Silk Over Razor Blades by Ileandra Young Page A

The lights seemed suddenly far too bright
and she yanked the cord near the door, plunging the room into
darkness. Perching on the toilet she buried her face in her hands
and hugged herself. Rocking back and forth, she did her best to
focus on her breathing. To slow it down.
    Though her breathing took time
to steady, the fangs in her mouth did recede. The sharp points
shrank down to the straight edges of her teeth that eighteen months
of braces and retainers gifted her during her teenage years.
    Ramona knocked the door some
minutes later. ‘Nina, honey? Can I come in?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Are you crying? Is it the
test? Did you do it? Can I see?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘It can’t be that bad. Let me
help.’
    Lenina fought the urge to pound
her fists on the door shrieking. No, you can’t! No one
can!
    Instead she made a show of
using the toilet and flushing it. She even dribbled a little urine
on the test stick, fumbling with the packet while she sat.
    Wiping her eyes on her sleeve
she opened the door and pressed the stick into Ramona’s hands.
    Her friend frowned past her
shoulder. ‘Why were you sitting in the dark?’
    Only then did Lenina realise
that she’d performed a handful of complex motions in the pitch
dark. Repressing a shudder she switched the light back on and opted
not to answer.
    Ramona stared at the white
stick of plastic. Seconds later her shoulders slumped. She let out
a huge sigh. ‘Not pregnant. Thank God. Not that you wouldn’t make a
great mum,’ she hastened to add. ‘But if you got pregnant now, I’d
never hear the end of it from Verni. You’re already getting
married, she hasn’t stopped pestering me.’
    Lenina thought again of the
fangs in her mouth and the horrible bruises on Nick’s face. She
even thought of Tristen and the gorgeous twist of his smile. His
peppermint breath. His warm, soft hands on hers and her heart’s
flutter each time he looked her way.
    ‘I can’t get married,’ she
whispered.
    Ramona cocked an eyebrow.
    ‘I mean— I can’t— like this.
I’m a mess. The caterers pulled out, I hate my dress, Nick looks
like a boxer, and we still haven’t decided on goodie bags for the
guests.’
    ‘Calm down. Don’t let this,’
she waved the stick, ‘worry you. Nick won’t mind waiting. And
you’ll have fun trying, aye?’
    Lenina shook her head.
    How could she possibly explain
that babies were the last thing on her mind? Especially without
mentioning the dreams?
    Ramona tossed the test stick in
the bin. ‘Come have a sandwich. I made loads: tuna, ham or
cheese.’
    Once again Lenina opened her
mouth to decline, but her stomach clenched tight and gurgled so
loudly that it seemed churlish to do so.
    Back in the living room, now
lit by the overhead lights, Ramona lifted the plate of sandwiches
and held it across her palm like a waitress. ‘Madam?’
    Lenina selected a tuna sandwich
and nibbled from the one corner while listening to Ramona talk
about her latest batch of maths students. Halfway into an
explanation about the changing curriculum for A-level, Lenina zoned
out and focused instead on what she’d seen in the mirror.
    It isn’t possible , she
thought, still munching. How could it be? Perhaps a trick of the
light or a result of the stress?
    People couldn’t just
spontaneously grow fangs like a sabre-tooth. And then shrink them
again . . .
    She lowered her hand to the
plate again, but found only crumbs. ‘Wow, Ramona, don’t I get
any?’
    Her friend stopped mid-flow.
She glanced at the plate. Her eyes popped. ‘Me? This is my first
one.’ She waved the remaining corner of a cheese sandwich. ‘What
did you do, inhale them?’
    Lenina stared. ‘I didn’t. I
can’t have.’
    ‘And you said you weren’t
hungry. Aye . . . maybe we should do another test. I did buy
two.’
    ‘I’m not pregnant.’
    ‘But with an appetite like
that—’
    ‘Romey, I’m not pregnant. Stop
badgering me.’
    The smile faded from Ramona’s
face. She shuffled in her seat while