Drain You (21 page)

“The poison wasn’t for him,” James explained. “It was for the twins. He drank it accidentally.”

“What?” Whit was pissed. “You killed the wrong one?”

“There is no wrong one,” Naomi said. “Kill all of them.”

“Well, I’m sure they’ll be very understanding about this.” Whit was near violent, lashing out. “Could you please have better aim next time? If they don’t murder us first?”

James looked crushed. I felt it too. His plan could’ve been good and it could’ve saved us. It just didn’t.

He looked at Whit, then at the ground. “There won’t be a next time. It’s over.”

Naomi stared from James to me and back again. “How? How is it over? This is a threat. It’s not even close to over. They’re sadists,” she cried. She closed her eyes. “I know what Stiles is like. He’s not finished with us.”

“He will be after tonight. James is going to fix it,” I said.

Whit pointed toward the door. “Well, can he fix the situation on the porch too?”

“I’ll figure it out,” James said. He propped Naomi up against the couch cushions, then stood up.

“No, not yet,” I said, grabbing his arm. He promised he’d be with me until I fell asleep. It was nine, maybe nine thirty. My stomach rumbled again. “What about dinner?”

“Whit will give you some food.” James rubbed my shoulder. “Fifteen minutes. Less.”

“We keep splitting up. That doesn’t seem smart.”

“What if he brings another body when you’re gone?” Naomi whispered.

“There are no more bodies,” James said.

“That
you’ve
killed,” she said.

He sighed. “That’s not going to happen.”

“Will you two please just let him get that corpse out of here?” Whit screamed. He turned to James and said, “Go figure it out.”

Naomi and I stopped talking and James walked past us, out the door. We didn’t hear him heave the body off the ground. We only heard him drive away.

No one said anything for a minute or two. Then I wondered out loud, “Where’d he go, do you think?”

“I don’t know. He has to burn the thing,” Whit said.

“Where do you go to burn a body?”

“I said I don’t know.”

I nodded, bit my tongue.

“Are you hungry, or what?”

I nodded again.

“Naomi?”

She shook her head no.

“Fine,” Whit said. “I’ll be in the kitchen.” Then he turned and left.

Once Naomi and I were alone, the living room felt
twice as massive, like it could fit fifty people. I sat on a footstool carved into the shape of a zebra. She stayed huddled up on the couch, her head buried in her knees.

Then she spoke. “I can’t believe you’re going to eat.”

“I know.”

“Last supper.”

It was a joke, so I tried to smile.

“Your friend, Libby. That could’ve been me.” She looked up from behind her knees into my eyes. “Whit told me what she was like.”

I sighed, remembering the desert, everything. “No way, you were too smart, you knew when to get away. She fell for it.”

“So did you.”

“I know.”

She rested her head on her knees, looked at the ground. “You know, Stiles was a lot different…before.”

“Just a regular jerk?”

“Yeah.” She almost laughed, but couldn’t. “I didn’t know when to get away, though. He dumped me.”

“He sucks, Naomi. Stinks, whatever.”

“Yeah.”

Her face looked pained, haunted by whatever had happened between her and Stiles. Almost like a part of her still cared about him. Or at least like she had at one time, when he was human. But
that
Stiles barely even
existed anymore. Whatever he’d done in his old life no longer counted. Not to me. To Naomi, though, it seemed like it lingered on.

I said, “Remember when you asked me if I was afraid to die?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I am now. But I believe James. He’s going to work it out with Sanders. He’s going to make things okay.” Saying it out loud helped make it real.

She just stared at me, icy, said, “You are so delusional,” and rolled her eyes.

So I walked away.

Whit was sitting at the kitchen counter eating couscous and chickpeas with hot sauce, and there was a second bowl made up the same way. He slid everything across the counter to me.

I held a bite up to my lips, blew on it. “She hates me.”

“Jesus, Quinn, who cares? You’re obsessed.”

“So?”

“So don’t be.”

“Too late.” I ate the bite.

He set down his fork and looked at me. “Why do you think Naomi doesn’t have any friends? Why do you think I moved across the country for college and didn’t want to come back?” He didn’t wait for a response. “We like our
secrets secret. We’re not into bonding over it either. Get it?”

I got it. But if James could really convince Sanders to back off and get his psycho brother to do the same, then nothing would have to be like this. Whit would want me around again. James would be closer to me than ever. Even Naomi might loosen up. I had to believe. It was still the summer, glorious and hot and open. It was L.A. We were young. Some of us wouldn’t be that way forever, but we could have fun together for now. We could be happy. We could at least try.

