“He is dreamy, isn’t he?”
Imogene grabbed another bag of blood. “Duh. Now, get out there. I’ll be back in a second.”
Celia took a deep breath and returned to the living room, where Ian was going through her rather eccentric collection of VHS tapes. He looked up at her from the floor. “You have all the original Star Wars movies.”
She shrugged.
“You are so cool.” He went back to picking through the drawers of her entertainment console. “I like Imogene,” he said. “She’s, uh, weird.”
“You have no idea,” Celia whispered, but he didn’t seem to hear.
Then, there she was, shoving Celia forward so she almost fell down in Ian’s lap. With her newfound vampire grace, she just stepped on his hand instead, which he didn’t notice.
“You have no alcohol in your house,” Imogene said.
“I’m not really much of a drinker.”
“Says the drunk girl.” Imogene did her Butthead laugh.
Ian stopped poking around in her things and leapt to his feet like a ninja. “Next door!”
The vampires both gaped at him.
“I have booze next door.” He didn’t wait for their response. He just turned and opened the front door. He left it open as he stepped out into the night.
At Celia’s side, Imogene did the robot. She then followed, which meant Celia had to follow, because she wasn’t leaving Ian alone with Imogene.
His door was open when they reached it. In the lamplight from inside, Celia saw Imogene’s eyes were black with blood overload. Celia was surprised she wasn’t twitching or spinning her head in circles like in The Exorcist. It was kind of a relief, though, to know Imogene was full and less likely to suddenly impale the guy Celia was really starting to like.
Ian’s pad was pretty empty, just a lot of boxes. Still, there was that smell—the smell of Ian. Imogene must have noticed it, too, because for a second, she just stood there in his living room with her mouth open like she could taste him in the air. He clunked around in the kitchen, and Celia reached for the one and only framed picture in his house—the one she’d spotted momentarily nights before: Ian with three other guys, arms around each other on a beach, wearing huge smiles. Then, Celia looked closer and realized they had to be brothers. One of them had Ian’s eyes; another one had his hair. All were tall and muscly and cute. Celia imagined his house was a very popular place to be in high school.
He returned from the kitchen with beer—more cheap Nattie Light, which was fine with Celia, since the whiskey was probably pushing her luck. Imogene had yet to bring out any of her little yellow happy pills, thank God. Ian stood in front of Celia, and then, Imogene scooted up to her side so their hips were touching.
“He has brothers,” she said excitedly, as if he wasn’t standing right in front of them. She finished half her beer in a loud gulp.
“Youngest of four,” Ian said. He took the picture from Celia. His eyes glowed with alcohol and what she assumed was joy.
“You get beat up a lot when you were a kid, then?” Imogene asked.
He chuckled. “No. My brothers are pretty awesome, actually.” He set the picture down and the beer, too. “I have something to show you.” He pointed at Celia and moved toward a cardboard box on the floor.
Imogene went right for Ian’s stereo.
“Not too loud,” Celia told her, “or the fake person will come get you.”
“She’s scary,” Imogene said in reference to The Wig, so she did indeed keep the volume down. It was a Dave Matthews Band CD, circa mid-90s. Celia had owned it once but had it stolen when a bunch of bullies took her backpack in high school.
She turned back to Ian. She watched his long fingers traipse through worn paperback books in the cardboard box on the floor.
Then, behind her, Imogene switched from DMB to the radio, where she scanned until she found Marvin Gaye singing “Let’s Get It On.”
“Look.” Ian’s voice at Celia’s side made her jump. In his hands, he held two plastic boxes. When she looked closer, she realized what they were and plucked both boxes from his open palms.
“These are originals. Still in the box.” She stared at the Luke Skywalker and Han Solo action figures in her hands. She looked up at Ian in awe. “How do you have these?”
“I went to Comic Con in San Diego when I was in college. They weren’t cheap, but I always kind of wanted to be Han Solo.”
Celia mooned up at him. “You’d be a really good Han Solo.”
