Valentine's Day Sucks

“Dad, she’s a sophomore. She’s fifteen. She doesn’t drive yet. She goes to my school.”

“Nice laundry list, Matt, but I’d like to hear it from Natalie.”

“I’m not that interesting,” I said. “I’m just kind of average.”

“No you’re not,” Matt and his father said in unison.

“I am. I was. Of course now things are different.” I hesitated, reluctant to share my parents’ lack of trust. “My parents think I’m on drugs because I avoid them and my brothers. They search my room all the time. That’s why Matt has to come over so much. I can’t afford to keep any synthetic on hand.”

“I am so sorry about this,” his mother said coming down the stairs with Ashley. “We hate that you are suffering.”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said.

“Of course it is! To lose the trust of your parents that way. Especially when it wasn’t your doing.” Mr. Johnson turned his focus to his daughter.

Ashley slipped into her chair and squirmed under her father’s scrutiny.

“We can help some with the cravings, dear,” Mrs. Johnson said. “We can give you mints in the original containers.”

“I can’t. What if my brothers got into them?”

“They’d be fine. You shouldn’t feed them to the boys on purpose, but a few won’t make a difference. They contain an herbal blend that specifically targets only one craving. Craving blood.”

“My parents might test them. They might take them to a lab or something.”

“They’d go that far?” Mr. Johnson asked.

I nodded.

“Oh you poor dear,” Mrs. Johnson said, reaching out to pat my arm. “What have we done to you?”

All their guilt was making me feel guilty. “I’m okay. Really. Matt has been great. He really has. I just think I’m ready to know more about what’s happening to me.”

“Of course, you are, Natalie,” his mother said.

His father cut the meatloaf and gave me a slice. “We’ve got a lot to teach you, but first we eat.”

Ashley elbowed me and whispered, “Good luck. They never tell me anything.”

Chapter Three

“Great news,” Matt said before he had cleared the windowsill. “You’re healthy.”

I snatched the bottle of synthetic blood.

“Mom sent three.”

“Three? I can’t drink three.”

“Sorry, Nat. I’m under orders to stay until you finish them all. Mom and Dr. Williams don’t want you losing weight.”

“If I have to finish them all, you’ll be here all night.”

He grinned. “So be it.”

With a sigh, I unscrewed the cap on the first bottle and gulped it down.

He sat on the floor and watched.

I wasn’t ready for another bottle yet, so I lay on my bed on my stomach across from him.

“Was the doctor okay?”

“Yeah.” I wanted to tell him everything but I couldn’t make myself say those words. “She asked some weird questions.”

I averted my eyes afraid he’d read too much there.

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Yeah. My parents were asking some pretty uncomfortable questions too.”

“Like they think we’re more than friends,” I said.

“Exactly.”

I got the nerve to meet his eyes. “Why do they think that?”

He looked away. “I don’t know. I guess because I spend so much time here late at night. We are teenagers. I don’t understand what they are thinking, though. It was almost as if--.”

“They were disappointed that more isn’t going on?”

“Yes,” he said, his blue eyes boring into mine. “I thought I was crazy.”

“The doctor was the same. I don’t get it.”

He shook his head. “Me either. They don’t tell me everything, you know. I have to drag each piece of information out of them. It’s ridiculous.”

“And frustrating.”

He nodded.

For a few minutes, he sat and I lay there, and we didn’t say anything. It was the good silence at first. Then it changed to awkward and uneasy and almost like an itch that needed scratching. I started wondering if maybe we should be doing more of what every adult thought we were doing, and then I wondered if his train of thought had traveled in the same direction.

“You should start the second bottle,” he said.

Grateful for something to do, I grabbed the bottle.

“I need to tell you one more thing. I mean, Mom wanted to do it, but I thought it might freak you out less if I told you myself.”

Oh man. “What is it now?”

Matt left his seat on the floor and sat on the bed next to me. He took my hand in his.

“How bad is it?”

