Bite Somebody

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  She paused in her open front door. “You’re surprisingly hard to move. Your long appendages are like huge limp noodles.”

  He laughed and leaned his head back against her TV.

  Celia found Imogene, dancing by herself on the beach. Celia had to pull an earbud out to get her attention. “Can you help me move Ian?”

  “Shit, Merk, you didn’t bite him again, did you?”

  “No, he wants to take a shower, but you remember how his arms and legs—”

  “Huge limp noodles.” Imogene nodded. “Okay.”

  The girls went back, and Ian looked half-dead with his eyes shut. He glanced up when they arrived. “Hey, vampire,” he said.

  Imogene closed the front door. “Oh, good, he already knows. Hey, walking blood bag.”

  “Gross,” he said.

  They got on either side of him and helped him stand. Together, they walked him to Celia’s bathroom. Once there, they sat him on the toilet seat. The scent of blood wafted off him like steam from a pot roast. Celia sort of jumped when she saw Imogene’s fangs were out.

  “What?” she lisped. “I’m not gonna bite him. Really ith more the thought of him getting naked that did thith.” She gestured to her teeth.

  “Ian, how are you going to shower if you can’t stand up?”

  “Bath,” he muttered.

  “Great,” Imogene said. “You get the bath water ready. I’ll take hith clothes off.”

  “Out.” Celia pointed to the door.

  “No fair!”

  “Imogene, there is blood in the fridge. Go. And put your damn fangs away.”

  “You’re no fun.” She closed the door behind her, and Celia ran the bath water.

  Slowly, Ian kicked off his shoes and socks. His spandex suit unzipped from chest to hips, but then, he just sat there, slouched against the back of Celia’s toilet. Admittedly, it would have been easier with Imogene’s help, but Celia was feeling very defensive about her human. Yes, she was already thinking of him as “her human.”

  As she peeled him out of his sweaty, blood-soaked spandex suit, she did her best to avert her gaze. Celia felt guilty for a lot of reasons. One, she’d attacked him and possibly almost killed him. Two, she felt kind of date-rapey with him unconscious and nude in her bathtub. He sort of woke up once he was in the water, although Celia washed his hair for him. It wasn’t long before the bath water turned red from all his open wounds, but by then, Celia had gotten him pretty much cleaned up.

  She did need Imogene’s help getting him out of the tub and to the bedroom. Her friend refrained from most commentary. Just one sentence—“You lucky bitch”—before Celia told Imogene to hush. She wrapped Ian’s leg in an ace bandage and put neon-colored Band-Aids on his neck. Then, she wrapped him in her sheets, and he was asleep, dead to the world.

  Imogene and Celia stood there, watching him sleep. She put her arm around Celia’s shoulders. “Well, Merk, so it begins. Navigating a human-vampire relationship. You should probably see your therapist tomorrow.”

  “You think?”

  Celia wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke up, but it wasn’t time to get up. Her alarm had yet to wheeze-shout as it did every night at 8:30 p.m., but she did wake up. She opened her eyes, and Ian’s face was right in front of her with his hand on her cheek.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said.

  “Are you okay?” she muttered in half-sleep. The neon Band-Aids on his neck glowed.

  “I was thinking about my parents,” he whispered.

  Imogene huffed from where she slept at the bottom of the bed, curled in a little ball like a house pet, but she didn’t wake up.

  “You’re gonna have to meet them.”

  “I am?”

  “They meet all my girlfriends,” he said.

  Celia grinned. “I’ve never been a girlfriend before.”

  He said, “I’ve never dated a vampire before.”

  She leaned forward and kissed him. She was a little off target, and their noses mushed together until Ian had the presence of mind to turn his head. Then, he opened his mouth and kissed her harder—until he hissed and pulled way. He put his hand on his mouth.

  “What?”

  Hand still on his lip, he squinted at her in the dark. Then, she realized: her fangs had gone boing. She covered her mouth.

  “You’re not still hungry, are you?” he whispered.

  Celia shook her head.

