He’s quiet for a second, and pops a chip into his mouth. “You know about that?”
“Not until recently,” I say. “When I stopped taking the Reds, my mom and I had ‘the talk’ about biting. You were her example.”
“Oh, I see—”
“Did you love her?” My curiosity comes out way too fast and desperate.
He looks back at my mom. “Yes, of course.”
“Do you still love her?” I ask.
“Darius, that was a long time ago,” Jonathan says. “I got married, had two children, and later divorced.”
“But if you loved her once, you could love her again, right? You’re her First Bitten.”
“I’m on the Reds; I’m a Normal.” Jonathan looks around the party and back at me. “Is that why you invited me here? To bring your mom and me back together?”
Now I’m feeling foolish. It all sounds so dumb, and I haven’t even asked him the harder question: Would you give up your life as a Normal to save my mom’s life?
“Is it so stupid that if you loved her once, you could love her again? Sure, you have a girlfriend, but if you could have my mom—”
“Darius, Helen isn’t just my girlfriend; she’s the mother of my children.”
I’m confused. “You said you were divorced.”
“Correct, we divorced three years ago. Recently we’ve been spending time together,” Jonathan says. “We’re working on our relationship.”
I’m happy for him and his family. I know what it’s like to live in a broken home, and it sucks. But I’m speechless, and he can tell that I’m holding back my emotions.
“Darius, I loved your mother a long time ago, but life went on.”
“You’re her First Bitten,” I remind him. “Somewhere inside, you love my mom. You could love her—”
“And if I could fall in love again it would be with my wife, Helen, so we can bring our family back together. I hope you understand,” he says.
There’s no sense in begging Jonathan. I gambled by inviting him here, and I lost. “Yeah, I totally get it. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d fall in love again, transform into a Vampire and bite her to save her life.”
Jonathan sets his plate of food on a table and slides his hands in his pockets. “Oh, wow, that’s what this is about? You want me to become a Vampire and—”
“Yeah, dumb, I know. I wasn’t sure how to ask you over the phone.”
“I don’t think it would be right for me to do that,” Jonathan says, looking back at Helen. “I’m sorry, Darius.”
“Me, too…”
“I’m still glad you contacted me. While your mom is very ill, there might be a way to help her.”
“We’ve tried everything, even blood transfusions. She’s near the end.”
“There are innovative treatments for V2 these days,” Jonathan says. “Northwestern University in Chicago has made great strides in fighting this disease.”
He talks at length about all the research done on HIV2 and the advancements medical science has made over the past five years. It all sounds too technical, and too late.
“We can’t afford it,” I say. “We can barely pay the bills we have.”
“Most of these are research studies that wouldn’t cost your family any money,” Jonathan says. “Sometimes they even pay the patients for their participation. I’ve already mentioned this to your mother tonight, and she seems interested.”
I look back at her speaking with Helen and Jack. “Really? She said she’d go through with the treatments?”
“Yes, she’s intrigued enough that she wants to know more. I’ll send you the information.”
We shake hands. Maybe Jonathan’s presence here has given my mom renewed hope. “Thanks so much for your help.”
“Thank you for inviting me to this special event,” he says. “I care for your mother very much.”
Weezer and Angel approach to my left. They look anxious, as if they’re waiting for me to finish my conversation.
“One more question,” I say. “Do you regret my mom’s bite?”
“Absolutely not,” Jonathan says. “Everything happens for a reason.”
I shake his hand again and walk over to Weezer and Angel, thinking those words—Everything happens for a reason. That might be true for other people, but my own life is far more random. I don’t see the connections between the dots, and nothing seems to be for a higher purpose.
“Well? What did Jonathan say?” Angel asks me. “Will he do it?”
“No,” I reply. “He wants us to try some experimental treatments.”
She reaches out and holds my hand. This is the first affection she’s shown me since our kiss. “I’m sorry, Darius.”
“Witching hour is upon us,” Weezer says.
“Mr. Rork kicked Bao and his gang off his property,” Angel explains to me. “If we don’t meet Bao at the bridge soon, he’ll probably come back.”