I reached for Whit’s hand. “You’re my best, best friend.”

“Quinn,” he said, sighing, “this isn’t a gang you can join.”

I nodded, tried to see past his words. “But you love me. In your way.”

Whit just stared at me. He sighed again. But it wasn’t a no.

Suddenly we heard the front door open, footsteps, and James came into the kitchen. He looked unbelievable. He looked like he always did, classic James—greasy, grungy, beautiful. I could play it down to Whit, but I couldn’t lie to myself: I
was
obsessed.

“Okay, it’s done,” James said.

“Good.” Whit nodded, stood up straight. “We can’t stay here, though.”

I frowned. “Why not?”

“Stiles was here.”

“So? He won’t come back. Right?” I looked to James. Whit looked at him too. “Right?”

“Right.” James nodded.

“Naomi isn’t staying here,” Whit said. “That’s not happening.”

“Well, where do you want to go?” James asked.

“A motel?”

“None of us is twenty-one. They won’t rent us a room.”

“Your house?” Whit looked at me.

I shook my head. “The twins know where I live too.”

“We can still stay here.” James put his hands over both of ours.

“No,” Whit said, severe, pulling his hand away.

No one was budging. The night was deepening.

Only one option rose in my mind. I was
actually
considering it. I was
actually
going to go through with it. I stared at the phone. It looked so harmless. Whatever. Not anymore.

“I know a place. It’s safe for the night for sure.”

“Quinn,” James started.

“Just round up the gang,” I said to Whit. Then I did what had to be done.

We were a
motley crew.

Morgan had answered when I called, had acted normal when I invited myself and the entire Sheets family over for the night, and was now at his front door, scanning our faces, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“Um, come in.”

I hugged him as I entered. “Owe you. Again.”

Naturally Morgan asked what the police had said when we called to report the break-in—my pathetic cover story as to why the Sheets siblings didn’t feel comfortable staying at their own house tonight—but James smoothed it all out. He said he’d be going down to the station in a couple of hours to file a full report. All that was missing was an old gold necklace and some cash from a drawer. It
looked like they’d tried to take the TV but couldn’t carry it. Probably some kids messing around but, you know, better to stay away for the night, just to be on the safe side.

In this improvised fairy-tale version of reality, my mother and father were having a dinner party tonight, hence my place was off-limits; Naomi had no other friends; Whit and James were visiting from East Coast schools and didn’t know anyone in the city anymore.

Morgan reacted with “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” over and over. Like he didn’t believe us. Or like he did. But overall it didn’t seem to matter to him too much why we were there, just that we were there, hanging out with him, allowing him into the fold, into our shady gang of runaways. He listened to our description of unbelievable events and took it all at face value. He opened his arms to me without hesitation, for the eightieth time, and to the three aliens I swore were the Sheets family. He dumped his sister at her friend’s for the night, showed us how to fold out the couch into a bed, and offered us beverages and snacks plus bonus accommodations like extra towels for the shower and socks in case the air-conditioning made our feet cold at night. And I let him do all of this—let him invite a make-believe creature into his house, let him harbor the wanted and hunted, put him in potentially mortal danger—all to save my ass. Somewhere a
scoreboard clicked over. Morgan moved high into the double digits, while my numbers dropped fast into the negative.

For some reason James was being talkative, which was strange. Of course, watching James interact with other humans was strange in general. He seemed somehow unreal, slightly off. I kept glancing at Morgan to see if his suspicion or survival instincts might kick in, but they never did. James’s voice was too hypnotizing. Morgan just stared and listened, his mouth half-open, transfixed. Libby and I weren’t just loopy, duped Canyon girls. The seduction worked on everyone. Almost everyone.

Whit and Naomi were warier. The more captivating and soothing James became, the more detached and guarded they got. Already Whit was doing his barely there thing, withdrawing, space cadet–style. Naomi resisted the opposite way, by freezing over, cold and critical. She was leaned up against the couch, staring at James, her blue eyes burning with a weird secret resolve, like she had a purpose. Like she was on a mission. If I didn’t know better I would’ve thought she was two seconds away from blowing our cover. Her eyes were pitiless.

Eventually the small talk ran dry, the chips were just crumbs, the house tours and bathroom breaks had ended, and all the cops-and-robbers lies had been used up. It was late at night, which meant it was time to worry about
James’s journey. A flash of Sanders grinning at me from my front lawn. Mashed teeth. If there was anything in this world that the twins wanted more than revenge, I prayed James could offer it to them.

The grandfather clock in the dining room rang once. One a.m. Naomi yawned and stretched out her arms. Morgan cleared some plates and cups. I tried to feel positive, remind myself we were safe, no one could track us here, we weren’t being stalked.

