MicroHorror

“I’m gonna kill him,” she said as she examined the scabbed-over marks on the soft flesh of her neck. She leaned toward the mirror, pulling and prodding at her pale skin. Pale, already, she thought sourly. The patch of skin surrounding the puckered wheals looked whiter, faded in comparison to her honey-bronze skin. She knew what would happen. They’d discussed it in health class. First, the bite, and it didn’t even have to come from one of them–the gene was often recessive. Then, the victim’s flesh would fade to a delicate shade of paper-white. After that, all organs would cease functioning, rendering the victim clinically–but not completely–dead. The whole process took roughly seven hours.

She had seven hours until she become a blood-sucking monster.

She stalked out of the bathroom and into the living room. He lounged on her couch in his boxers, engrossed in the football game on the TV. Glancing up at her, he grinned, all suave and debonair despite the five o’clock shadow crawling across his face. “Hey, baby,” he said.

She scowled. “You bastard!”

He paled. “What?”

“How long have you known?

“Known what? Serena, what?”

She hissed at him, baring her teeth. He scooted toward the edge of the couch, trembling. “Your damn recessive gene, that’s what,” she growled. Her eyes blurred, and she blinked furiously until her vision sharpened again. He watched her for a minute, his face flat, devoid of emotion except the fact that he knew. He knew all along.

“Shit,” he murmured softly, an admission of guilt. Then he bolted.

He wasn’t fast enough to get away from her. Not now. She caught him at the door, her fingernails raking trenches into the skin of his shoulder. The scent of blood curled into her nose, making her mouth water as she pinned him against the coat closet.

“How long?” she panted, wanting to know before she lost it. “How long!”

He writhed, and the pulse in his skin became a lovely hammer under her hands. “I… It’s been six hours, maybe a little more,” he stammered. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

She hung her head for a moment, regretting. He stilled, letting the wall support him.

“I’m going to kill you,” she said finally, licking her lips. She could smell his blood in his veins, and it maddened her, tying her stomach into knots. “I can’t help it.”