Silk Over Razor Blades by Ileandra Young

is that a bandage? What happened to
you?’
    Lenina slumped on to the sofa
and cradled her head in her hands. ‘It’s a long story.’
    ‘Aye, then make it short. I’m
listening.’
    But Lenina had no idea what to
say. Her recent revelation about vampires skimmed across the
surface of her thoughts like a drop of fat on a skillet. Her tongue
felt thick and refused to form the words she wanted.
    ‘Come on, you can tell me
anything. Were you shaving? Do you have a hair problem? My aunt has
the same thing. Nobody knew until I caught her stealing razors from
the supermarket.’
    ‘I don’t have a hair problem,’
she snapped.
    Ramona gave her a pointed
look.
    Lenina launched into her story,
starting at the boutique car park, through to that morning when her
father had left her in bed. Despite ample opportunity, she couldn’t
bring herself to mention the dreams. Or Tristen’s solo visit.
    Ramona listened in
uncharacteristic silence, her eyes widening with every word. When
the tale finished, she scratched the trail of freckles across her
nose and cheeks and closed her mouth. ‘And you say nothing ever
happens to you. You okay? Need a hug?’
    Surprisingly, the offer was
exactly what Lenina needed. She leaned over and wrapped her arms
around Ramona’s shoulders. The balm of physical touch soothed
instantly and in the wake of that hug she gathered the last traces
of her dreams and packed them away at the back of her mind. Instead
she closed her eyes and enjoyed the tickle of Ramona’s hair against
her nose. The red strands curled all over the place, carrying the
scent of pencil shavings and fresh paper run through a
photocopier.
    Ramona patted her back. ‘Are
you crying, honey? Lots of sniffing going on.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Maybe you have a cold?’
    ‘I’m fine.’ But Lenina kept
sniffing, focused on something beneath the familiar natural perfume
of her friend’s clothes and skin. Something sweeter. Warmer.
    When she buried her face in the
space between Ramona’s neck and shoulders she saw the source. A
vein pulsing gently behind her ear.
    Blood.
    A fine tingling spread through
Lenina’s gums. Sharp points scratched her tongue.
    How she knew, Lenina couldn’t
be sure, but the fact remained the same; Ramona smelled like blood
and the blood smelled like . . .
    She clung tighter and sniffed
again, this time to snort back tears.
    Another pat on back. ‘Don’t
worry, honey, it’s over now. Let’s get you something to eat.’
    ‘I’m not hungry,’ she
murmured.
    As if to prove the lie, her
stomach gurgled. Saliva flooded her mouth and she thought again of
the blood rushing hot and sweet beneath the flimsy protection of
Ramona’s skin.
    She jerked free and put her
hands in her lap.
    ‘When did you last eat?’
    ‘Last night.’
    ‘Then you threw up this
morning. There’s the test by the way.’ Ramona nudged the bag with
her toe. ‘Of course you’re hungry. You pee on that there stick.
I’ll make sandwiches.’
    ‘No.’ She could think of
nothing worse.
    ‘That thing about ignorance
being bliss is a lie, Nina. Believe me.’ She tipped her head and
narrowed her eyes, adopting her ‘teacher face.’ It worked on
sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds and Lenina flinched beneath it
too. But it did offer the chance to escape and catch her stampeding
imagination before it carried her straight into a psychiatric
facility.
    In the bathroom, she dropped
everything and focused on the mirror. Her wide, startled eyes gazed
back at her, pupils dilated to huge black pools, lower lip
quivering. She caught a flash of something white and opened her
mouth to get a better look.
    Fangs. Six of them; sharp,
bright and white.
    She touched one and an
unmistakable bead of blood at the end of the finger dissolved any
doubts.
    Definitely real.
    Lenina turned her back on the
mirror, aware her chest was heaving again. She heard blood rushing
in her ears and the pound of her pulse in every sensitive spot from
her throat to her wrists.