But there was still an undercurrent of dread. Now the feud had a body count. And tonight would determine tomorrow. Tonight could determine forever. James kissed me on the top of my head.

Then Naomi yawned again, stood up. “Good night,” she mumbled.

James went to her and held her, whispering something in her ear. Then he stepped back and let her go, down the hallway to Olivia’s room, to the bunk bed we’d be sharing tonight.

Morgan was next, back from the kitchen. I thanked him too many times, couldn’t thank him enough, tried to gush out all my gratitude, appreciation, and indistinct waves of love. I allowed Morgan to save me, yet again, and I didn’t promise him it would ever be any other way.

When he turned to say his third good night before leaving the room, he caught a glimpse of me sandwiched
between Whit and James on the couch, and something in his face told me he knew. I didn’t know what; it was vaguer than that. Like maybe some realization about us, and me, and the way things were. And maybe he was okay with that. I thought I felt him release me in some way. It was hard to say for sure, though. It was a long walk down a long hallway to his bedroom. It was a long time until we heard Morgan open and shut the door.

Then there were three. The night had peaked, and now it was winding down. It was already technically morning but not real morning. I gripped both of their hands even though Whit wouldn’t curl his fingers around mine. He was still in a daze, unfocused, off somewhere I hoped was a vacation from this.

Suddenly James squeezed my hand and stood up to go. He said good-bye to Whit, rubbed his shoulder. It struck me as sad in that moment: blood brothers drained of such a bond. The older would soon become the younger and only ever be the younger, forever. It was the age of backward.

I followed James from the couch to the front door. During the brief walk I noticed I didn’t feel restless and stressed. It wasn’t a matter of believing James; I believed
in
James. To believe in the undead, to believe that they were real and in your life and loved you, made it slightly easier to believe that enemies could be turned. Not turned
into allies but turned away, to other interests. I realized too that Stiles and Sanders might not even consider me an enemy. I was just a small, silly speck, an annoying human nuisance. I was a blip on the radar. Someone who’d live less than a century during their eternity.

Then I looked up at James, my James. Here it was again: this effortless, simple beauty that folded my insides up like tiny pieces of origami.

I smiled at him.

He smiled back.

Then James lifted me, held me up, kissed me. In my head music swelled, cymbals crashed. But it wasn’t the longest kiss, because it wasn’t the last. If a heart could beat just for someone else, mine would for him. If a heart could start to beat after years of silence, maybe his did, for me.

“Try not to worry too much,” James whispered.

“I’ll try.”

“I’ll be at home, in my room, when you wake up. Come find me.”

“But you’ll be asleep.”

“So wake me up.”

“Okay.” I kissed him again, then thought of something. “Make them promise they can’t hurt Libby either.”

“I know, Quinn.”

I sighed. “So I’m going to see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” He moved his hand to the doorknob, then paused. “It’s already tomorrow.” James pushed my bangs to the side. He touched my cheeks. They were dry.

I closed my eyes. “See you soon.”

“See you so soon.”

I kept my eyes shut until he was gone and the door had closed. I leaned there for a few seconds before turning around and going back to the living room. Whit was still on the couch. The loneliness didn’t have to creep in just yet. I had Whit. I had a little while.

I snuggled in beside him but he was somewhere else, zoned out. I lifted his arm off the cushion and draped it around my shoulder like a scarf.

Slowly he noticed me and took his arm back. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” I sunk down. “So what are you going to have for breakfast?”

“What?”

“I want bacon and an omelet and French toast. With cranberry juice, Diet Coke, and water.”

“What?”

“For our celebration breakfast.”

“I’m not celebrating the fact that we’re alive. We
should
be alive.” His face was unamused.

“I know.”

“So it doesn’t matter what I’m eating for breakfast.”

“What about a milkshake?” I patted his stomach. “Mmmmm.”

Whit stood up. He wasn’t on vacation anymore. He was right here, with me, and unhappy about it. “Can you please stop pretending things are normal?”

“Okay.”

“You saw a dead body tonight. Don’t you care?”

“Yeah.” Of course I cared. I was psyched as hell.

“That was a dead boy.”

“A dead vampire.”

He fixed me with his eyes. “James is a vampire.”

“Not like that.”

“Yes, Quinn, just like that, and some boyfriends don’t leave a trail of dead bodies.” He faced away from me and said into the wall, “But you’re not interested.”

“Interested in what?” I stood up.

He waved his hand at me like he was batting away a bug. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“You knew I was in love with him. I don’t know what you want from me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Are you done being the center of the universe now?”