“Round up Alex, Marcus, and Tandi. I’ll say goodnight to some of the guests. I’ll meet you in the driveway in five minutes,” I say to Angel.
At my mom’s table she stands to give me a long hug. She feels smaller and fragile in my embrace. There are so many things I want to say to her. I want to encourage her to fight the disease. I want her to be as excited about the future as I am. Is that really fair of me? Am I just being selfish?
Mom steps back. She removes a strand of hair from my eye. “You’re beautiful, honey. I’m very proud of you.”
“Thanks, the party was really Shelby’s idea.”
“I’m proud of how you cared enough to find Jonathan.”
“At least now you know what happened to your First Bitten.”
“That was very sweet of you,” she says.
I give my mom a kiss on the cheek and she’s happy again. She’s so distracted by the party that I think she’s totally forgotten about the fight, but then she surprises me.
“Take care of yourself. Let’s hope this brings an end to it,” she says, as Jack and Kira join her. “Jack says you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say. Now I’m feeling more nervous.
“Fight fair,” Jack says.
“I’ll call or text you when it’s over.”
“Good luck, Darius,” Kira says, hugging me tightly. “Remember, you’re a Vampire!”
“Thanks, Kira. Take Mom home and make sure she gets some rest,” I say as I walk away, looking for Shelby.
Whatever mayhem Bao created while I was talking to Jonathan, it’s now quieter at the party. Most of the students are either gone, or walking to their cars and trucks. I see Shelby picking up chairs by an overturned table.
“What happened?” I ask her.
“Bao’s a moron,” she says. “He pushed Alex and Marcus around. Knocked over this table, spilled drinks on the guests.”
I help her pick up the chairs, the table, and other debris.
“Alex and Marcus were high on Soda,” Shelby says. “Did you bring Soda to my party?”
“Our party,” I correct her. “I figured one bottle would relax my crew.”
“Why would you bring Soda here? Look what you’ve done!” She picks up plastic cups off the lawn.
“I wanted to make sure their buzz had faded before the fight,” I explain.
“You shouldn’t have given them any Soda,” Shelby says, with tears and frustration. “My dad is furious. Go, leave before he sees you.”
“Shelby, let me apologize to your dad.”
Her phone chimes. She pulls it out of her pocket and reads a text before holding it to show me. “Everyone’s at the bridge, waiting for you.”
“Sorry about what I said earlier, the whole biting thing.” I wait for her to accept my apology; instead, she continues picking up plastic cups off the lawn. “You coming with me?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “I can’t, Darius. I still have guests here.”
I look up at the deck, at the silhouettes of family and friends mingling. Cameron is talkin
g to her dad. I leave Shelby without even a hug and I look back, in case she has changed her mind; but she’s not coming to the fight. Our short-lived romance is probably over. As quickly and easily as I fell for this girl, I’m also realizing we’re not right for each other.
I run up to the front of her house where Angel and Weezer are waiting in the car. I climb in the back seat and it’s just us three again, just like the good old days.
Halloween, Midnight
Angel drives her dad’s old Chevy Corsica like a bat out of proverbial hell away from Shelby’s neighborhood. I’m sitting in the back seat alone, remembering seventh-grade make-out sessions on this very seat while the car was parked in her parents’ garage. We hit the highway as Weezer rolls down his window and lights one of his clove cigarettes. He then plugs his phone into the stereo and plays a White Stripes song, “Seven Nation Army.” It’s a perfect choice, and I’m feeling adrenalin flowing through my veins.
“Smoke? Anyone?” Weezer says, handing me his cigarette.
I take a puff and feel the cool herbs soaking into my lungs and hand it back to him, but Angel reaches for the cigarette instead. She’s nervous, he’s nervous and I’m panic-stricken. The only thing that keeps me from leaping out the car window is the sheer speed at which Angel is driving. When she exits the highway and turns onto a gravel road, we’re not far from the train bridge. Tips of the pine trees are flashing by my window, illuminated by the moon. Angel steals glances at me through her rear view mirror as she drives.
