,

_______________

In a flash of darkness, the world disappears around me. When I open my eyes a fraction of a second later, we are standing in my living room. I look around with wide eyes and my mouth agape.

"Holy shit."

I look up to see that Death looks just as surprised as I am.

"Did you just teleport us?" I mumble, still in shock.

"Did you just puke on me?" he returns, taking off his shirt at an inhuman speed.

"About that, I'll erm, gladly wash it for you," I watch as the shirt catches fire and falls on the floor in a pile of ashes, "Or vacuum it."

When a new hoodie materializes in his hand, he pulls it over his head just as fast as he removed the other other. He moves so quickly my eyes barely register the movements. I shake my head. When the shirt is settled over his chest, I read:

Badminton Varsity Team 1932

"Oh." I say.

I did not peg him as a badminton player.

We look at each other for a few seconds until I remember how I emptied the contents of my body on him just a few moments ago.

"I'm going to go wash my teeth real quick..." I trail off, rushing up the stairs.

Alright. I am in trouble. I am alone, in a house, with a guy who can teleport me places, set stuff on fire, and grab hearts. And I puked on him.

I brush and I brush.

He can now, apparently, find me anytime he wants.

I keep brushing. Harder this time.

I drank his blood.

My gums are starting to throb.

I think I owe him my life a few times.

I start seeing bright red liquid forming in between my teeth.

"I think you've brushed enough," he grabs the toothbrush from my hands and dumps it in the sink, "Spit."

I do.

"What were you 'investigating' at The Red Opium?" he leans on the bathroom counter, crossing his arms in front of him.

I debate telling him. On the one hand, it is none of his business. On the other, I do not really care if he knows. I do not even get why he is so interested.

"The guys who attacked me Friday night were fangers. I figured maybe I could find information there."

"Well that was incredibly stupid. Do you even know what could have happened? You almost let a fucking vampire feed on you."

"I didn't. I had the situation perfectly handled," I say through clenched teeth.

"Perfectly handled? You and I both know that's bullshit."

"Ok, you know what? You need to stop acting like you know anything about me." I lift both hands up in annoyance and then let them fall back on each side of me. I walk past him and out of my bathroom.

Death starts following me down the stairs. Once we have reached the bottom, he grabs both of my shoulders and turns me so that he can look deeply into my eyes.

"Are you sure I don't know anything about you? Because to me, it looked like you froze. You were scared of him. And that's not you," he says.

He has no idea how right he is, but I will not admit it.

"I did not freeze." I cross my arms.

"What if I drag you to that sink right there? Think you're gonna handle the situation?" he challenges.

I do not bother answering.

"You have PTSD, Emma."

"You my therapist now?"

"All the signs are there. Think about it." I squirm out of his grasp, finding the look in his eyes too intense for comfort. I back up a few steps, wanting to put some distance between our bodies.

"I think it's time for you to leave," I finally say.

His expression hardens as he looks at me with eyes blazing with an emotion I can not recognize. It pins me in place and for a moment, I can not move. He takes a step forward, all the air around him goes down a few degrees. That is how I know something bad is about to happen. He stops in his step. His eyes close and when he opens them again, he looks heavenward as though he is battling with himself on something. He is hesitating.

Then, when he looks back at me. I see pain in his face. He starts moving toward me with a new found resolve, reminding me of a predator about to close in on his prey.

"What are you-"

His right hand fists my arm and he starts dragging me to the kitchen. All of my muscles become paralyzed and when he holds me above the sink, my eyes shut on their own. When I hear the water start, my entire body starts trembling uncontrollably. All of the images come back to me. I can feel the water invading my lungs, my throat closing up as it yearns for air that is not coming.

"Are you going to let me do this to you again?" he grits.

I feel as though I am stuck somewhere between reality and my memories. I am not sure which is real, but I am powerless to stop them from invading my mind.

Then, the water stops. He lets go of my arm and I am vaguely aware of him standing back away from me. I clutch the counter, breathing deep breaths.

It never happened. I am not even wet. I can breathe. He is not even touching me.

"You wanna tell me again how you were perfectly in control just now?"

***

"B-6," yells the announcer when a new ball drops into his hand.

Margaret ferociously searches her 12 Bingo cards for the new number, moving at an incredible speed for a woman her age. When she is done with her own cards, she starts looking at mine.

"Emma, dear, you forgot a number. Again," she says disapprovingly. She leans over the table and stamps it for me. "You look like you could use another cream puff," she hands me the pastry basket.

"No thank's, Margaret, I think I've eaten enough cream puffs to last me a lifetime." I am at that point now where my underwear are starting to feel a little tight.

"O-72!" he says, holding the mic a little too close to his mouth.

On Bingo night, I often find myself wondering what kind of carnage I have inflicted in a past life to deserve this.

"BINGO!" screeches Margaret.

I roll my eyes because she has won the last four rounds. Some times, I see her watching the little balls swirl into the console so intently it looks like a vein is going to burst in her forehead. She really takes this seriously.

"And we have a winner!" shouts the attendant who had been checking her winning card. He hands her another wad of cash and everyone starts folding their current cards.

Other attendants hand out new cards to all the participants and a new round starts.

"You need to focus more, child!" she scolds, "No reason you haven't won yet," she pops a cream puff in her mouth, chewing it loudly and obnoxiously.

She kind of reminds me of those parents who just want their kid to succeed really badly at whatever sport they imposed on them.

"And what's with those eye bags on your face? Haven't you been sleeping at all lately?"

No, I have not.

"Yes, I have been sleeping." No need to explain to her how much I feel like roadkill right now.

"If it isn't sleep, then it's something else. You can tell me, sweety, that's what I'm here for," she says.

Oh, what the hell? If I have to spend another hour here with her, might as well contribute to the conversation.

"G-48!"

"There is this guy," I start. Her eyes snap up from the bingo cards.

"A guy?" she asks, leaning forward a little.

"Yes. And he just won't leave me alone."

She narrows her eyes, "Interesting."

Not really.

"B-30!"

"Well, tell me more about him. Don't leave an old lady waiting. Who knows how much time I actually have left and all."

"There isn't much to tell other than he's an asshole."

"I-22"

"But do you feel anything, other than resentment for him?" she says pointedly, eyes narrowing even more.

"O-61!"

"BINGO!" yells a lady at another table, "Take that Margaret."

"Screw you, Clementine!" Margaret gets up from her seat, forgetting all about her Bingo cards and cream puffs, "Take me home, dear. I'm done for the night."