Page 45 of The Unraveling

I must truly be asleep with the way time warps with a dream-like quality.

My mind retreats to my first night of treatment. After lengthy discussion once I accepted Dr. Todd’s proposal, he assisted me upstairs and offered me the TV remote before fetching a crystal glass of blood. His blood.

He turned to leave, smiling politely while telling me to enjoy my film and to take my time drinking.

My weak lips twitch with the memory of my words. “You’re not going to watch with me?”

He lingered in the doorway, eyes following my hands as I sipped his blood for the first time. My body came alight as it flowed over my tongue. Then his eyes cut away as if he were trying to give me privacy.

“Patients usually prefer to be alone during treatment,” he said.

I looked down into my glass, then to the TV, a smile crawling across my face with the realization he was using entertainment to distract me from the reality of consuming my doctor’s blood.

It took some gentle insistence, but he eventually obliged and sat stiff in the lone recliner. I teased him about snacks. How was I supposed to watch a movie without popcorn? He noted he would ensure he bought some before my treatment the following night.

It only took my stomach growling halfway through the film before he had me swear not to wander if he took ten minutes to visit the corner store. When I asked how he would know, he told me he would tell by my scent. Even now, I feel the heat in my cheeks when remembering how they flared at the idea of him smelling me.

“What will my punishment be if I go snooping?” I was too exhausted to move from the loveseat, though.

The hallway light had illuminated his sparkling eyes and smile that had butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

“I’ll force you to watch boring silent films next time,” he teased before leaving.

I rub my eyes and look around the dark room, Dr. Todd’s voice echoing in my ears.

But a girl with white-blond hair and glossy hazel eyes stands in front of me instead. “Is there a movie you love to watch here at Dr. Todd’s?”

I nod, then it’s playing in the dim room where I sit alone, and I have the nagging sense that I need to ask Dr. Smith a terribly important question.

Chapter 17

My chesty coughs are deafening, burying the lines of my favorite cult classic movie beneath the racket. I fight to breathe through them as the taste of iron sprays across my tongue with each sharp stroke against my lungs. So many that I curl onto my side on the loveseat and struggle to see the TV screen through the stars pilfering my sight.

When I can finally draw in a whole breath, I wipe my nose with the back of my hand and then place my palm against my frantic heart.

“Dr. Todd?” I choke out, knowing if he’s awake, he’ll hear me no matter how quiet and twisted my voice escapes.

Only the quiet hum of the house answers, so I take a few moments to work myself up to the effort of standing. I lift my heavy arms at my sides for balance, following the light in the hall as I gingerly cross the dark entertainment room. I nearly collide with the banister after stumbling a few feet to the top of the stairs.

I grip the top of the decorative post, arms shaking and flesh slick with sweat as I swallow a bulge and take a calculated step down. One hand follows the banister and the other clutches my skirt. The worn path from several decades of Dr. Todd’s steps helps me distinguish each one, so I keep my focus on them until the house itself seems to rotate around me and I’m left scrambling. My hand clamps down on the banister; something giving against my finger snaps the world eerily still.

Halfway down the staircase, I sink onto my bottom, my heart pounding in my ears as I draw my hand away from the rail.

The sight of the fleshy pink nail bed of my index finger is at the center of my pinpoint vision. I shudder with the realization that the strange sensation was the entirety of my long nail ripping away. With my thumb, I touch my middle finger and my nail shifts ever so slightly, like I’m wearing a press-on and the glue hasn’t fully dried. I gawk at my hand like the rest of my nails might slide away, waiting for the flow of blood from my missing nail and the pain of its sudden departure to catch up.

Yet they don’t, so I hang on to the question of why—and whether my cancer is responsible—to relay to Dr. Todd as I descend the rest of the stairs, the black lace trim of my skirt sliding down each one behind me.

It’s just a nail. Freaky to lose one so effortlessly, sure, but they’ll grow back when I’m a vampire. They’ll be useful then, as I’ll be able to extend them into sharp claws at will.

“Dr. Todd?” I call as I reach the bottom of the stairs. My limbs feel so cumbersome, I know I’m due for my treatment.

Yet he still doesn’t reply. The only time he’s not immediately responsive—he’s always worried about keeping me waiting when I need help—is when he’s sleeping.

I take tentative steps down the hall, my lethargic body desperate for Dr. Todd’s blood to soothe it. My muscles ache from each contraction I force them to endure, like they’re threatening further suffering if I don’t give them ‌relief by allowing my body to simply give out against the floor.

It’s an arduous process; a sheen of cold sweat forms across my brow and down my spine by the time I reach his door. A shaky smile flits across my lips. I hold my breath and twist the glass knob.

Excitement floods me just like each time before when I’ve crept into Dr. Todd’s room. After our first kiss, I wanted him infinitely more. I started looking for excuses to have him tend to me. Perhaps he sees through some of my exaggerations, but I know he loves caring for me as much as I love being the recipient of his intense focus.