“What happened in the morning, Celia?”
She hated the next part, but for the sake of therapy, she continued. “At 4 a.m., the hotel room alarm went off, but Danny was gone. The only evidence he’d even been there was a note with phone numbers for Steve and you—and a used condom in the trash, because I’m all for safety. Danny laughed about that.” She threw her hands in the air. “So poof! Vampire! But when I looked in the mirror, I wasn’t Kate Beckinsale. I was just me, again, stuck as me forever.”
“Why do you want to be someone else, Celia?” Dr. Savage asked.
“I don’t want to be someone else. I want to be me, just better.”
“Why?”
“I’m worried Ian is going to look at me some night and realize he’s out of my league and wonder what the hell he was thinking.”
“Ian seems to care about you, Celia.”
She shrugged. “So did Danny.”
When Celia got home that night, Ian was on the porch with Heidi. The landlady was in her usual cat puke-colored robe with her big, white-yellow wig. Celia heard her wild, crazy voice over the sound of waves—big waves. A storm was coming.
“After she used the hammer, she chopped his body up into pieces and left him for the gators,” Heidi said. “Can you believe that? Probably made the gators sick!”
Ian sipped a drink that actually sort of matched Heidi’s robe.
“You need to watch True Crime,” she continued. “You just never know what kind of monster lives next door.” She waved at Celia, which brought Ian’s attention to her arrival.
“Hey.” He smiled. “See you later, Heidi.”
She held up her saggy-skinned arm, covered in gold bangle bracelets. “Good luck tomorrow!”
He walked up to Celia and kissed her on the cheek. He held up his glass. “Kale smoothie?”
“Gross,” she muttered.
“I have a bike race tomorrow. Will you come?”
“Hmm?” Celia stood on the porch with her keys in hand. She smelled rain somewhere down the beach.
“It goes all the way down the key, but it ends in St. Arthur’s Circle. Thought you could come cheer me on in my spandex.” His eyes crinkled in mirth.
Celia wanted to say yes, but then she thought about bursting into flames. “I can’t.”
“All right.” He sipped at his health sludge.
She put her hand on his cheek. He was the first man she’d ever been so comfortable touching in her whole life. She’d never even hugged her dad. “Does anything bother you?”
He thought hard about her question, chewing the side of his bottom lip. “You swimming in the ocean at night.”
She sighed and unlocked her front door…to find Imogene on her couch with a bag of blood in her hand.
“Jesus!” Celia slammed the door, which made Ian go tumbling backwards against the porch railing.
“I almost dropped my smoothie,” he said.
Then, a raindrop hit Celia, square on the forehead. Ian kissed it away.
“Can you give me a second?” she asked.
“Sure.” He shrugged and stood there as the raindrops picked up speed.
Celia squeezed through her front door. Imogene was still on her couch, but the blood bag was gone. “Sorry?” she said.
“How’d you get in?”
“Merk, I’m a thief. And a vampire. The only thing cooler would be if I could turn into mist.”
Celia nodded. “Yeah, I’ve thought about that, too.”
Imogene stood, and she was way more glammed up than usual. She wore the same red plastic sunglasses, but she had on a black glitter top that was totally see-through with a black bra underneath. She had on black skinny jeans, and holy shit, no combat boots! Imogene was in black spike heels!
“It’s Saturday,” she said. “Let’s go out.”
“Um, Ian—”
“He can come. We’re not going to some bloodsucker cult. There’s this dive bar on Barkentine that I like. There’s a killer band playing tonight. A female guitarist. For real.” She stepped past Celia and opened the front door, where Ian stood being pelted by rain. “Come here, you stud,” she purred.
He smiled at her and gave her a one-armed hug that lifted her feet off the floor.
“Where have you been?” he said into Imogene’s purple hair.
“Pining after you.” She licked his cheekbone, as usual. Celia noticed Imogene was different around Ian. She brushed wet pieces of hair from his forehead, which kind of made Celia’s stomach twist when she realized she should be the one doing that. “We’re going out tonight. You in?”
