Kiss Me, Kill Me Read online

  I sprang off the sofa. ‘I have to get to work and check my notes.’ Although, my brain must have stored the names and corresponding numbers. Because I suspected I knew the answer to the question of whose blood had been in tube number three.

  Greg stood and grabbed my arm before I ran out the door. ‘I’ll take you; it’ll be faster.’

  We’d travelled a number of times this way, Greg employing his incredible vampire speed to get from A to B. This time, as I clung to him while the world rushed by too quickly for me to track, I wasn’t scared we’d collide with something. I didn’t feel queasy or dizzy. My mind was too occupied with the fear of what I would find once I consulted my notebook.

  The blood bank was deserted. All the labs were empty, the only other bodies in the whole building, apart from Greg’s and mine, were the two night-duty officers (medical students on hand in case of an emergency requiring blood to be transported from the blood bank). They were presumably asleep in their room on the ground floor.

  We went to my lab on the fourth floor. I approached my desk with the kind of trepidation with which one would approach the electric chair.

  My hand shook as I flipped the pages of my notebook to find the last entry.

  When I read the name listed next to donor three, the world fell away from beneath my feet.

  A pathetic sound burst from my mouth.

  Greg grabbed me and pressed me against his chest.

  ‘Ana. It’s going to be okay. We’ll fix this.’

  I don’t know how long I spent sobbing and blubbering into Greg’s shirt. Or how long he’d been patting my back and consoling me. I leaned back a little so I could look up at him. ‘How, Greg? How will we fix this?’

  ‘I’m taking you home now and then we’ll make a plan. I promise you that we’ll figure something out.’

  * * * * *

  The next morning, I picked up the phone, dialled, and prepared to execute step one of The Plan.

  ‘Ana!’ Melanie yelled into my ear.

  I nearly burst into tears at the sound of her voice.

  ‘Hey, Mellie,’ I croaked instead.

  ‘What’s up, luvs? You sound like hell.’

  Hell was what you sounded like when you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night. When you’d cried yourself almost into oblivion because your best friend had fucking cancer.

  ‘I haven’t been feeling well recently,’ I lied. ‘I’ve been feeling so crappy that I’ve decided to get one of those full check-ups, you know the ones where they test you for absolutely everything.’

  Melanie made a sound of dismay. Before she could ask questions, I forged ahead. Because this part of the plan was going to be dicey. You see, Melanie has a morbid fear of doctors, hospitals, medical tests and such. She always makes me go along when she has tests or treatments done. Whether it be dental appointments, pap smears, flu vaccinations—we always have them done together. It’s gotten to the stage where she’s become so reliant on me that, when she needed blood tests done a while back, she’d insisted I take her blood. The fact that I’m a certified phlebotomist notwithstanding, you cannot barge into a medical facility and demand to replace the resident professional with your BFF.

  Melanie accepted this fact, only after I’d given her a good talking to for close to half an hour. And after she’d watched the highly capable nurse take my blood samples.

  It ended up being fortuitous that I’d had my levels checked because my iron had been quite low, and I’d been able to take steps to fix it before it had gotten worse.

  I tried to look on the bright side of this situation. To be thankful that Melanie, even though she’d finished her Ph.D. and didn’t work in the lab anymore, kept coming in and helping out, or sometimes pretending to, so she could hang out with me and chat. That she had demanded I take her blood instead of mine when I’d told her about my overused vein, despite blood donation being one of least favourite pastimes. That she hadn’t gotten another job yet because we may not have discovered what was happening to her. And maybe we could get her treatment so she would have a chance to recover.

  ‘So,’ I continued, ‘I’m a bit worried and was wondering if you’d, um…come along and do the tests with me.’

  There was a long pause. Ah hell, there was Buckley’s chance that this was going to work. Melanie would never agree to have tests done that weren’t absolutely necessary.

  ‘When you say you haven’t been feeling well, babes, what do you mean?’ She asked this in her soothing, motherly voice that was rarely heard.

  ‘Um, just really exhausted and…not right, you know.’ Which wasn’t a lie because it was the exact state I was in at that moment.

