Page 73 of So Thirsty

“Wait. What are you saying? Are you quitting?”

Her head snaps up. “Quitting?”

“This isn’t a good time, Naomi. We start recording this week. I need you. The band needs you.”

I can feel her anger from here. See it radiating off her, a red glow. “Fucking really? I wasn’t quitting. I was breaking up with you!”

“What?” he says, putting out his cigarette.

“I’m leaving. I’m going away for a while and you’re not going to hear from me, and I don’t want to hear from you.”

“Hold on. Slow down. This is crazy. What are you talking about?”

“And yeah, technically I am quitting. Goodbye, Lee. We’ll always have Paris.”

“You’re not making any sense right now. What are you saying?” He takes a step toward her, and I cringe. He’s too close.

She backs away. “I’m saying what I should have said a long time ago. What you should have said. I love you, but…”

Her voice breaks, and it hits me like a crowbar, the immensity of years spent together, all the memories created coexisting with someone for so long, the mutual witnessing of the world they share.

I think of all the stupid little things. One time Joel and I saw a kid in the Wegmans parking lot attempt to shove a Popsicle up his nose, and he said it smelled “cold good,” and now every once in a while we’ll describe scents to each other as “cold good” and laugh. Maybe we’ll be better off without each other, and maybe so will Naomi and Lee, but what about all of the cold good? The shared experiences we now have to crack in half and live alone with?

“You can have the apartment. The stuff. I don’t care,” she says, walking backward toward the street. “You won’t be able to reach me. That’s by design. That’s how I need it to be.”

“Babe, are you serious? Are you high right now?”

“No, I’m not high, and yes, I’m serious. And I need you to take me seriously for fucking once. Please.” That she has to ask for this makes me furious. Why do women always need to ask, to beg, not to be dismissed? “I mean, this can’t be a total surprise.”

He follows her into the street. “You show up here and tell me you’re leaving and I can have the apartment? I know we fight, and shit gets intense with the band, but this is crazy. It’s crazy.”

“You say that so I can’t argue. No point I make will be valid from here on out. Everything I say will just be crazy. You know what? I should be thanking you. Any doubt I had that this was the right thing is now gone.”

“Where is this coming from?” he asks. “Is this about what happened in Budapest? Because—”

“No! It’s not about Budapest. It’s about you and me. I’m grateful for the time we had, but it’s over now. It’s done,” she says, turning around and reaching for the car door. She looks at me through the window, and she’s crying, but she’s also got that wildness in her eyes. The bloodlust.

She gets the door open, but Lee darts forward, shoving his arm in front of her to stop her, to slam the door. His jacket sleeves are too short, exposing a sliver of wrist.

She bites him.

He screams. He tries to rip his arm away, but her teeth have sunk in too deep.

“Naomi! Stop!” I don’t know if she can hear me—if I’m louder than her thirst.

I don’t know what makes her let him go.

“What the fuck?” Lee yells, and I see lights flick on around the neighborhood. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’m…I’m sorry,” Naomi says.

I reach over and open the door for her, and she climbs into the car. She hits the locks and looks at me. There’s blood around her mouth. She grabs me by the back of the neck and pulls me in like she’s kissing me, only she’s not. She’s sharing.

Lee bangs on the driver’s-side window.

“Naomi! Naomi, what is going on? Are you leaving me for Sloane?” he says. “You bit me. You fucking bit me! Jesus. I’m still bleeding.”

At that, Naomi pulls away from me and starts the car.