The train bridge spans a dirt road that connects two cornfields. The bridge is a cement tunnel with railroad tracks above it. The tunnel walls are coated with graffiti from years of tagging, and tonight the taggers are spraying new art on the walls as we pull up. There must be fifty kids here already, drinking and smoking. Some are in the tunnel, standing out of the wind by a fire to keep warm, and others have already found a place to sit up on the tracks.
Angel parks along the edge of the corn behind a long row of cars and trucks. We step out of the car in a cloud of clove smoke, into the cool evening air, and there’s a bright, full moon in the sky, casting shadows through the nearby pines. I recognize Bao and Chao’s silhouettes along the trees, and they’re in front of three AsianFusion gang members.
Where’s my crew? They’re standing by the fire, warming their hands.
A girl screams from the tracks, “Gladiator!”
Roaring cheers stir a flutter in my stomach. If it’s nerves, I hope they’re bats and not butterflies. At least the crowd is on my side; too bad I have to disappoint them tonight. I give them my signature wave, and they cheer again. I notice the glow of cell phones and I remember they’re recording this fight and broadcasting from St. Cloud, Minnesota, to Beijing, China, and anywhere street fight videos are appreciated.
Alex, Marcus, and Tandi join me, Weezer and Angel on the road, and we wait for Bao and Chao to step out of the shadows with their gang in tow. My heart pumps hard in my chest and I look at my crew, which actually appear as if they’re a legitimate gang. What we lack in size, we make up for in Soda courage. We have enough Juice flowing through our veins that we stand our ground with confidence, and that’s what matters most.
Not sure if it’s my imagination, but somewhere behind me I feel Shelby’s presence. Is she out there watching me? I turn and look to my left into the shadows of the trees. I can’t see her. She’s here, though, and I block her from my mind.
Bao saunters into the middle of the road and I meet him there, about a foot away. Chao walks out onto the road, too, as if he’s a referee. Angel and Weezer see this, and they join us.
“Kick Bao’s ass,” Weezer whispers into my ear. “You know you want to.”
Angel hugs me and I hold her tightly as she says, “I promise I won’t step in this time,” before she steps back.
“Okay, street fight!” Chao shouts, with nasty cigarette breath.
“Whoa, wait, no weapons, right?” Angel says.
Everyone nods in agreement. Bao and I stare at each other, both of us loosening up our limbs. He gives me a subtle nod, as if to say, Give them a good show.
“How do we know when the fight is over?” Angel asks.
“It’s over when somebody is too bloody to stand up, or dead,” Chao says, looking back at his AF members. “Yeah?”
“What if somebody wants to give up?” Angel says with obvious concern. “Can he tap out?”
“If Darius wants to quit, he can any time!” Bao shouts.
The AF thugs hoot and holler while the kids on the train bridge above us chant, “Gladiator! Gladiator…Glad…i…a…tor!”
The fight starts without any official warning when Bao grabs my sweatshirt and spins me around so fast I tumble off the road. My hands hit first, stinging from the gravel, and I wipe them on my jeans as I stand again. Bao runs toward me just like Jack and I have practiced, and I leap over Bao, springing off his shoulders, landing on my feet. Everyone cheers! Bao looks around like a dog that ran past its ball. He can’t believe he failed to tackle me like a quarterback.
Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I wave Bao toward me. “C’mon, let’s do this!”
He lunges at me with his fists up. I hit him low in the gut and follow with three more blows to his ribs, bam, bam, bam! He closes in until he bear-hugs me to slow my burst of punches. People are shouting my name and Bao’s name as I struggle to get out of his hold. The last thing I want is for Bao to throw me to the ground with all his burly weight on top of me. To break free, I stand up tall, set my mouth on his neck, and lick him to break his concentration.
He lets go. “You freak! No biting! Damn it!” Bao says, wiping my saliva off his neck and onto his jeans.
“Sorry, I forgot, no weapons.” I smile.