He frowned and looked at the now empty smoothie glass in his hand. “I have a race tomorrow morning.”
“You don’t have to drink.” Imogene turned toward Celia and shoved her toward her bedroom—a silent command to stop wearing fucking yoga pants. Celia was hearing Imogene’s voice in her head by then. “Just come hang out,” she continued. “There’s this band playing at Drift Inn you just gotta see.”
“Drift Inn?”
“Yeah, it’s this really skungy bar. They even let you smoke inside.”
Celia heard the sound of his laugh from her bedroom and also the sound of his refusal.
“I’d really love to, but I can’t. I wanna kick some pavement ass tomorrow.”
“Wah, wah, then get the fuck out of here.”
Celia was staring at her closet when he stepped into the room. “I’ve been kicked out of your apartment,” he said.
“I don’t really want to go out,” she whispered.
“You should. You have to work the next three nights.”
Celia stuck out her bottom lip.
Ian pushed her out of the way of her open closet door and started going through her things. It was mostly t-shirts, but she kept her favorite shirts on hangers, which was how he found one Celia hadn’t worn in a year that said, “Bite Me” on the front with a pair of fangs underneath.
“Perfect,” he said, though he didn’t seem to understand why she laughed so hard.
She stopped laughing when he reached for the bottom edge of the well-worn white shirt she had on. He didn’t ask her permission before pulling the shirt over her head and tossing it on the floor. He kissed her collarbone once, twice.
Ralph.
Ralph, Ralph, Ralph.
Then, he pulled the “Bite Me” tee over her head and down her torso. When the shirt was in place, he kept his thumbs against her hips and rubbed softly. “Now, you’re ready to go out.” Then, he kissed her with that magic mouth of his—that mouth that made her think of things like Atomic Fireballs and the Fourth of July.
Imogene catcalled from the doorway, but when Celia tried to pull away, Ian just held her chin and kissed harder. Despite Imogene’s presence, he said, “Come over when you get home tonight?”
She nodded. Ralph.
Ian high-fived Imogene on his way out, and Celia stood there, legs in metaphorical cement.
“That was fucking hot,” Imogene said.
“Ralph.”
“What?”
“It’s how I calm myself.”
Imogene crossed her arms and leaned on the doorframe. “By ralphing?”
“I think about someone I hate. It keeps the fangs in when Ian’s around.”
“Ah, getting the premature ejaculation under control, huh?”
“Yeah, but he makes it really difficult.”
Imogene nodded. “No shit. Nice shirt.” She flashed her fangs. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
It rained in earnest as they made their way down Admiral Key. Luckily, Imogene’s convertible had a top, but the top didn’t make her drive with any more caution. Neither did the rain. She actually seemed amused by the puddles she threw up whenever she lost control of the vehicle. She was a menace.
The streets of Barkentine Beach were dead, but the bars were full. Many establishments had their doors wide open, and Celia could see crowds inside, hiding from the storm. Stages were brightly lit, filled wi
th longhaired old hippies and wrinkled backup singers.
The Drift Inn was at the end of the main drag, and Imogene parked crooked in two spots like she owned the whole block. “Good thing we’re not witches,” she said.
“Huh?”
She flipped her glasses up at Celia. “We’d melt!” With that, she went running across the street. Celia took off after her, glad she’d changed out of her white t-shirt from earlier—not that anyone was going to give her half a look next to Imogene and all her wicked glory.
The Drift Inn had a reputation for being dirty, stinky, filled with biker dudes…and totally rad. Imogene was right about the smoking thing. When they stepped inside, Celia was baptized in blue haze. The jukebox played Elvis, and there wasn’t an open seat at the half-circle bar.
“Let’s go make some guys move,” Imogene said.
The place was smaller than one might expect for having a multi-island-wide rep. It was just a half-circle bar with a stage the size of Celia’s closet and a unisex bathroom—oh, and a mannequin, dressed in a silver glitter gown and purple wig. Oddly, she resembled Imogene.
