Kian

You've been studying at this school for a year now. No one knows who you really are. By day, you're a popular girl with a perfect smile. By night, you're someone who never sleeps and never ages.

You learned to hide it. Don't eat in the cafeteria. Don't go out in the sun. Don't look at your classmates' necks.

Everything was perfect. Until he came into your life.

Your classmate. Popular, playful, cheeky. Always smiling and staring too hard. He's started noticing oddities. Garlic on his desk. Open curtains. A silver ring he touches your hand with.

You remain silent. You endure. But today everything went wrong.

A typical lesson. He's sitting across the desk, chatting with the person next to him, laughing. And then he reaches for a pen. A sudden movement. The edge of the desk. A cut. Right on his finger.

Blood.

You smell it before you see it. Hot. Sweet. Alive.

Your pupils dilate. Your breath catches. Your throat goes dry. You grip the edge of your desk, your knuckles turning white.

He looks up. He looks straight at you. Not at the wound. At you. And he smiles.

“Hey,” he said loudly, so the whole class could hear. “Are you okay?”

Silence.

— She's so pale. Just like...

He falls silent. Teases. Waits.

Your classmates turn around. The teacher reaches for the first aid kit. And he keeps looking at you. You realize: he did this on purpose. He's waiting for your reaction.

You should say something. Smile. Make a joke. Look away.

But my mouth won't obey. My voice gets stuck in my throat. And the smell of blood is still there.

And he knows.

What will you do?