  ‘I’ve been feeling a bit like that myself, actually. Maybe there’s something going ’round.’

  Fuckbuckets! ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  ‘This is all my fault.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You weren’t afraid of any of this stuff. But because I make you always come with me, you’ve probably gotten used to having someone with you. And now you don’t want to do it alone.’

  ‘No. It’s not your f—’

  ‘I’m coming with you.’ She spoke over the top of me. And then she shouted, ‘Full medical. B.I.T.F.O!’ Which was Melanie’s acronym for bring it the fuck on.

  How could I have believed for one second that the plan wouldn’t work? Melanie, despite her outward badass attitude, had the biggest, softest heart. She would do anything for me. Even something that frightened her beyond reason.

  Crap. A big sob lodged in my throat. ‘Mellie, thank you. Thank you so much. I have to go. There’s someone at the door.’ Another lie, but I needed to get off the phone real quick.

  ‘Okay, sweets. You take care of yourself. Love ya.’

  ‘Love you, too.’

  I disconnected the call and burst into another raucous bout of crying.

  Chapter Five

  The last procedure I had with Melanie was having our eggs harvested and cryopreserved.

  Greg’s suspicions were proven correct. Melanie had ovarian cancer.

  For the treatments that followed, I couldn’t do them with her. She’d had to go through them all on her own.

  The last time Melanie, Scott, Greg and I were together was the day Scott marched into our apartment and had a shouting match with Melanie over the fact that she’d broken up with him the day before.

  Scott had said he’d fight for her. However, I’d watched the fight slowly die in him as she’d told him terrible, hurtful things. That she hadn’t felt happy with him for some time. That she’d been wanting to break it off but hadn’t known how. And that she didn’t love him anymore.

  That day had been as emotionally devasting as going to a funeral. Something I’d rather not think about.

  Melanie had decided she would go home to the UK to receive the chemotherapy treatment she needed. She’d said she wanted to be with her family.

  The last time I’d seen my best friend was at the airport, where we’d cried all over each other, hugged so tight we’d almost broken, and waved goodbye with tear-blind eyes before she’d been whisked far, far away from me.

  Chapter Six

  Five months later.

  Greg stood by my side, holding my hand, as I waited nervously at the airport arrivals hall. Scott sat a little way away in the seating area.

  I’d spoken to Melanie plenty of times since she’d left. I would have talked to her every day if I could, but she’d spent a lot of time at the hospital and the remainder at home, resting. She wouldn’t turn her camera on when we spoke because she didn’t want me to see her the way she was. The chemo had caused her to lose all her hair. And Melanie had always been so particular about her hair.

  I never stayed on the phone too long, reluctant to do so because more often than not, Melanie sounded tired. She’d told me the chemo made her so sick, it exhausted her. On the flip side, she was determined to kick cancer’s ass to the kerb. ‘B.I.T.F.O.,’ she’d yelled down the line before each
new round of treatment.

  The last report was that she was okay, was between rounds of chemo, and was waiting for the test results. Then, out of the blue, she’d booked a flight and was coming to visit. She’d barely given me any notice, so I’d been frantically turning the chin-up-assister room into a guest bedroom to make her stay as comfortable as possible. I’d even found these cute, tiny swings that had ropes attached to timber seats, with a wooden mouse sitting on each one. I’d bought four and hung them from the sex sling attachment points, hoping they’d make her laugh every time she looked up there.

  Melanie had made me laugh so hard the last time we’d spoken. She’d said she needed to get away from her family because they were doing her head in. Apparently, cousin Eileen, who lives with them, had developed some weird psychosis and gone and fallen in love with a tree.

  I had thought Melanie was pulling my leg. ‘You’re shitting me,’ I’d said incredulously.

  ‘I shit you not,’ had been her response.

  It turned out that her story about this budding romance was absolutely legit.

  ‘They all pander to Eileen and talk about her love for an inanimate object like she’s in love with some pimply-faced boyfriend,’ Melanie bemoaned. ‘The tree’s even got a feckin’ name! The big old oak in the garden is now Roland.’