  “Wh…” He pulled her hand away from her mouth and pushed at her upper lip until he could see her fangs. “Whoa, those are sharp. If you’re not about to bite me, then why are they out?”

  Celia was mortified to explain.

  “Celia?”

  “They come out when I’m…excited.”

  He got a huge grin on his face. “When you’re turned on?”

  She nodded, hand back on her mouth. She closed her eyes. “Ralph, Ralph, Ralph.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s part of my fang control. I have to think about someone I despise.”

  “That surfer kid from Happy Gas?”

  She nodded, eyes still shut.

  “Hey, Celia,” Ian said.

  She opened her eyes a little.

  “Fuck fang control.”

  He put his hand on the back of her neck and crushed their mouths together. Celia stuck her hands in his hair and pulled. She had the weirdest yearning to wrap her legs around his waist. She wanted…she wanted…what did she want? What was this all-encompassing heat? Why couldn’t she breathe?

  Maybe this is what it feels like to want to bang the hell out of someone, she thought, and the closer she got to Ian, the more she noticed he was naked under her covers and he obviously reciprocated her feelings. Celia made a sound like a growl.

  That was when Imogene groaned. “God, I’m right here!”

  Ian laughed and pulled his mouth away. Then, slowly, he moved his leg under the covers and shoved Imogene off the end of the bed.

  She landed with a “hunh” on a pile of dirty laundry. “Dick,” she said but didn’t climb back on the bed. She stayed on the floor and was snoring in about thirty seconds.

  Ian sighed and whispered, “To be continued. Until then, spoon.”

  “You need cutlery right now?”

  He made a cough-chuckle sound in the back of his throat and guided her onto her side, facing away from him. Then, he wrapped his long body around her.

  Oh. Spoon.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Celia went to see Dr. Savage, she was very excited to tell her about her first bite and how she was now somebody’s “girlfriend.” She was disappointed to find her therapist’s office locked up and dark. Dr. Savage once told Celia her door was always open.

  Liar.

  The following evening, Ian rode Celia to work, despite his mangled shin. Plus, he told Ralph they’d hang out and talk surfing. The boys rode off together into the night—Ian on his rental (he was waiting to get his back from the shop after his wipeout); Ralph on his skateboard—but not before Ian made sure to kiss Celia, which made Ralph cackle and point like the annoying little brat he was. At least the twat didn’t call her “Red” anymore.

  Having finished Twilight, Celia had moved on to more adult vampire content: Bram Stoker’s Dracula. She was pleased to find that so far there had been no glittery vampire sightings. In fact, Dracula was more monster than man. For some reason, this seemed to take some of the pressure off Celia to be a super seductress. Maybe it was the book or maybe it was Ian. She had a boyfriend who was super hot and sweet and seemed very interested in doing wonderful things to her body and she didn’t even have to look like Kate Beckinsale!

  Imogene came in to Happy Gas around midnight, and she looked funny. Her sunglasses were missing, and her curly hair was a huge mess on top of her head. Celia didn’t think her friend even had on makeup. “Did you hear?”

  Celia dropped her book. “Hear what? Is Ian okay?”

  Imogene rolled her eyes. “Jesus,
is everything going to be about Ian now?”

  “Sorry. Hear what?”

  “Apparently some human got deaded outside Tequila Sunrise the other night.”

  Celia didn’t mean to be callous, but she figured people died all the time so she just shrugged.

  Imogene did her hissy vampire thing where she flashed her fangs and put her hand up in the shape of a claw.

  “Oh!” Celia squeaked. “One of us did it?”

  Imogene nodded.

  “But Dr. Savage said we’re not supposed to kill humans.”

  “Duh. That’s why things are kinda funny right now.” Imogene glanced out into the night.

  Celia followed her look. “Funny how?”

  “Well, nobody knows who did it. It’s gotta be an out of towner. Vamps are on the fucking hunt.”

  “We hunt each other?”

  “Yeah,” Imogene said, “when something like this happens, vamp’s gotta go—doesn’t matter who does the killing.”

  “Humans kill vampires, too?”

  “Haven’t you seen Buffy?”

