Rose

3. He is a Vampire

Rose
I follow a herd of students into the dining hall.

As I pass the threshold, a powerful scent assaults me. It smells distinctly of old cleaning water and reheated cafeteria food.

The dining hall is large and noticeably modern with updated furnishings. Round, white tables are scattered throughout, and vending machines span the length of an entire wall, housing all sorts of snacks. Inspecting the machines further, I notice that some of them are lined with bottles upon bottles of red drink.     
       
To my left, a queue is quickly forming, so I hurry to secure a spot. Grabbing a juice pouch, I wait patiently for my turn, anxious to dig into a warm meal. A quick scan of the service counter leaves me wanting more−the options that are seriously lacking. No yogurts or side salads, or even a single vegetable in sight.

The line gradually inches forward, and when my turn comes, I’m handed a stainless steel tray filled to the brim with ground beef and pinto beans.

Frowning down at the plate, I silently thank God that I’m not a vegetarian.

If I were, I’d be screwed.

I shrug it off and search for a seat away from the others. Nestled in the corner of the dining hall by a row of windows is a perfectly isolated table. I hurry over to it excitedly and plop down. Leaning forward to scoop some food onto my fork, I notice a heavy downpour of rain. The rolling dark clouds compel me to think about all the bizarre events that have happened since I’ve arrived in Scarenville.

Confused, I pinch my nose. What have I gotten myself into? The cryptic warnings. A meddling landlord who reverts into a middle-aged woman overnight. Sickly pale students with a fondness for self-mutilation. Archaic and overreaching school guidelines. And an incredibly handsome yet mysterious stranger. Everything in this town was strange.  If I didn’t know any better, I would swear this is the beginning of a horror movie.

The thoughts make my stomach churn, and the food in front of me suddenly looks a lot less appetizing. Hunger gone, I push the tray away in disgust. Thunder booms dangerously close to the school; the deafening silence from the students heightening the noise.

I stare at the rain for quite a while and probably would have continued to do so throughout lunch-hour if a voice hadn’t interrupted my musings. "I can't, you know how much I hate frozen blood," someone whines.

Stunned, I turn my head towards the voice, using my arm to hide my face from the crowd of students. My eyes lock on a table in the middle of the cafeteria where three people, including Damien, are sitting. I notice that they are all holding the red bottle I’d seen previously in the vending machine.

Appalled, I throw my unoccupied hand over my mouth to stifle the scream itching to come out, a last-ditch effort to preserve my anonymity.

"Too late−you’re already super pale,” Damien replies, causing those at the table to shake with laughter. Glancing around the cafeteria to see if anyone else is as shocked as I am at the revelation, I realize that they are all pointedly looking away from that direction, whispering among themselves. Focusing back on the trio, I watch as fangs sprout from their mouths as they drink the dense lifeblood from the bottle in their hands.

I should probably run right now.

But I don’t. Instead, I wisely stay put and watch the scene in horror, color draining from my face. Every bone in my body begs me to move, to scream, to do something. In the past, I may have done just that−but I’m not the person I used to be. Acting meant garnering attention, and this was definitely not the time for that.

Damien finishes drinking the blood and tosses the bottle to  the ground, causing it to break into a thousand sharp pieces. "I am the head of this place, and yet I still have to resort to this," he hisses through clenched teeth, glaring at the offensive bottle.