Imogene walked up to two huge guys in leather vests with long, white beards. She lifted her red sunglasses and said something, which made them immediately get up and try to buy her a drink—which was harder than one might think. There was only one bartender at The Drift Inn, and he was this old guy who looked like a grumpy Santa. He had on a huge Mexican sombrero; glasses; and a shirt that read, “Fuck you, I have enough friends.” He even ignored the huge biker dudes until Imogene put her glasses on top of her head, wiggled her hips, and boom, there he was, grumbling about rum punches and peach juice. She ordered one for Celia, too, and they sat down, elbow-to-elbow with the new, old, and barely coherent.
“What do ya think?” She gestured to the crowded area as if it was a vast mountain range.
“Cool,” Celia said.
“Yeah, the band should start in, like, an hour. You and Ian a thing now?”
“I guess so.” She stirred her tall, pink drink but didn’t take a sip.
“God, you look miserable. You were just orally attacked by the most adorable human on the Key.” Imogene stuck her bony elbow in Celia’s rib. “What’s the matter with you?”
“I keep thinking he’s going to break up with me.”
“Break up with you?” She drank half her rum punch in one gulp, kind of like the way she drank blood. “Are you even official? Like girlfriend-boyfriend? Because you can’t break up with someone if you’re not even official.”
“Well, he could stop wanting to see me because I’m chubby and awkward and he’s…not.”
“God, enough with the fucking pity-party.” Another rum punch materialized in her purple-painted fingers.
“It’s just, nothing in my life has ever been easy. Even when I was a kid, I stressed over the organization of my toy box. Now, this thing with Ian is moving along, and it’s just too easy. Something has got to go wrong.”
“Like him finding out you suck blood to live?”
Celia shrugged. “Yeah. That would be bad.”
Imogene shoved Celia’s rum punch close to the edge of the bar so she had to catch it before it fell in her lap. “Drink that. All of it.” She sighed. “Look, there’s this music guy in South Carolina. Not the kind of shit I usually listen to, right? Kind of sappy, sweet. Written after 1989. But there’s this one song he wrote and played for me once. I don’t know what it was called, but it was about love and how this guy didn’t…” She tipped her head and took a slurp from her straw. “It was about this guy who was looking for love and then he met this girl—this one girl. And the chorus was something about ‘I never knew it could be this easy.’” She shrugged. “I think that’s what happens when people are supposed to be together.”
“Oh,” Celia said.
“Yeah.” Imogene nodded. “Let’s do a shot.”
Celia laughed.
Imogene was right, the band was cool. The female guitarist was killer, even though she kind of resembled the Crypt Keeper. The girls even made friends with some fishermen who smelled like shrimp. Guys smiled at Celia, even though they mostly just danced around Imogene, considering she could actually dance. But Celia wasn’t as invisible as usual, which was nice.
They drove home drunk, the rain still coming down. When Celia suggested they go swimming, Imogene was all for it. She was naked before they reached the sand, but Celia kept on her bra and underwear. With all the booze in her system, she didn’t feel so bad about herself.
Celia loved swimming in the ocean when it rained. It was hard to tell when she was above water, and the ocean felt warmer than the storm—unusual for early April. She liked being surrounded by water, and the air smelled a strange mix of wet flowers and salt. Of course, Imogene was obnoxious, rolling and shouting and spitting salt water from her mouth, washing it away with fresh rain. Celia did her normal duet with the fishies and floated until she could no longer tell the difference in sound between breaking waves and falling rain.
They ran up the beach together. Imogene didn’t even put her clothes back on—just went right for Celia’s front door. When Celia moved to follow, Imogene shook her head.
“He told you to go to him when you got home.”
“Oh.” Celia glanced at Ian’s front door.
“So go to him. Duh.” Imogene walked into Celia’s apartment and slammed the front door in her face.
“Right. Okay.”