  Celia cocked her head to the side and nodded.

  “We can’t have one of our own running amok, killing humans, leaving fang marks. Whoever did this has got to be a newbie.”

  Celia took steps back, hand to her chest. “I didn’t do it!”

  Imogene snickered. “Merk, you don’t have the balls to do something like this, but newbies can be kind of bloodthirsty. I mean, look what you did to Ian’s neck.”

  “I like his neck.”

  “I know.” Again, Imogene glanced out into the empty gas station parking lot. “It just feels kind of spooky out there.”

  Celia held tight to the counter. “Hey, Imogene, would you go hang at my house tonight?”

  She glanced up, smiling. “You got some B-neg waiting for me?”

  “Ian’s at home,” Celia said.

  She didn’t know if she needed to say it or what she would say exactly. Imogene stared at her for a second, and then, it was like she got it. She nodded and said, “Yeah, Merk. I’ll make sure he’s okay.”

  Imogene leaned across the counter, grabbed Celia by the back of her head, and smacked a big kiss on her forehead. Then, she was gone, and Celia thought some more about Dracula: monster and man.

  There was still no word on the mysterious vampire murderer, not that Celia gave it much thought, what with the “holiday” and all.

  As it turned out, April twentieth was a day when people got high—really high. As soon as Celia woke at her usual time of eight-thirty, Ian was at her front door with a joint. He had to explain the whole thing to her, due to her ignorance, which he thought was surprising considering she went to college in Miami.

  Legend had it that in the seventies, some group of high school kids used to meet every day by the bleachers to smoke up at 4:20 p.m. It became code. Four-twenty meant time to toke. Therefore, April twentieth had been embraced as a whole day of cannabis worship.

  “I’ve never smoked before,” Celia told Ian.

  He put the joint behind his ear and counted on his fingers. “First bite. First joint. I like being your first. This is like Christmas.”

  Celia giggled.

  “Come on.” He dragged her to his apartment, where she was surprised to find a cloud of smoke and Imogene.

  “How’d you get here already?” Celia asked.

  “It’s 4-20. We only have, like, three and a half hours to get totally baked before the holiday’s over. I drove here as soon as the sun set.” In front of her was a bag of what looked like grass clippings and a box of rolling papers. Celia watched for a second. Imogene made joint rolling into an exhibit worthy of the Met.

  Out his front door, Ian called, “Heidi!”

  Celia grabbed his arm. “What are you doing? She’ll evict us.”

  “Aww.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re so cute.”

  Then, there she was: their landlady, who’d obviously just come back from the beach. She was in her bikini with a see-through cover-up. Her wig was crooked. Her eyes were red.

  Oh my God, my landlady is high!

  “Light it up, Olive Oyl!” she shouted.

  With the joint in her mouth, Imogene said, “I’m not sure I like that she calls me that.”

  “You do kind of look like Olive Oyl,” Celia replied.

  “Great.” She lit the end of her joint, and the room was filled with the fresh scent of pine.

  Ian sat Celia down on the couch next to Imogene. “Have you ever smoked anything before?”

  “I think I tried a cigarette once.”

  Imogene handed the joint to Celia, and Ian knelt between her legs. “Just think about sucking air through a straw.”

  “Okay.” She did what he said…and started choking. She coughed a cloud of smoke right into his face, which he happily inhaled.

  Ian laughed, and Celia was momentarily distracted by the way his blue eyes wrinkled, the way his lips pulled back to reveal straight, white teeth. “One more try,” he said.

  Celia thought it went better the second time. By the fourth time, she was like an old pro. In school, she had always been a fast learner. Heidi, bless her, brought over a pitcher of margaritas. Imogene headed to the stereo and, after bitching about Ian’s horrible hippie music, found one album on which they could agree: The Talking Heads.

  Celia watched Imogene dance. Ian was crushed against Celia on the couch with his arm around her and his mouth on her neck. When “Once in a Lifetime” started playing, Heidi joined Imogene in the wild thrashing dance of the drunk. Celia kind of felt like David Byrne, asking, “How did I get here?”