I lowered my eyes to the ground. “I love you, Whit.”

“You love too many people.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say.”

He covered his eyes with his hands. “I’m tired.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

I looked down the hall and saw no one. “Can I kiss you good night?”

“Quinn.” He sighed. I made everyone sigh.

“Please?” I said, already walking toward him. He didn’t move or react as I touched my lips softly to his, just for a second, then backed away.

“What was that for?” he asked, slightly bored.

“It was for tomorrow morning, when everything’s going to be okay, and for tomorrow night, when we’ll all be hanging out together.”

He just stared at me blankly.

I melted into a hug, but he didn’t really hug back. “Whit, you’re my best friend.”

“You don’t need to keep saying that.”

“I know.” But I felt like I did. I felt like I had to get best friend key chains, lockets, charm bracelets, anything. I had to bind us together officially somehow. “I just like to.”

He yawned. “Can I go to bed now?”

“If you want.”

Whit started pulling the fold-out couch into a bed. I hovered behind him, not wanting to leave. He put blankets on the mattress, grabbed a pillow, and undressed down to his boxers. I still stayed.

“Whit, you’re not going anywhere, are you?”

He reached and turned off the lamp next to him. “When?”

“In general.”

“Don’t have any plans to.” He laid his head down. “Good night, Quinn.”

“Good night.” I turned off the other lamp and headed down the hall.

I had done everything in this house that I could to make everyone happy or at least happier. I was the last one up. I thought about James, wherever he was: some empty Hollywood freeway, some bar, some parking lot. I couldn’t picture it, but I prayed his plan would work, was working, had worked.

Thankfully, the doorknob to Olivia’s room twisted silently, so I tiptoed in, trying not to make a sound. Naomi was in the top bunk, on her side, facing the wall. Finally I slipped out of the skanky short black dress and crawled onto the bottom mattress.

In my underwear, in an eleven-year-old’s bed, I tried to remember all the words to “Give It Away Now.” I picked out toppings for my celebration breakfast omelet, for some future pizza with Whit, for some glorious baked potato I’d eat soon. I thought about how prom took place at night, how the drive-in movie theater was open at night, how the stars came out at night. And there were
concerts, night school classes, art walks downtown, even Disneyland was open extra late a few times a year. James and I would have no shortage of things to do. There was a lot of stuff—a bunch of rad stuff—for us to do.

“Wake up.” Naomi shook me kind of hard and said again, inches from my face, “Wake up.”

“What time is it?” my voice rasped. I was covered in sweat. I kicked the blankets down to my feet.

“Eight.”

I rubbed my eyes, adjusting to the light, the day—hell yeah, the day!—but couldn’t quite focus on her face. Probably pissed about something.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Can’t we do this later?”

“No. Now, before Whit gets up.”

“Fine, what?” I finally opened both my eyes.

She pulled the chair closer to the bed and put her hands in her lap. “I want you to understand something.”

I sat up. I blinked the rest of the sleep out of my eyes. And then I saw Naomi clearer. Pissed wasn’t the right word at all. Severe. Steely. And surprisingly put-together for so early in the morning.

“Listen.”

“Okay.”

“Stiles is the way he is because of me.”

“He’s the way he is because he’s a jerk, that’s all.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s because I told him about James.”

I tensed. “What do you mean?”

“We’d been together, like, a couple months or something. And we finally did it.” She looked at me, almost demurely. “You know?”

“Yeah.”

She hesitated, then, “It was my first time.”

“Okay.”

“I told him about James. I’d never told anyone. Besides Stiles, I’ve still never told anyone.”

My first reaction was,
So what?
None of it seemed like a big deal. At eight in the morning it only felt like the recounting of a dream right after you have it, so you don’t forget the details.

“But then Stiles kept asking me about it, every kind of question. He wanted to know where the bar was, if I knew who changed James. He even asked me how to tell what one looked like.

“But I only knew what James looked like. Like how he’s pale but not really. How his lips are kind of purple. I told him don’t look for fangs. Don’t look for black clothes or whatever.” She rubbed her forehead. “I wasn’t even thinking….” Then she hit her forehead, looked down at my bare feet on the carpet. “Anyway.”

I just stared at her, waiting.

“And when I tried to describe the club, the show that night, everything James had told me, it wasn’t enough. He was totally fixated. If there was a vampire anywhere near that bar, anywhere in the city, Stiles was going to find him. He even wanted me to take him there.” She paused at that, stared straight in my eyes. It was like her eyes were telling me, not her voice. Then she finished, “I told him no, never.”