Everyone cheers, and this rattles Bao enough that I know he’ll keep a safe distance. From here, the fight becomes dangerously real. We throw punches and kicks, pummeling each other back and forth with kicks to the ribs and shoulders. We’re evenly matched except I’m able to leap and fly over Bao whenever I need distance to catch my breath. The crowd is barbaric, shouting obscenities, and the glow of cell phones assures me this will soon be on Facebook and YouTube.
Are you not entertained? Of course you all are!
My exhaustion from the 5k run and all this leaping begins to catch up with me. My punches are slower, and my kicks aren’t as high. When I make another attempt to leap over Bao, he reaches up and lands a punch into my right kidney that sends me tumbling to the gravel again. This time Bao has knocked the wind out of me.
Everyone watches in silence. I’m rolling over on the dirt, my lower back radiating pain, and decide this is where it ends. I’ll give up, and he’s the winner. Bao walks over and stands above me, like he always does.
“Get up,” he says between breaths.
My pain is real. Gasping for air, I raise my hand and slap the path, tapping out. “I can’t. I’m done! You win!”
“Gladiator….Gladiator…Gladiator!” the kids from the tracks and tunnel chant. My fans want an encore, and I’m in no shape to deliver one.
Sitting up, I’m still too winded to even stand. Bao turns and scoffs at the crowd. This was supposed to be his fight. He’s the winner, yet they cheer for the beaten Vampire. I watch Chao walk out onto the road and hold up Bao’s hand as the victorious bully. And I struggle to my feet with Angel’s help.
“Gladiator! Gladiator!” echoes through the tunnel.
Chao seems agitated, and kids throw rocks from the train bridge at him and Bao. Alex and Marcus join in on the stoning. Marcus hurls a large rock that hits Chao in the head. Leave it to the Gamer to score a headshot!
Chao stumbles to one knee, his head bleeding. “Screw you! Screw all of you FREAKS!”
In one swift motion of rage, Chao pulls a knife from his boot and lunges at me, slicing me across my right cheek and shoulder. I stagger back as he stops and looks up at me with sadistic satisfaction. There’s warm blood dripping from my cheek, and I t
ouch the gash. Everyone is silent and holding their phones. I pull off my hoodie and T-shirt and inspect the wound oozing blood from my shoulder.
“Oh, Darius!” Angel says when she sees my gashes.
“I’m okay,” I assure her, touching my cheek again, and inspecting my torn hoodie. I feel both wounds quickly coagulating and healing.
Somewhere on the train tracks somebody notices what’s happening to my body and shouts, “He’s a Vampire!”
The word echoes through the woods as if it’s a train horn. And then more kids begin chanting, “Blood! Blood! Blood!” I’m not sure if the crowd is cheering for me or for Chao.
They want blood?!
A gang boy from AF calls to Chao, “Stick him in the heart! Do it!”
“No, Chao!” Bao shouts, reaching for him.
Chao rushes me again with his knife. I block him, pushing him aside, and he falls toward Angel. At this moment everything happens in slow motion: Chao lands on Angel as his blade punctures her denim jacket on the left side of her chest before the knife falls to ground. Angel collapses, shrieking in pain.
What did I just do?
“God, Darius!” Bao says. “So sorry, Angel,” he pleads, before he follows Chao to the safety of their gang along the tree line. They’re watching curiously, like a pack of coyotes before they step back into the safety of the forest. What have I done? It’s Weezer who brings me to my senses when he steps in.
“Angel needs help!”
I run and kneel next to her in the dirt. Tandi sits and holds Angel’s head as Alex and Marcus stand guard with Weezer. Angel clutches a wide spot of blood on her jacket.
“Angel, it’s not that bad,” I lie.
She opens her eyes. “I feel blood everywhere.”
“We’ll get you to the hospital. Hang on.”
“I can’t breathe, Darius. I can’t breathe,” she says. Her eyes are wide and her body is in distress.
“Shhh, hold on,” I say, stroking her soft hair. “Weezer, pull the car up.”
Tandi is in tears, and everyone watches in silence. It feels darker now, and there’s no more ambient glow of phones. Nobody wants to record this moment for Facebook or YouTube. I watch Angel’s breathing slow and become shallower.
Blood Orange Soda: Paranormal Romance Page 24