Ian’s front door was unlocked, and his apartment was warm. The scent of sleeping Ian felt better than the waves against her skin. She was soaking wet in nothing but panties and a bra. She crept to his bathroom and dried off with a towel from the rack. Then, she crept toward his bedroom, and she did kind of feel like Bela Lugosi, creeping around Ian’s place with him unconscious and snoring ten feet away.
She didn’t know if she was supposed to wake him or what, but she stretched out on his bed, above the covers. He was sprawled on his stomach, arms curled under a pillow. She’d never seen so much of his skin before, so she had to touch it.
He had freckles on his back, and when she touched them, he took a loud breath of air and squinted up at her in the dark. “Mm,” he said and pulled her body closer with a hand around her waist. “You went swimming in the ocean.”
“Imogene was with me.”
“But I wasn’t.”
Celia wasn’t sure he was really awake. His voice was slurred, deeper than usual. His hair was a huge halo of black tentacles. His eyes remained closed.
“Why aren’t you under the covers?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“It bothers me that you’re not under the covers.”
She smiled and slipped beneath his sheets. He pulled her even closer so their stomachs touched. Celia felt super nervous when she realized he was in nothing but boxers—and she was in sea-soaked underwear. His breath came out in warm, stale puffs against her forehead. Who would have thought sleep-breath could be so cute? His arms were around her, one leg tangled between hers. He let out a little sigh and was asleep again.
Celia leaned her head back some so Ian became less a fuzzy mess of features and more Ian. She moved one of her hands to the back of his neck and played with the shaggy hair there, in need of a trim. She guessed even in his sleep, he liked having his hair touched, because he moved his body even closer. They were glued together from the chest down.
It was shocking. Lying there, drunk, sticky with the sea, covered in clammy, half-asleep Ian, Celia finally got it. She finally understood what it was like to want sex.
She was sure other people figured this out climbing the rope in gym class in sixth grade, but the whole thing with Terrance had been just a rite of passage. With Danny, it was just because. So outside of the blood lust thing, she’d never looked at a man and thought, “Yeah, I totally want to be naked with him.”
Imogene said this was because Celia had never had an orgasm. How can you miss pizza if you’ve neve
r had pizza? Right?
It was then decided: Celia wanted to have sex with Ian.
It wasn’t just about orgasms. She wanted to be closer to him. Literally, lying in his bed, there was no way they could have physically been closer, except for one very obvious thing that…well…
Dr. Savage said sex was a gateway to discussing the first bite. Maybe if Celia and Ian had sex, it wouldn’t be so weird when she told him she drank blood to stay alive?
She went to bed happy. Ian snored, she knew this, but she slept anyway—for a while. Then, she had a nightmare.
In her dream, Danny met her on the beach. He wore the same three-piece suit as the night they met. “What’s up, Mermaid?” he said. Then, Celia realized she was naked and ran back to her apartment screaming. She wasn’t sure that really counted as a nightmare, but she sure didn’t like it.
Chapter Ten
Ian got second place in his race. When Celia was leaving for work, he stood on the porch on the phone with his mom, but he still had time to wrap his arm around her shoulders and kiss the side of her head. He said he was going to start training super hard for a big race coming up, and Celia was reminded, again, Ian had a really cute butt.
Celia thought if they were in a romance movie, those days would be the perfect time for a montage, despite the fact that the female lead kept bags of blood in the fridge—and some in the freezer, the vampire version of popsicles.
On nights when she didn’t work, she and Ian watched Jeopardy! together. Ian would come over after testing video games all day. Then, they would make out, which Celia had gotten better at, she thought. Ian hadn’t asked about the “bedroom” since she threw him off her couch that one time, but her hands had been wandering. Ian’s body felt nice.
She found it was getting a bit annoying, turning down his offers to make her dinner all the time. She figured it had to be annoying for him. He had to wonder why she never ate.
Sometimes, they went biking together after sunset. Ian had to practically pedal backwards for her to keep up with him. Her beach cruiser wasn’t exactly built for speed—and neither was Celia. But Ian was good about it. Sometimes, he even rode around her in swift circles.
Bite Somebody Page 9
