Clara brought her hand to her mouth, eyes wide in shock.

"I know," I said. "Ugly, right?"

"No, no." She shook her head. "It's not that." She looked around the bar as though checking to make sure no one was overhearing our conversation. "I mean, gums hurting is... normal." She leaned in across the counter and her voice dipped down to a whisper. "But they aren't supposed to actually fall out like that. When did it happen?"

"Just today while I was on the plane. Wait, what do you mean they don't normally fall out?" My heart pounded, and a dull ache pulsed through my gums. I pressed my tongue against the soft, raw flesh, and pain shot through my mouth. I tasted a hint of blood.

"I've heard of it before," Clara said. "But I've never seen it like this. Shit, I'm going to call Jen after my shift and see if she can take a look at you."

/ / /

After Clara's shift ended, we walked to the far end of town where she lived. The building towered above the streets like a fortress. On the inside, original stonework was left exposed, a constant reminder of how old the place was.

When we reached her flat, she made me sit on the small loveseat in the dimly lit living room, and then she stepped out onto the balcony to make a call. It was three in the morning.

My tongue involuntarily ran over my teeth as I glanced around the room. Thick, black curtains draped the windows. There was no television. Instead, the walls were covered with artwork. An angel with long, dark hair and one wing cried in a forest as demons crept in around her. A man with half of his face burned to the bone stared out of another painting with empty eyes.

The door to the balcony suddenly swung open, and I nearly jumped in my seat.

"She'll be over in twenty minutes," Clara said.

I nodded. I wanted to ask Clara about the paintings. Had she been the one who made them? Was she the angel? And who was the man? I wanted to ask all of that, but nerves overpowered me. Instead, I sat silently as we waited for Jen.

Clara paced around the room, glancing at me every now and then and making me even more anxious than I already was.

What was I doing here? I'd flown halfway across the world to get help from a stranger—someone I didn't have any connection to at all. I couldn't have found someone in the same country that could help me? What was I thinking?

At the back of my mind, I wondered if maybe I'd done it purposefully. Maybe, I had wanted an excuse to get away from my life.

I turned my eyes up to look at Clara. She leaned against the counter, studying the floor.

When I'd first messaged her online, I'd been surprised by how easy she was to talk to. It was like talking to someone I'd known all my life. But, now that I was actually looking at her, my words caught like cement in my throat. I felt out of place sitting in her apartment, surrounded by her life. I wiped sweat from my palms onto my jeans. As much as I wanted to say something, my mind was frozen.

Clara drummed her fingers on the island countertop. "I could put the kettle on or something."

"What?" I shook myself from my thoughts and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Tea. Do you want tea?"

I felt a smile tug at the corner of my mouth. Ever since I was a kid, I'd always smiled with my teeth, but now that my mouth was a mess, I felt self-conscious about it.

Clara's brow furrowed, and she gave me a confused grin. "What?"

"Nothing," I said. "It's just, that's a very British thing of you to ask."

Her smile reached her eyes, and she shook her head at me. "Oh, so is hospitality not a thing in America, then?"

"Not at all," I joked. I felt myself smiling again, but I quickly pulled my face back to neutral and covered my mouth.

She tilted her head to the side and frowned. "So, did you want tea or..."

Clara cut herself off mid-sentence when the door to her apartment suddenly swung open.

I whipped my head around just in time to watch Jen march in. Her short, spiky hair was shaved on the sides and dyed platinum blonde. Compared to Clara, she wore minimal makeup, but she still looked striking. She was probably a good six inches shorter than I was, but she carried herself with a confidence that screamed "don't mess with me."

Without even introducing herself, she walked over to where I was sitting and crouched down in front of me. "Open your mouth."

The request wasn't exactly comforting coming from a woman who looked like she moonlighted as a dominatrix, but I wasn't about to argue with her. Like a kid at the dentist, I opened my jaws.

"Interesting," she said, squinting to get a better look. Without warning, she put her hand into my mouth and pressed her index finger against the raw flesh of my upper gum.

"Ow!"

"Does that hurt?" she asked.

"Yes!"

She pressed her finger against my gum again, and I fought the urge to bite her.

"Interesting," she repeated herself, finally removing her hand from my mouth. She wiped it on her distressed, light-wash jeans.

I snapped my mouth shut and rubbed my jaw.

"What do you think?" Clara asked her.

"I've heard of this before, but I've never actually seen it," Jen said. "Usually, the teeth just shift a bit. But a whole new set? That's rare. When did you first start noticing the changes..."

"Aaron," Clara filled in.

"Aaron, yes. How long ago did it start?"