  When she ended up in Ian’s bedroom, she really asked herself that question, because Celia was no longer herself at all. First off, Ian didn’t drag her to his bedroom; Celia practically lifted him off the couch to get him there. New best friends, Heidi and Imogene hooted when Celia slammed the bedroom door and literally threw her boyfriend on his bed. She jumped on him like a spider monkey and ripped the buttons of his nice linen shirt.

  He was breathing really hard, and she could hear his heart—thud, thud, thud—beating super fast. She leaned over him, which was when he said, quietly, “Celia?”

  It was only then that she realized her fangs were out and she held his arms trapped above his head. She let go of him and leaned up, her hands flying to her face. “I don’t know what I want right now.”

  “Oh-kay…”

  “I just feel really hungry.”

  Ian chuckled, despite having been her prisoner five seconds before. “Side effect of the weed, Mermaid.”

  “I have blood at my house.”

  “You have blood right here.” He pulled her down in a kiss.

  She pulled back. “No, no, I can’t.”

  “Imogene said it can be a lot of fun.” He brushed the hair from her face.

  “You believe everything Imogene tells you?”

  He smiled. “Yeah.”

  “But won’t it bring back shark flashbacks?”

  “Only one way to find out.”

  Celia was so hungry. She had never been that hungry before, even back in her teenage fat days. Ian’s blood thumped through his body, and he smelled so good—always smelled so good. She remembered the days when she used to lean against her kitchen wall to get a whiff. Now, she had him in front of her.

  Mine, mine, mine.

  She licked her lips, which were kind of throbbing, and went to dive, but he stopped her. She knew it; he was backing out.

  “Not neck,” he said. “Too obvious.”

  “Right.” Duh, she thought. He still wore Band-Aids from their first debacle.

  “Shoulder?”

  She ran her fingers over his pecs. “I like your chest.”

  “Okay.”

  She was too high to hesitate, so she just dug in. His skin tasted sort of salty, but his blood was the way she remembered: heady, rich, like hot chocolate with cinnamon. He made this distracting noise when her teeth went in: somewhe
re between a groan and her name. His fingers closed tightly on her shoulders, and she felt his chest rise and fall at the speed of a dog panting in the summer heat. She stopped drinking when she felt his hand in her hair. She didn’t want to leave him completely unconscious.

  Well. He wasn’t.

  He flipped her over like an acrobat and started covering her whole body with his mouth. He pushed at pieces of her clothes to get to her stomach, her ribcage, her stomach…even lower.

  Then, his fingers toyed with the button on her jeans.

  Celia felt like she had to pee but also like her loins were on fire.

  Ian’s fingers made their way down the front of her jeans, and his mouth sucked her hipbone. Then, he moved his fingers a little lower, and she felt something akin to electric shock.

  Celia panicked. “I’m not ready!”

  He pulled back immediately and fell on the floor at the base of his bed. Celia rearranged herself and crawled to look over the edge.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  There was a bite mark by his right nipple that dripped a little blood down the side of his chest. His shirt was gone; Celia had no idea where. The top button on his shorts was undone. She sort of wondered if she’d done that. His eyes were shut, his mouth wet, but his brow was furrowed. He looked…frustrated.

  “Ian?”

  “Mmhmm?”

  “Are you gonna break up with me?”

  “I just need a second.”

  Celia leaned her chin out further, pouted. “Can I get you a margarita?”

  He finally opened his eyes. “Yeah, that would be great.”

  “Okay.” She stepped over him and made sure her pants were on straight. She made sure to close the bedroom door behind her, too.

  When she stepped back into Ian’s living room, the girls were dancing to Prince. Heidi was hip-thrusting, which…talk about nightmare material. When Imogene saw Celia, she hooted and hollered, then ran at her and kissed her on the mouth.

  She pulled back enough to wipe at the corner of Celia’s lips and give her a glare. Celia was going to have to practice clean eating.

  “Where’s Ian?” she said.

  “He’ll be out in a second.” Celia’s voice must have sounded unnaturally high.