Page 61 of So Thirsty

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I put on clean clothes, throw the dirty ones in my suitcase, zip it up. I check to make sure I have everything. My wallet. My phone. The AirPods.

“You ready? I’ll call for my car. What do you think? We get my car, get away from here, and then stop somewhere to figure out what’s next? I still don’t feel great about just leaving him in the woods. Naomi?”

She sits on her bed, just staring out the window, still in her bloody clothes.

“Get changed!”

“Don’t yell at me,” she says, pouting.

“Help me out here,” I say.

She stands up and undresses, pausing to examine her jacket, a mournful look on her face.

I call the number on the Waterfront website, press one for reception, and someone too friendly answers. They assure me that the valet will have my car outside in ten minutes. I thank them multiple times, hoping they can’t tell the difference between gratitude and guilt.

I drank someone’s blood. I drank someone’s blood. Manners won’t make up for that. Nothing will.

Naomi now wears a tie-dyed sweat suit. I open my mouth to ask her if she has a matching neon sign, to tell her to change, to tell her we need to lie low, that she needs to use her head. But there’s no time to argue.

“They’ll be outside in five,” I lie, knowing that if I tell her five minutes, she’ll take ten, and if I tell her ten, she’ll take fifteen.

“Okay,” she says, sitting on her suitcase so she can zip it up.

“Do you need help?”

“I got it,” she says. “I’m a pro.”

“How are you feeling?” I ask her, leaning against the bedroom doorframe.

“Like I just ripped a bong.”

“That’s not what I meant. We’re about to interact with a human. Can you handle that?”

“Can you?” she asks. I can’t tell if she’s being defensive or not. I wonder if she’s embarrassed about the rabbit, about her lack of self-control. She’s never been the type to feel guilty for indulging her whims. If she wanted chocolate cake, she’d eat chocolate cake. If she wanted to get railed by someone, she’d take them home. If she wanted the Gucci shoes, she’d swipe her card and not worry. But this is different.

“Yeah. I think so.” If I ever wanted chocolate cake, I’d do calorie math and ruin it.

“Well, then, we’ll just have to see what happens,” she says, hopping up. “Why are we in such a rush to leave, again? It’s not like we have a destination or any plan of action here.”

“Because we left an employee bleeding in the woods,” I whisper.

“Oh, right.”

We move our suitcases next to the front door. Wait there.

“Let me do the talking. Why don’t you stay at a safe distance?”

“Fine,” she says. She looks nervous, and it’s making me nervous.

“What?”

“Can I drive? I need something to focus on.”

“Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah,” she says. “The high is wearing off. Which is kind of a bummer.”