"About three weeks ago," I said. "At first I thought it was just a bad hangover."

I woke up with the taste of vomit in my mouth. My head pounded against my skull as sunlight streamed in through the blinds. The night before was a hazy blur. I remembered a woman at the bar flirting with me. I remembered us going home together. I remembered...

"Nausea and headaches are normal," Jen said. "How has your appetite been?"

"Fine," I replied. "My appetite has been great, actually. It's my stomach that isn't. I'm constantly starving."

It had been four days, and the migraine still persisted. It dulled at night, but each morning, it flared back up with an angry vengeance. Focusing at work was impossible, and I vomited up almost everything I ate.

I was sick. Really sick. It wasn't just a hangover. Maybe some bad stomach flu or something. Rest was what I needed.

"It's understandable," Jen said. "The transition phase is rough for everyone. Some more than others. Considering how you look, I'd say you're the some. It will get better once your body fully adjusts to your... new needs."

Sweat slicked my palms as I clenched my hands into fists. I drew a short breath in through my nose, trying to keep myself calm. Clara and I had talked about this online—the "new needs." There was always some euphemism for it. Like if no one said it out loud, it was possible we were all just talking about a different set of vitamins or something. Not...

I could barely sleep at night. I'd try to keep myself up during the day, but exhaustion weighed on me, and my mind floated in and out of a half-aware fog. I hadn't been to work in five days. My head spun whenever I stood. My entire body was weak, and my jaws ached.

I was cutting celery in the kitchen. I thought maybe making soup would help.

My fingers slipped, and the knife sliced my hand.

I screamed as pain shot through my palm. Bright red blood rushed out of the cut with each beat of my pulse. I could feel it hot and warm on my skin.

Immediately, I grabbed a handful of paper towels, but then, right as I was about to stifle the flow, something else came over me. My heart pounded in my chest, and my body shook. I pulled in shallow, sharp breaths. Before I could think, I'd put the side of my hand into my mouth.

When I realized what I was doing, I pulled my arm back, panting in confusion and terror as the flow of blood subsided.

For a second, I felt good.

Like really fucking good.

But then, nausea welled up in my throat. The blood curdled and turned in my stomach, and my head spun. I rushed to the bathroom and flung the door open. Just as I reached the toilet, thick, black vomit spewed out of my mouth and into the bowl. Sweat burst from my forehead as I panted and gagged. I tasted metal.

That was when I knew I needed help.

That was when I found Clara.

"Here." Jen slung the draw-string bag she'd been carrying off of her shoulder and onto the floor. She dug around in it for a second before passing me a stainless-steel water bottle.

"Is this..."

"It's not blood," she took the words out of my mouth. "Your body isn't ready for that, yet. You're still in the transition phase. This will help, though. Drink it."

I twisted the metal top off of the canister and sniffed the thick, syrupy liquid. It smelled foul, like something had curled up and died inside the bottle and then been left to rot. I glanced to Clara.

"I know it stinks," she said. "But it will help. Trust me."

I nodded, braced myself, and took a sip. I gagged as I swallowed. The viscous liquid stuck to my throat in a lump. It tasted just as bad as it smelled, but the constant agony I'd been in for the past few weeks receded slightly as it hit my stomach. After taking another disgusting sip, I coughed and pulled in a few deep breaths. The rotten taste clung to my tongue like vomit, but for the first time in days I didn't feel like I was starving.

"Thank you," I said.

Jen nodded at me and smirked. "You're welcome. The transformation usually takes only a month or two, sometimes three, so you won't have to put up with this stuff for that much longer. Soon, you'll be able to switch over to straight blood."

"Well, that's fine," I said, "but I don't plan on completing the transformation. How do I make this stop?"

Jen frowned at me, her pierced eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "You can't speed it up. You just have to wait."

"I don't mean speeding it up, I mean stopping it. Reversing it. Going back to normal. This is fine for you all, but I don't want to be a... a... a..."

"Bless you," Jen cut me off. She chuckled lowly. "You can't reverse it."

"What do you mean?" My heart pounded, and without thinking I got to my feet. My hands clenched into fists, and my eyes darted over to Clara. "You said you could help me!"

She bit her lip. "I meant help you with the transformation, Aaron. I didn't realize you were talking about reversing it."

"Of course that was what I was talking about!"

"There's no way," her voice rose as she spoke, and she clenched her hands around the stiff, ruffled fabric of her skirt. "It's a disease, not a choice. You think any of us want to be like this?"

"I... I," my voice stuttered as I drew in quick, sharp breaths.

"Get used to it, Aaron." Jen crossed her arms. "You're a vampire now, whether you like it or not."