Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Has it always been this way? Has Kyle not noticed?
Far away, answers Tristan. Did Kyle even ask the question? That is where the likes of us are headed—somewhere far, far away, where we can live like princes. His voice always seems to come from somewhere else, not his mouth, like a dark thought, the kind licensed professionals prescribe drugs to suppress. You’ve outgrown your life. Now you’ve shed the skin. Free.
“Why do I feel so hollow? Like I’m dead …”
This isn’t your death, it’s your birth.
“Everything hurts.”
You’re molting. Just like bugs do, or something. Tristan holds a shirt up to Kyle’s cold bare chest, then another, then another, twists his lips into a pensive frown. No, you need a confident look. Tighter, to show off your muscular frame. Can you stop fidgeting?
A thousand unanswered questions circle Kyle’s mind like vultures over carnage, all he can manage to say is, “We … We can’t take these clothes … This is stealing.”
It’s a good thing you’re an athlete, you will fit well in anything.
“Did you throw my letterman jacket away? Back there, in the dumpster? We have to go back for it.”
There is no such thing as going back, not for anything or anyone.
“But I finally made varsity.”
Oh, look at your cute face … You’re gonna steal hearts with that face of yours. Might be your deadliest weapon yet.
“My heart isn’t racing.” Kyle puts a hand to his bare chest, eyes wide. “Shouldn’t it be racing? Everything is so strange … like I’m not me, like I’m not here.”
You’re you. You’re here.
“I don’t feel right at all. My … My finger stings.”
Still wearing your pinky ring? That’s another allergy I forgot to mention—silver—gets worse the deeper you transform. Still so young, barely a night old. Here, put it in my pocket, I’ll keep it safe. Already found myself a lovely pair of pants, see? So nice and roomy.
Hand shaking, Kyle pulls off the ring with a grimace, drops it into Tristan’s outstretched pocket. The stinging slowly fades, then gone. He inspects his pinky finger. It left a burn mark.
The ring makes him think of his younger brother again. Kaleb, overachiever, their parents’ trophy child. The worst part isn’t the lingering taste of blood in Kyle’s mouth right now, nor even whose it might be, his brother’s, his mother’s, his father’s.
It’s that he craves more.
Caterpillars probably complain in their cocoons too, how icky it is to turn into goo before becoming a butterfly. Who said change is easy? Tristan holds another shirt up, then flings it aside. He does this eighteen times with eighteen tops, making a mess of the aisles. Focus on what you’ll become. That was the point all along, remember.
“Am I gonna have a weird sun allergy, too? Like you do? Am I gonna get bored with food? Am I—”
Sunlight is such a tiny price for what you get in return. I’ll teach you about these things—about everything. But first … He holds up two shirts. Are you more of a vermilion or a carmine, do you think?
Two red shirts, but every red looks the same now.
Every red is blood.
“Please let me go back, Tristan. We … We have to go back in case someone—”
There were no survivors. You know that. There is no hope for them and there shouldn’t be. Now: vermilion or carmine?
“W-What did I do …?”
It all happened fast. You’re just in shock. That will wear off, too. Are you horny, by the way? Tristan’s fingers curl around the two red shirts. Just me? There’s something about the thrill of abandon that makes me so incorrigibly hard …
“My mom … my dad … Are they really—?”
You’re killing the mood, bringing them up. I asked a question.
“My little brother …”
Kyle’s back slams against a display mannequin as Tristan leaps upon him at once. Everything rattles, then settles. In the darkness of the store, they’re just shadows without faces, vague silhouettes, like the mannequins.
A set of cool fingertips touch Kyle’s cheek, then his lips. Bite, orders Tristan, his pale pink lips hovering somewhere in the darkness. If you want to keep up, you need to learn how we kiss.
“How?”
With teeth.
Kyle parts his lips. Tristan’s cool, pale finger slips in. Kyle gives it a soft, shaky bite. Tristan’s eyes catch a glint of red light from a nearby exit sign as his fingers drag down Kyle’s bare chest, down the valley between his abs, then further down to the waistband of his white briefs, where he gives a teasing tug.
Oh, I’ve made a discovery. You seem to be excited, too.
Kyle looks down. In just his underwear, there’s no hiding whatever he feels. “I-I can’t help it … I don’t know.”
The thrill of abandon does it for you, too. Cool fingers slip into Kyle’s briefs and wrap around him. Kyle gasps. We’re so alike, it’s a wonder it took us so long to realize it. Tingles of pleasure rush through Kyle just from a single touch. Should I go on?