What are you supposed to do when your best friend tells you he’s a vampire? At first, of course, I laugh, and think it’s a joke. But I’m not laughing when Connor…
…shows me his fangs.
Of course that isn’t what convinces me, though. He’s the type of guy to joke about everything and I know to never take him serious.
As children, him and I would even dress as vampires. Clothes dark as shadows. Capes like that of superheroes, but more sinister. Jagged fangs ready to…feast.
It was all his idea, too. He thought it would be fun to act as blood-sucking creatures of the night. And oddly enough, he already had the clothes to do so.
Eventually, that’s all we ever did during the day. Laugh. Play. Run around evading the sunlight that tried to creep between the long black drapes.
His family was always there, too. Workaholics that I never got to see. He said they found joy in the confides of their rooms. And though I thought it was strange, I never questioned it. I never questioned anything.
So when he shows me his fangs I think it’s just another joke. I can’t help but smile and ask him why he still has them after so long. I’ve been away at collège and it’s been years since we dressed like vampires. Now we’re too old for dress up.
But before he has a chance to answer I notice the eerie space between his feet and the floor.
My heart almost stops and instantly it all makes sense. I’ve been a fool to have ignored the signs for so long. Especially the metallic smell I know all too well that reeks on them.
It’s blood.
I stare at him in silence as he hovers inches off the ground. Carefully thinking of what to say next. I even consider running. Not out of fear, but because the person I trusted the most in this world, never trusted me with his greatest secret.
I want to run from what other secrets lied between us. Even the ones I’ve told. I want to run from myself.
For he never noticed that in those moments he would avoid the sun, I would avoid the moon.
For I have fangs of my own.
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