Ian chuckled. His sun-made freckles were like constellations on his face. She wanted to connect the dots and name one “Celia.”
Marvin Gaye was soon replaced by David Bowie, “Let’s Dance,” which made Imogene spin like a crazy gypsy around an invisible fire pit. Ian watched her, smiling. Celia watched him, smiling, which was when Imogene knocked Celia upside the head and spilled her beer all over Ian’s chest.
“Shit,” Celia said, hand to her face, which was when she realized why Imogene had smacked her in the skull. Her fangs were hanging over her bottom lip. She covered her mouth as Ian took off his soaked shirt, which made Celia’s fangs throb. Her knees went weak. All coherent thought went the way of waves at low tide. She watched him walk to his bedroom while random words flashed through her brain…
Abs.
Farmer’s tan.
Muscle.
Mole, upper back.
Fangs.
Neck.
Need to bite neck.
Then, Imogene smacked her again. “What’s the matter with you?”
Behind her hand, Celia muttered, “I have no conthrol over them.”
“You need to fucking practice. This is embarrassing.”
Ian came back in a tight white t-shirt, which didn’t help, because it just showed off how cut he was—skinny cut, cyclist cut. Plus, the drunker he got, the bigger his hair seemed to grow, which made Celia want to squeeze it.
Things evolved—or devolved—from there. Beer turned to more whiskey, which seemed to be Ian’s normal order of things. Celia realized Imogene loved to dance. She danced to anything, but her moves were always very much MTV music video. Ian seemed impressed. He liked to dance, too, but it wasn’t good dancing. He danced like the stoners back at Celia’s college: eyes shut, weaving to the music, like he should have been stoned at a Phish show instead of in a living room on Admiral Key.
Celia, meanwhile, sat on the couch and drank because neither Imogene nor even Ian could get her to dance. She enjoyed her hazy buzz. She thought she was beginning to like alcohol.
Celia wasn’t sure how they all ended up in Ian’s bed. She was sure he was exhausted. Human beings do tend to sleep at night, after all. Plus, they were all wasted, even Imogene, who wouldn’t stop talking about how rum punches were her favorite drink and why didn’t Ian keep rum punches at his house?
Ian and Imogene talked a lot, actually, while Celia weaved in and out of dreamland—or Alcohol Land, she supposed. She heard random words like “Hawaii” and “Patrick Bateman” and “prime bud.” She remembered feeling really warm and Ian’s bed was really soft and one time, she realized her fingertips were tangled in the edge of his t-shirt.
Next thing she knew, someone flicked her in the ear. “Wha…?” She opened her eyes, and Imogene stood above her, hands on her hips, sunglasses snug on her pointed face.
“We have to fucking go,” she whispered.
Go where? Where am I?
Ian made a small sighing sound, which was when Celia remembered she was in Ian’s bed. Not only was she in Ian’s bed but her face was in his armpit and her hand was up his shirt. His head was thrown back over a pillow, and she stared at his neck freckle. Her fangs went “boing!”
Then, he cleared his throat. “What time is it?”
“Almost sunrise,” Imogene said loudly.
“Sugar!” Celia shrieked and sat up. Fangs went the opposite of “boing!”
Ian sat up slowly. “I think I’m still drunk.” He rubbed his eyes.
“We need to go.” Celia stood and Imogene nodded in agreement.
She leaned forward and ruffled his hair. “Nice meeting you, Ian.”
“Oh, yeah, I was gonna get your number.”
Imogene latched onto Celia’s wrist and said, “I’ll get it to you tonight.”
“Mm,” he muttered and fell back against his pillows.
Imogene dragged Celia toward Ian’s bedroom door.
“Bye, Ian,” Celia said.
As he closed his eyes, he whispered, “Mermaid…” then fell back to sleep.
The edge of the sky was already purple when the girls stepped onto the front porch of the Sleeping Gull Apartments.
“Keys, keys, where are your fucking keys?” Imogene spat.
