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I didn’t go to the doctor’s when he bit me. Perhaps I would have noticed the way his mouth dripped with foamy, white saliva as he kissed the nape of my neck more savagely then he’d ever done so before, until blood was drawn. Even then, I didn’t stop him as he made bites all over the surface of my skin. This was what I wanted after all, to be like him, to stay with him for all of eternity. And the crimson drops of my blood sealed it.
“I’ll always love you, Dexter,” I told him, as I began to lose consciousness, the toxins in his saliva taking hold of the walls of my arteries. I was deliriously happy. I was going to cheat death, but in my slumber I could only envision a hooded figure with gnarled claws raking across my flesh, blood gurgling from lines they drew.
“Till dawn rises and I burn to ash,” Dexter’s voice echoed, reverberating inside my head, “Till you’re nothing but ashes at dawn.”
The words stung, and I couldn’t do anything but watch the destruction of my body. My screams were soundless, and as I thrashed, my fingers caught the helm of his hood, and I saw who my tormenter was: Dexter.
I was feverish when I awoke, so warm. He had filled every inch of my body with the warmth of his love. I smiled at the thought. I was going to cheat death, like he’d told me that night we sat overlooking the city. I didn’t pop a motrin into my mouth until fifteen minutes later, while I was taking a shower. I felt like crap, the water was too hot and everything felt a bit odd.
The pain came a few days later, my body hurt so much as if a million scorched the surface of my skin. Pain. Dexter said there would be pain with the transformation, and I forced a smile at the reflection in the mirror.
As the days dragged on, I couldn’t help but be excited; after all, I’d wanted this from the moment I was certain I was thoroughly in love with Dexter. And when the thirst came, I was certain the transformation had almost finished. Water could no longer quench my first. It burned as the droplets trickled down my throat. Dexter would be able to visit me again once my canines became two razor blades. He’d help me learn how to murder, or if I preferred, to rob blood banks. He’d end this melancholy I experienced from his lack of presence in less than a month.
Perhaps it was when I started to see visions of the hooded figure when I knew something wasn’t quite right, when life became blurry and surreal and I threw the china vase my mother gave me onto the floor and it fractured into a million pieces.
The insanity ended and left me with nothing but blackness. I could hear voices, hushed and a siren blaring, a police siren. My mouth foamed. “Rabies,” a voice whispered.
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