“Not that bad. It’s just that, er, um, we have to start supplementing the synthetic blood.”

“What do you mean? With the stuff your mother cooks?”

“I wish.” He stared down at my hand clasped in his. “You’re going to have to start drinking some real blood for a while.”

I jumped up and away from him, tugging my hand loose. “No way.”

“I know it isn’t ideal,” he said.

“Ideal! Ideal? It’s bad enough you’ve made me into a monster. I don’t have to behave like one too.”

He stood and took hold of my arms. “Look at me,” he said. “Look at my face.”

I did.

“You aren’t going to do anything wrong. No one will be hurt. You’ll drink blood that the blood bank is discarding. The stuff only lasts twenty-one days and some goes to waste.”

Bile rose in my throat. “I can’t drink blood.” I wanted to. I wanted to smell it, taste it, swim in it. I craved blood, but actually giving in to the craving terrified me.

“You can, and you will.”

Then I did the most uncool thing a girl had ever done. I started crying.

Matt took me in his arms and hugged me tight. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

My first drink of real blood took place the next night at Matt’s house. His parents tried to make it better by serving it in wine glasses and drinking it along with me. Mrs. Johnson had sliced apples and cheese and put out some brie and crackers. Not one of us tasted them.

I appreciated their efforts. The second glass went down better than the first. Soon I didn’t have any trouble at all.

“You should only drink it here,” Mrs. Johnson said after delicately blotting her lips with her napkin. “Every other day will suffice. You can drop by after school or have dinner. Whatever works for your parents. If we have an emergency, Matt can bring some along with the synthetic.”

I didn’t like the synthetic as much after drinking the real stuff. I dreaded going to sleep at night because I dreamed about blood, but I was always full now. I could be around my family without worrying.

“How are they getting the blood?” I asked Matt later.

“My dad works in biological waste disposal.”

I couldn’t help shuddering at the thought. “That cannot be pleasant.”

Matt shrugged. “I never thought about it. It’s just necessary.”

Poor Mr. Johnson. I’d expect someone in that line of work to be a lot creepier.

“Tell him thanks,” I said. I actually meant it. It wasn’t until later that I realized that the Johnsons probably had the means to get rid of a body if they ever needed to.

They could probably get rid of my body. I was glad I didn’t know that earlier. Now, I trusted his family, and the knowledge didn’t bring any of the stomach cramping it would have before.

***

Halfway through the week, my mother decided to invite Matt to dinner at our house. She made it pretty clear that he had to eat at our house since I’d had dinner over there.

My parents agreed that Friday would be an excellent night, and against my will, I invited Matt to suffer the scrutiny of my parents and the repulsiveness of my

brothers.

He rang the doorbell promptly at seven.

Mom served lasagna, the only dish she made that managed to fill up my brothers.

Lasagna used to be my favorite, but now it tasted like everything else. Bland and blah.

“Smells delicious,” Matt said, even though I knew he couldn’t smell it.

“Thank you, dear,” my mother said.

Jordan and Justin were arguing about something. I had long ago learned to tune them out. Mom and Dad had too. Luckily, we didn’t have to put up with Travis. He had a date.

Before dinner, I heard my mother lecturing my father about going easy on Matt. “Don’t frighten him off,” she’d said. “I like him, and I know Natalie does.”

“So Matt,” Dad said with a cautious glance at my mother, “you’re a junior?”

“Yes, sir,” Matt answered, trying to focus on my father but sneaking glances at my bickering brothers.

“What are your college plans?” my dad asked.

Matt shifted in his chair. “I haven’t decided on a school yet. Or a major.”

My brothers’ argument had escalated to punches.

My father stood, grabbed them by their ears, and pulled them away from the table. “Your rooms. Now.”

For once, I hated to see the brat-lings go. They had provided a distraction. Now my parents could seriously focus their attention on Matt and me.

I jabbed Matt with my elbow to get his attention. Then I took a giant forkful of lasagna and stuffed it in my mouth.

Matt took the hint.