The Last Girl by Kitty Thomas Page B

away from me.”
    “No, please.” Of course I want to get away from him. But the state I’m in now, I won’t survive. I’m not sure how long I’ve got. I’m not bleeding anymore, but so much damage has been done. I can’t gauge if it’s more or less than he drank last night. The analyzing part of my brain has mostly shut down to make room for basic survival.
    “I’ll tell you what, pet. I’m going to leave the door open. If you can manage to drag yourself out of this house and get home, or preferably to a hospital, I’ll let you live free from me. It’s the best offer you’ve got.”
    I know it’s a game. There’s no way for me—under my own steam—to get out of this house alive. The open door taunts me much like the laughter dancing in the vampire’s eyes.
    “Please forgive me,” I whimper. “I’ll do better. I won’t fuck up again.”
    “You can escape now or you can wait until nightfall. If you survive, we’ll consider it a lesson learned.”
    My blubbering sobs and begging have no effect on him. He merely turns and goes back to his room in the same blur. After a few minutes I ease myself off the bed. The pain and weakness has intensified and I know there is no possible way I can make it until the sun goes down—that’s too many hours away. He knows it, too.
    How could he throw me away like this? I don’t understand. He went to so much trouble, and he’s ending it before it’s started. I have the inappropriate regret that I’ll die a virgin. Sure, I don’t want it to be Christian, and I don’t think I wanted it to be Devon, but it just seems like something I should have done in my life. And now I won’t have the chance.
    It takes several painful minutes to crawl to the door. I don’t have a cell phone, but maybe Christian has a landline. If I can get through to an ambulance, maybe they can get here in time and get a transfusion to me. I move down the hall so slowly that at first I’m not sure if I’m moving at all.
    After about fifteen minutes I make it to a parlor. There’s a little antique white phone sitting on a table. I pray it’s not just for show, that it actually works. I reach for the phone, but collapse before my hand can close around it. The pain gnaws at me, making me woozy.
    I lay on the floor in the fetal position. This is it. And I was right next to a phone. I’m not sure I would have been able to make my voice work again—those operators ask too many questions. It would be too late anyway.
    My eyes drift closed. I’m too weak to be upset, even though I know what this means.
    “Drink.”
    He’s moved so fast I didn’t know he was here. His bleeding wrist is shoved in my face, and if I don’t latch on, I know he’ll force feed me. If he wants me alive, I’ll be alive. I drink for what feels like forever, and he doesn’t move to stop me. He lets me drink until I’m finished.
    I only manage to pull myself away when the panic sets in at what I’ve done.
    “Why have you stopped? You need more.”
    My lip trembles. My mind screams it’s too late. “I don’t want to be a vampire.” Tears are pouring down my face now. I think I’m more upset by this than anything else that’s happened to me here so far.
    “Oh for God’s sake. You won’t be a vampire. I’d have to drain you nearly dry. I took enough to kill you, but not enough to turn you. You have plenty of your own blood. Now drink.”
    I’m not sure if I believe him, but I don’t think I have a choice anyway, so I go back to drinking. A few more moments pass and he pulls his wrist gently away from me and seals his wound. Then he just holds me while I cry, his lips pressed against my forehead.
    I don’t know if he intended to let me die and just couldn’t do it, or if it had been his plan to take me to the brink then bring me back all along. I’m not sure which idea upsets me most.
    “Will you try to escape me again?” He’s speaking as someone might speak to a three-year-old that just touched a