Page 11 of Little Fangs

“I’m sorry,” I said, collecting myself and the towel. “I should head to bed anyway. So yeah. I’ll leave you here alone.” It was the first time in a while something had properly flustered me. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring around at the room of boxes. I left the door partly open for Misty, but she wasn’t going to come in while she felt like she needed to warm up the vampire on the sofa.

I turned the light off, climbing into bed with the sense memory of steps I’d taken every single night for years. I slept on the right, and Misty usually took the left, or on top of my head, or some nights, right in front of my face, watching me sleep and making sure I was alive—I think that was what I’d seen cats do on a documentary before.

I slept for a while, waking occasionally, and reaching out, but Misty wasn’t there.

It was lonely.

Broken sleep was the worst. I woke a number of times like I was late for something, then saw the red numbers of the clock telling me time had barely moved since I’d last looked.

I woke again, this time to the door opening slowly.

Micah stood there as Misty leapt onto the bed.

“If the sofa isn’t comfy, you can sleep in here,” I told him.

“No, I was just letting Misty in,” he said.

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t—”

“It’s comfier than the sofa,” I said, now trying to convince him. “And it means I don’t have to get up again when Misty wants to go out and see you in the living room.”

With the light peeking in through the door, I caught a smile appearing on the side of his cheek. “Okay, should I get the blanket?”

“There’s plenty of duvet,” I said, opening the duvet and—was I flashing him again? My mind was too sleepy to feel whether I’d put boxers on before bed. I hadn’t. But it was too dark, so he couldn’t see it—again.

I didn’t care too much that Micah was physically cold, it was just nice to have the feeling of someone else beside me in bed. Misty occupied the space between us, though, as if to keep us apart.

“Do you usually sleep at night?” I asked, lifting my head to flip my pillow.

In the low light, still visible to me, his head turned. “With the bracelet, yeah, because it makes me feel normal.”

“And you’re good to sleep now?” I asked. “I don’t want you tossing and turning in bed all night.”

“I can close my eyes and just sleep. I’ve kinda taught myself to,” he said. “If you can’t sleep, you should count sheep. Or stars. I used to—”

“Go on, what did you do?”

“No, it’s nothing. I’m just romanticizing the past.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I didn’t press him. He probably had more strength than me, and I’d powered him up on buck’s blood.

Trying not to think about his past sent me to sleep, but in those dreams, I made up scenarios where the two of us met in different settings, like the local coffee shop, or the market, even by the lake, having a picnic together, but all of them turned to darkness as he rampaged, killing everyone who was there except for me.

When I woke, he was standing at my side, holding my hand, two fingers at my wrist taking my pulse. “You were having a nightmare,” he said. “Was it about me?”

“No, no.”

He dropped my hand back on the bed. “Okay. I shouldn’t have touched you without asking.”

“It’s fine. I was having a dream, a roller coaster.”

“Roller coaster,” he said. It was lighter in the room, casting softer hues of blue on his face, and catching at the shadows of his smile. “I’ve never been on one. All the coming-of-age dramas I’ve seen have kids going off to these huge theme parks and riding the big, scary rides.” He scoffed. “I bet they’re not even that scary.”

I reached out and took his hand. His palm was clammy. “Did you wake up with a nightmare?”