“I didn’t lock it.” Celia walked into her apartment.
Once the door was shut, Imogene leaned back against the front wall. “That was so stupid. I’ve never been this close to sunrise.” She pointed at Celia. “You’re a bad influence.”
“Are you kidding? You are a terrible influence!”
She laughed and shook her head, then yawned. “God, I’m tired.” She kicked off her huge combat boots as she made her way to Celia’s bedroom. By the time Celia got there, Imogene had reserved the right side. Celia sprawled out on the left, thankful for her tinfoil-covered windows.
Imogene chuckled. “I still smell like him.”
Sleepily, Celia said, “He kind of stays with you.”
“He should be your first bite.”
Celia snuggled into her pillow. “He has a girlfriend.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Imogene said. “Seemed like he only had eyes for you.”
“He’s out of my league.”
Imogene snorted. “No, he’s not. I mean, physically he is, but mentally, he’s really just a huge dork.” She yawned again. “You’re both dorks.”
Celia sighed out a deep breath.
Imogene patted her shoulder. “You’re doin’ good, Merk. Might even be a real vampire someday.” Seconds later, she was snoring.
Celia sniffed her hand, the smart little hand that had earlier found its way onto Ian’s bare skin. She fell asleep with her hand on her face, and through the kitchen wall, she heard him snore.
Chapter Five
Dr. Savage made Celia the usual chamomile tea, because it was supposed to be relaxing or something. Celia’s therapist had the little fountain in the corner going. The sound of falling water was supposed to be relaxing. Or something.
“You seem tense, Celia.”
Celia wanted to scream at her. Wow! That degree is really working out for you! Instead, she sipped her tea. It tasted like dirt with honey.
“Why are you tense, Celia?”
Dr. Savage was in a skin-tight turquoise business suit. She looked like a mix between futuristic heroine and eighties attorney. She had on wire rim glasses, which matched her silver pumps.
“Celia?”
She sighed. “Imogene keeps coming to my house, but you know I like my privacy.”
“Imogene is good for you, Celia. She’s another vampire who’s been around. Have you asked how old she is?”
“No,” Celia said. “I didn’t think women liked that.”
Dr. Savage smirked and crossed one long leg over the other. “Celia, it doesn’t matter when you’re immortal. I’m more than two hundred years old.”
“Well, you look nice.”
She pursed her lips. “Making a personal attachment to another vampire is good. It helps you make other vampire friends and build a support group.”
Celia tried not to make the couch fart, but she was annoyed and she moved around until the couch, indeed, farted. “But she’s not introducing me to other vampires. She just comes to my house and drinks my blood supply. And I hate going to see Steve because he’s scary and he hates me. What if he cuts me off?”
“Your inheritance isn’t running low, is it?”
“No. I’ll never spend all that money.” Celia sighed.
Dr. Savage reached her manicured hand out but didn’t touch Celia. “Then, he won’t cut you off. Calm down.”
“Okay, the other night, Imogene was over when I left for work, and when I got home in the morning, she smelled like Ian. She said she’d been hanging out with him…without me.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“Tense!” Celia pulled on the frizzy hairs around her head that had escaped the ponytail.
“Are you jealous of Imogene?”
Celia thought about the way her so-called friend looked, the clothes she wore. She thought about her curly hair—that kind of matched Ian’s—her skinny person cheekbones, too, and the way she could just talk to guys and make them like her without even glamouring them. Celia thought about the way Ian seemed to like Imogene and worried a little that maybe Imogene was glamouring him. Celia knew vampires could glamour people; Dr. Savage warned her about it. They could make people forget things or even like them. Celia had never tried it before.
All those thoughts must have showed up on her face, because Dr. Savage wrote a bunch of notes on her stylish leather-bound notepad.
“Do you think Ian wants to date Imogene?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Celia shouted. “She’s pretty and weird and they talk about things like Europe—because of course, they’ve both been to Europe. Not that it matters, because he said he’s already dating someone.”
