Logan boy a good lesson, but from now on I count on you to exercise caution, and to teach Chloe to do the same."
After this came the practical lessons, and finally, the time had come for a nightly visit at the cemetery. And now they were here, in the lair, with their precious loot. As they were walking up the stairs back to the barn, she took out her phone:
Max Caulfield: Hi, heard ur looking for me? Sorry Im on a photo op tonight, you okay?
Kate Marsh: sure Looks like Vic's called you ^-^
Max Caulfield: she did ^^
Kate Marsh: hope she didn't worry you?
Max Caulfield: No, why?
Kate Marsh: she looked worried about me, but Im okay, just felt like chatting
Max Caulfield: K ^^ Tea tomorrow after class then?
Kate Marsh: that's a date :D
Relieved, she then joined her teacher and together, they removed the tarpaulin that was covering the bed of the truck. There were two coffins on the bed, one was brand new, the other was covered in dark, wet soil. Next to it lay the dirty shovel they'd used to dig it up and plug the hole afterwards. Lacroix grabbed the new coffin while Max took care of the dirty one, and they descended back to the Dark Room in a strange funeral procession. They put down the coffins next to one another, at the very back of the room, facing the couch. The new coffin was a gift from Lacroix to Max, her own coffin to sleep in! She'd been dubious at first, but he'd promised her it was awesome and she should at least give it a try. The dirty coffin…
Max grabbed her crowbar and pried it open.
Oh God, Chloe…
She looked so peaceful. Barring her skin that had thinned and taken a yellowish, cadaverous hue, and the stench of corruption emanating from her, she looked just like she was sleeping. A blue-haired Sleeping Beauty.
"I have to give it to the morticians," Lacroix commented, "they did a great job on her. I have seen more recent bodies in much worse condition. I shall give you some privacy," he added upon seeing his protégée trembling, her eyes wet with a mixture of emotion and excitement. "I will be in the other room if you need me."
He left, and soon after she heard the click of a lighter, followed by the smell of burning tobacco.
It's time, Chlo.
With slow, deliberate gestures meant to weather the storm inside of her, the girl took off her jacket, grabbed the syringe and plunged the needle in her arm to fill it with her own blood. Then she climbed into the coffin, straddling Chloe's body, and contemplated her. She knew what she had to do, but for a moment she remained frozen, mesmerized, her eyes wandering from her still lips to her neck to the cleavage of her dress, which she knew she had to open to access the heart, but that very idea made her flutter.
Seriously? Lusting on your dead best friend when you're already supposed to be dating someone else? Bad Max, bad!
Okay, enough fucking around. With a deep breath, she opened Chloe's dress and focused on the magic spot, on her left breast, near the centerline. She hesitated, the memory of a nightmare she once had coming back to her.
What if she rises, starving and angry, and rips my throat wide open?
Bullcrap, Max! Like the real Chloe would ever do that!
Still... is it really a good idea?
You can't have cold feet now, Max! You've come this far, all of this was for her, it's too late to step back! Are you afraid she'll be mad at you for the whole ghosting her for five years shit?
Well I know she will. The reunion will probably not be a lot of fun, but I've tried to dodge it for long enough already. If I hadn't tried so hard to avoid her, maybe she'd never have been shot in the first place…
The spot. She had to be quick and strong enough for the needle to penetrate straight through the breast and ribcage. She raised her syringe with both hands, a pulp fiction priestess ready for the sacrifice to whatever dark god.
Vincent Vega can do it, I can do it too!
With a quick, stiff move, she stabbed her best friend straight through to the heart and pushed on the piston to pump all the content of the syringe inside her. Then, in awe, she pulled back the syringe and stood up and climbed out of the coffin, her eyes never leaving her friend.
"Did it work?" she called out, her voice quivering, and her teacher appeared by her side.
"It most likely did," he said, "but remember it will take twenty-four hours for her to wake up. You will have to be patient. Now, let us go to Portland."
"I… I'd rather stay here," she said. "keeping watch on her. I don't feel like clubbing."
"But you have to feed, Max. She will need you when she wakes up, and what use can you be to her if you are too tired and weak from neglecting yourself? So we will drive to Portland, find ourselves a nice club, feed, and when you are sated we will drive back here so you can get proper sleep before school."
She groaned at the mention of school: "Maybe I should skip class tomorrow? Just to make sure I'm here when she-"
"And neglect your human life, your human friends? That is the best way to become the bad kind of vampire, and I shall not allow this. You are going to school tomorrow, young lady. Do not worry, you will have ample time to come back here before she wakes up."
With one last longing look at her friend, Max reluctantly started heading to the exit. She had almost reached the curtains when she heard it. A minute change, a faint ripple in her soundscape. Gasping, she turned around and focused, blocking all the other sounds from her mind: her own heartbeat, her teacher's heartbeat, the slight buzz of electricity. Her hearing was turned fully toward the coffin. It was weak. It was slow. But it was definitely there:
Thump… thump… thump… thump…
"Chloe!" she cried out and ran back to her friends. "Oh my dog, Chloe! Chloe, you're alive, you're really alive!"
Gently, she stroked her friend's blue hair and fresh, smooth pale cheek. Through the tears that blurred her vision, she tried to make out her features, and it seemed to her that already, her skin was getting thicker, healthier, the yellowish hue of her face fading in favor of the white vampiric complexion.
She is alive. She really is!
"So it really worked!" she shouted, turning to her teacher, her teary eyes full of gratitude. He smiled warmly:
"As I promised. Come now, let her sleep. She needs it."
"Monsieur?"
"Yes?"
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice broken. "Thank you for doing this for her."
"You do not need to thank me, young Max. I was just here to help you on your journey, but the biggest sacrifice was yours to make. You forsook your humanity for her. It takes a very special kind of friend to do that."