  ‘Roland seems a fitting name for a sturdy oak,’ I offered.

  ‘Hmph! Don’t you start. Seriously, all this bollocks rubs me up the wrong way. Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Speaking of…I saw her getting it on with Roland.’

  ‘Whaaat?’ I shrieked.

  ‘Yeah, man. She was out there in the middle of the night, rubbing up against the sodding tree.’

  ‘Christ on a bike. What did you do?’

  ‘I marched right out there and yelled at her. Asked her how she knew if he’d consented to her carnal attentions. Told her the fact he was sporting wood was not an indicator ’cause he’s made entirely of wood. ‘Cause he’s a flippin’ tree.’

  By that point, all I could do was laugh and snort and snort-laugh.

  Melanie had given me some time to let all that peter out before she continued. ‘The last straw was the wedding invitations, though. I mean, Nan shelled out for them. And those bloody things aren’t cheap. When I asked the bride-to-be how many trees had died so she could have her invites, she burst out crying. Then I got told off for being a rude and insensitive cow. This is a perfect example of how political correctness and the avoidance of giving offence has gone too damn far. Sometimes people need to be told that they are totally deluded and fucked in the head. Sod it. They’re a bunch of nutters—the lot of ’em. I should’ve just got a chainsaw. But feck it, I like Roland. Plus, I don’t have the energy to fight about it anymore.’

  ‘Families…’ I’d said.

  ‘Bags of dicks,’ we’d said simultaneously.

  I’d immediately sent her an image of a crocheted bag with a collection of crocheted dicks. The bag bore a label describing exactly what it was.

  We’d laughed our asses off.

  A group of people came through the arrivals gate. I forgot all about the soon-to-be-wedded/wooded Eileen and Roland, and I glanced over at Scott. He was tense. Pretending not to be. Failing.

  He hadn’t spoken to Melanie since their fight. He’d been so cut up over the ending of their relationship, but typical man-style, he’d struggled not to let it show. It was heartbreaking to watch a guy attempt stoic when you could plainly see he was collapsing on the inside.

  Scott had been there for me when Greg disappeared, and now Greg and I were there for him. The fact that Scott might spiral and end up falling off the wagon concerned both Greg and me greatly. Scott had been in rehab a while back. He’d managed to kick the drinking and drug habit he’d gotten into after the death of his parents. No one wanted him to tread that path again.

  Scott’s decision to be at the airport when Melanie arrived surprised us. Given all the questions he’d asked about Melanie’s well-being, we figured Scott had large feelings. Even so, to be present for another possible face-to-face rejection took…I didn’t even know what. Balls? Courage? A total lack of self-preservation? Our advice that he should wait and come over for a visit once Melanie was settled in (code for suss Mel out about her feelings for him) fell on deaf ears. The man was stubborn as a mule. Who had a Ph.D. in stubbornism. And was the Minister of The Department of Stubbonry.

  Men could be such asses sometimes.

  Greg swore under his breath. I glanced at him and then to where his attention was fixed. And there was Melanie, entering the arrivals hall.

  I experienced an immediate and intense prickling behind my eyes. My vision blurred. I mashed my lips together and clapped a hand over them, struggling not to let out the sound that wanted to escape.

  A small clutch of people got in the way, blocking my view of Melanie for a few seconds. Those other people were smiling and hugging the old lady who had arrived. There were exclamations. Happy tears.

  Melanie navigated around them, stopped a few feet away from us and let go of her rolling suitcase. The previously well-padded and curvy woman was currently rail-thin, with sharp, jutting cheekbones that had deep hollows beneath.

  She’s not okay.

  She attempted a smile; it wobbled and fell off her face.

  Why didn’t she tell me?

  She self-consciously touched her wig. Stared at the floor.

  Oh my God, her wig’s askew. I have to fix it. Why am I so bothered about her damned wig? Her hair is the least of our worries.

  I focussed on her eyes. Sunken. Tired. Purple bruises underneath.