Dr. Savage tapped her silver pen against her bottom lip. “Have you met this other woman yet?”
“No.” The tone of Celia’s voice sounded a little psycho, even to her own ears.
“Okay, let’s stop talking about Ian for a second. What about your first bite? You said Imogene took you to Necto, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I think you and Imogene should go out again and make a connection for the night. Once you get your first bite out of the way, you’ll feel empowered, maybe even enough to approach Ian.”
“And tell him what?” she asked. “Break up with your slutty girlfriend and date chubby, asexual me?”
Dr. Savage paused. “Is his girlfriend slutty?”
“I don’t know. I like to tell myself she is.” Slutty and trashy and dumb. “But I don’t want my first bite to be with some stranger at a bar. I want my first bite to be…” She looked at the ceiling.
“I know. Special.” She heard amusement in the doctor’s tone.
Celia looked at her therapist and wondered, aloud, “What was your first time like?”
Dr. Savage smiled. “We’re not here to talk about me.”
Celia nervously plucked at her t-shirt. “Imogene doesn’t even remember hers. She said it was just some guy she picked up in Lazaret. She says I’m blowing things out of proportion.”
Dr. Savage leaned back and recrossed her legs. “You need to do what’s best for you. We’re all different, Celia. Take your time. Meditate. I always feel that meditation brings me back to my center.”
Yeah, Celia thought, try that when Ian and Imogene are arguing over better beaches: France or Spain.
After her session, Celia dreaded going home because she knew what she would find—Imogene and Ian on her couch, watching one of her favorite eighties movies because Imogene was trying to show Ian all he’d missed. Apparently, to her horror, the only movies he really knew were Star Wars. Sometimes, Celia caught Imogene with one hand absently in his hair. Celia was beginning to think it was like the cheekbone thing: women licked Ian’s cheekbones; women played with Ian’s hair.
But when she got home from her appointment, Ian was on the front porch on the phone and Celia’s apartment was dark. He smiled when he saw her. “Hey, bro, I gotta go.” He paused. “Yeah, my woman just showed up.” He winked at her, which actually made her feel worse. “Okay, yeah, love you.” He hung up. “I was wondering where you were.”
“I…had an appointment.”
“At ten o’clock?”
She made her way to her front door.
Ian�
�s front door was open, and she could hear quiet tracks of reggae dancing out with the lamplight. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” She didn’t look at him. She just unlocked her door and thought about swimming in the ocean. She needed to swim in the ocean.
“Celia.” He stopped in her doorframe but didn’t come inside, like he was a vamp in an old movie that needed to be invited in. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” She could practically feel the waves against her skin. She needed water—now.
“You’re going to go swimming, aren’t you?”
She looked up at him, shocked. “What?” How did he know that?
“I’m going with you, and I’m taking a flashlight.” He disappeared, barefoot, in the direction of his place.
Hurriedly, Celia drank some blood and changed into her bathing suit. There was no need for mermaid sighting, number two. She wrapped a towel around herself. Even though Ian had already seen her naked, she didn’t want to remind him that she wasn’t as skinny or pretty as Imogene.
When she stepped outside, Ian was waiting on the front porch with an X-Files-sized flashlight that could have possibly lit the opposite side of the gulf. He had on shorts, even though it wasn’t really that warm that time of night. She could see the weird scar on his lower leg again, the one that looked like a big bite mark. She kind of wanted to ask, but she also kind of didn’t. He had a tightly rolled joint behind his right ear.
“After you.” He gestured with his light the size of the sun. For a second, Celia almost worried it might send her up in flames.
They walked down the patio past Heidi’s place. Once Celia’s toes were in the sand, she glanced up at Ian. “Where’s Imogene?”
“I think she had a date.”
Celia pulled her towel tight. “You’re okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t I be okay with that?”
Celia kicked a little shell, which disappeared from the line of Ian’s flashlight into salty sea air. “I thought you guys were, you know, hitting it off.”
Bite Somebody Page 5