Page 80 of So Thirsty

“I’ll have to. Can’t exactly call them up and ask, can I? Hey, Mom and Dad, it’s your not-doctor-or-lawyer daughter that you’re so disappointed in. Can you drop a pin for the place you call a real estate investment, which I called an egregious display of wealth, which led to a shouting match that resulted in me and Lee getting a hotel?”

“You’ve made your point,” I say, plugging Wilmington into the GPS. It’s nine and a half hours away. Even if we drive all night, we won’t make it before sunrise. Meaning we’ll have to find somewhere else to stay. Another fleabag motel.

“My parents only go down in the summer, so we can stay there until then. But we’re going to have to figure something out for, like, the rest.”

She says “we,” but it’s going to fall on me to figure out what’s next. I’ve spent so much of my life grounding myself in logic, in practicality, convincing myself that if I didn’t allow want to warp my reasoning, I’d make the right decisions. I’d be in control. But these rules no longer apply —if they ever did—because I need the thing I want. There’s no denying it. There are fresh logistics that can’t be ignored. There’s Naomi’s voice, which can’t be ignored. It’s drying out. She’s thirsty.

I should have shared.

I look over at her. She stares out the window, and I can’t remember the last time I saw her sad like this. But it’s not her sadness that’s startling. It’s her weakness. I barely recognize her as she idly taps a nail to the glass. Her lights are off. She’s dim.

It doesn’t take us long to find gas. There’s a dilapidated Sunoco a few minutes down the road, with a little convenience store at the back.

I pull up to a pump.

“Should I use my credit card?” I ask.

“I don’t think it matters,” she says.

I pop the gas hatch and get out of the car. “I miss New Jersey. Full service.”

“In New Jersey you’d have to talk to someone,” she says. “Better this way.”

“Good point.” I identify as an introvert, so avoiding people is fine by me. But I worry about Naomi, about what it will do to her if she can’t be around people.

I get out my wallet. My credit card. I hesitate.

Maybe Naomi is right and no one’s looking for us. Maybe we got away with what happened at the Waterfront, at the rest stop. Maybe we got away with murder, but we won’t get away with murders.

It’s inevitable that something else will happen. We crave blood.

I don’t want to leave behind any breadcrumbs for law enforcement. It’s bad enough that the vampires are on our tail. Or were, at least. I haven’t seen the van since we left the motel.

“I think I’m going to pay cash.”

“Whatever you say, hoss.” She barely gets the words out before breaking into a coughing fit. She holds her throat.

“Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not okay,” she snaps. “I’m fucking thirsty.”

She’s angry with me, blames me for not sharing the tumbler. Naomi doesn’t typically hold grudges. But I do. And I hope she understands that she’s the one who got us dragged into this nightmare. We’re this way because of her. I’m this way because of her.

I leave her in the car and go into the convenience store. I wince at the fluorescent lights. Hot and yellow and relentlessly bright. There’s no clerk behind the register, so I just stand there and wait, squinting. Minutes pass. I look around at all the glorious junk that I used to deprive myself of. Combos and Twizzlers and Reese’s cups and Doritos. And in the fridges against the wall, Coca-Cola and Dr Pepper and AriZona iced tea. I walk over to one of the fridges and get out a bottle of Schweppes. Normally I wouldn’t open something in a store without paying first, but I’m too curious, and it seems a small crime, considering what else I’m guilty of. I unscrew the cap and take a small sip.

It’s like drinking hydrogen peroxide. It burns.

I start to gag so hard, I double over. “Ugh!”

It stings to breathe. I’d cut out my tongue if it meant I could exorcise the taste.

There’s a rustling somewhere. In the back?

“Hello?” I caw.

“Yeah, just a minute,” says a disinterested voice.

“Okay, thanks.” I shuffle toward the front of the store, toward the glass window, to check on Naomi. She’s still in the car, leaning against the window.