  She looked up and met my gaze. Her head tilted, her mouth twisted, and she gave a one-shouldered shrug.

  Defeat.

  She’s not kicking cancer’s ass.

  She’s…dying.

  It seemed an age passed before I was capable of movement. ‘Mellie,’ I croaked after what must have only been seconds. I ran over to her. Carefully wrapping her in my arms, I hugged her. She felt different from the old Melanie. Light, almost insubstantial. A collection of hollows held together with skin.

  We were both crying.

  People don’t cry sad tears at arrivals—only departures. This shouldn’t be happening.

  She’s fucking dying!

  I pulled away a fraction. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  She took a small step backwards and clasped her elbows. ‘I believed I’d beat it. I was sure I could.’ She gulped. ‘But it’s not… It’s not gonna go away. I can’t fight it. I’m—’ She shook her head, clamped her lips and scrunched her eyelids closed as if to stop the horrible word from being uttered.

  D.Y.I.N.G.

  ‘Why did you get a flight all the way here? Why aren’t you getting treatment?’ My voice sounded high, the tone accusing.

  ‘There’s no more treatment, Ana. They’re talking palliative care.’ Tears trickled from her eyes.

  It felt like she’d punched me in the gut. I also felt the small amount of hope I’d had swirl away as if gurgling down a drain.

  Melanie continued, ‘When I left to go home, I thought I’d come back when I got better. I just…’ Her breath hitched. ‘I just wanted to see you all one last time. To say goodbye. I didn’t do it properly last time. I need to do it properly.’

  I couldn’t take it any longer and broke into noisy sobs.

  Melanie’s attention moved to a spot behind me and her face crumpled, a slow and devastating implosion of pain.

  Scott.

  I turned my head and saw a Scott I had never seen before. The whites of his eyes were reddened, jaw so tense it seemed it would crack, whole body rigid. He seemed angry. Bigger. His skin looked taut as if it were being put under strain from the emotions he held inside himself. That skin, though, usually sun-bronzed, was a bloodless shade of white.

  He was terrified.

  Melanie made a quiet sound of anguish and immediately Scott had her in his arms. With one arm around her waist and the op
posite hand cradling her head, he held her against his chest. She buried her face in his shirt and cried, clinging to him desperately as if he alone could save her from what was coming.

  It was obvious, then, that all the things Melanie had said to Scott when she’d broken up with him were lies. It had been a ploy to spare him. To save him from being tied to a sick girl.

  Greg put his arm around my shoulders. I leaned into him as we watched our two best friends reconnect.

  But for how long. How long does she have?

  ‘You shouldn’t be flying overseas and taxing yourself this way,’ Scott said a while later, voice shredded. He held her a little away from him by her shoulders. ‘What kind of doctors would even let you do this?’

  ‘I went against doctors’ orders.’

  Scott looked like he wanted to shake Melanie. ‘You should have stayed at home. We would’ve come to you, Mel. If you’d told us, we would have come.’ His voice broke on the last word.

  ‘It doesn’t feel like that’s my home anymore. This is my home.’ Her tear-filled gaze landed on each one of us.

  Yes, babes. We are your family.

  It seemed at the same moment, Greg, Scott and I came to the same conclusion. We looked at each other. Greg nodded once. He stepped in front of Melanie and wiped some tears from her face, bent to kiss her cheek and give her a hug. When he released her and straightened, he announced, ‘Melanie, your home is with us. And when we get you home, we’re going to talk. There’s something important we need to tell you.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?!’ Melanie shouted. It seemed to be the question of the day. She was perched on the edge of my sofa, glaring. Mostly at Scott and myself—the lover and the best friend who had kept her in the dark about something so momentous.

  I tried explaining that it had been for Greg’s protection. That the fewer people who knew, the less likely he’d be outed. Blah, blah, blah—it all sounded lame in light of Melanie’s current situation. If she’d been privy to the fact that Greg was a vampire, she may have told us the chemo wasn’t working. Then Greg could have turned her into a vampire before she went downhill so badly. If she wanted to be a vampire, that is.