Page 102 of By the Pint

I followed Nina the Wrecker through to the bedroom. It was the most sterile space I’d seen so far. White walls, linoleum, easy-clean flooring, a fucking drainage hole in the centre, and above that, a highly uncomfortable looking gurney. Not a bed, or a coffin.

“We’ll switch it to a coffin after a few months,” Nina said, mistaking my frown for confusion. “The hospital bed is for everyone’s safety.”Mostly ours, she added in her head.Because we’ll need to keep you strapped down for a while.

I nodded again, and turned on my heel to find the palest, sickest looking version of myself staring back at me in a two-way mirror. Of course, beside me, there was no reflection of Nina or Killian.

“Is that some sort of joke?” I said pointing to the mirror, surprised words came out of my mouth instead of the slurred word-soup I was expecting.

“Only if you have a sense of humour.” She winked at me. “Right, I’ve got some urgent paperwork I need to prioritise, so I’m going to leave you two for a little while. I’ll be back soon.” Nina looked me up and down, a crease appeared between her brows and her gaze lingered on my stomach. “You’ll want some privacy, anyway. I suspect. Your body has begun the purge.”Though I’m not sure how.

And with that, as if on a timer, my bowels gargled prophetically. A sound I could only associate with the imminent apocalypse of the toilet, and I fled to the bathroom.

“Gods, what did you eat?” Killian said when I finally emerged from the loo, depleting an entire can of air-freshener as I went. He’d taken to lounging on the couch — my couch — and had turned the TV to the history channel.

“Nothing,” I said, dropping what was left of my husk onto the sofa beside him. “I haven’t eaten anything.”

“Well, it’s a good job you’ll be immortal soon.” Killian indiscreetly pulled the front of his shirt up over his nose. “Because that”—he waved vaguely in the direction of the bathroom—“already stinks like death.”

I failed to find the funny side. I glanced up at the clock on the wall. Seven-twenty. Almost five hours until my turning. Stillplenty of time for Dima to arrive. My insides churned again, and the anvil on my chest added another ton or two of pressure.

“He’ll be here,” Killian said, reading my mood, or my mind. I kept forgetting to close it down completely.

I’d told Killian everything. About hearing Dima’s voice in my room, about Dima wanting to be the one to turn me, about me wanting Dima to turn me.

Killian had said, “I’d expect nothing less,” and contacted the turning facility to have his name switched out for Dima’s. Whether he was offended or relieved I didn’t know. He wouldn’t let me in to see those emotions, but I was glad he didn’t make a big deal out of it.

He knew I was in love with Dima. But what he didn’t know, what I had managed to keep hidden in my locker room, was that I was having second thoughts about the whole turning process.

Five to eight years. I know. It was nothing. Even dogs lived longer than that.

But it would be five to eight years with Dima.

My body began shaking. Like I’d gotten wet and stood outside after sundown in the depths of winter. Like I was chilled to my bones. I brought my feet onto the couch cushions and hugged my knees to my chest.

“What’s going on?” Killian asked, standing up.

“Probably … ju-just … dehydrated,” I said through chattering teeth.From expelling all the liquids in my body in the space of thirty minutes,I added mentally, because it was easier to communicate this way.

I heard Killian, rather than saw him, open the fridge door, and then close it almost immediately. “It’s empty,” he said, and then a moment later, and obviously not to me, he added, “Yah, hi, can we get some, like, ice water or some kind of electrolyte drinks in suite F, please?”

“Suite F? Freckleman?” said a disembodied, tinny voice. “Sorry, nil per os. Nothing by mouth.”

A pause, and a handset clunked back into its receiver. “Well, I tried.” A zip opened, some rustling, and Killian draped a blanket over me. Dima’s quilt. The one Killian had accidentally stolen while packing up my things the previous week. The familiar smell ofhimhit my nose before the blanket was even over my shoulders. That smoky, metallic zing. My body calmed instantly.

I needed Dima. Dima would make everything okay.

Where was he?

I tried to look at the wall clock, but I no longer had the strength to lift my head.

Killian dropped next to me on the sofa. His slight weight barely impacted the shift in the cushions. Or maybe I was so out of it I hardly registered him. “We can ask the doc when she gets back.”

Sometime later, an hour, or perhaps only a few minutes, there was a knock at the door. My heartbeat thumped lazily inside my chest, the sound of the knock speeding it only a fraction, even though it could have beenhim.

The second the door opened, I knew it wasn’t. It was another vampire, that much, I was sure. But it wasn’t my vampire. I put every stitch of my remaining energy reserves into closing down my mind.

“Okay, boys, let’s get the ball rolling on this turning, shall we?” Nina said, from somewhere. “I just need to read your declaration to you, Casey. Then we’ll take you through to the bed, make sure you’re restrained, and we’ll see what we can do … with this current sitch.”

“But … not time yet … Dima not here … I don’t want to …”Do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore. I just want to be with him.

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