Page 4 of All Your Bloody Lies

Wednesday, February 5, 3126

Work – Bartender 22:00 to 02:00

Restock cat food

Thursday, February 6, 3126

Work – Bar top dancer/waitress 22:00 to 02:00

Friday, February 7, 3126

Work – Bar top dancer/waitress 22:00 to 03:00

Saturday, February 8, 3126

Work – Bar top dancer 22:00 to 03:00

Sunday, February 9, 3126

Free

Don’t forget to open the balcony door for Mister – he will piss on the couch

“Late, nine. I can even move it later if you so desire, lady of the night,” Sydni remarks, toeing dangerously close to getting sucked dry and being incapacitated for months. She knows what I am and that I’d never feed on her, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t threaten it.

Early in our friendship, I never confirmed or denied these “planned” engagements of hers. Instead, I’d just hang up, leaving Sydni to find out at the appointed time whether I’d show up or not. After the tenth time of not showing up and seeing photos of her eating alone, I felt slightly guilty.

“I’ll be there.”

She squeals, “Yay! I’ll pay; I got you, girl.”

I roll my eyes. “What color is your hair this time? That way I’ll know what to look for.”

Her mock gasp of surprise makes me smile. “I don’t change it that much!” Yes she does. I saw her nearly three weeks ago, and it was orange. I bet it’s different now. “Pink…”

Knew it.

“You’ll love it. I know it’s yourfavoritecolor.”

I fucking hate pink.

“You are the bestest Phiny, see you latro!”

I hang the phone up and toss it onto the counter. I don’t deserve Sydni. I am such a bitch, I’m amazed she’s stuck around in my life for the last four years. She’s confessed that it’s hard for her to keep friends, and while I’d typically find that difficult to believe for someone as beautiful and kind as she is, she is pretty annoying.

Lifting my chin, I stare up at my ceiling. I’m exhausted, and I shouldn’t be. That feast should last me days, and it’s only been five hours. There is no reason fatigue should be weighing so heavily on me already.

Meow.

My gaze falls, landing on a black cat perched beside my phone. “Hello, Mister,” I greet the feline.

I have no idea what this cat’s actual name is, but it started coming to my balcony the first week I moved in, and that was about six months ago. I couldn’t call him cat.

I think the only reason he likes me is because he enjoys playing with my hair and getting lost in its thickness.

“You staying the night?” I ask, knowing that this was the only male that had ever slept in my bed, and it would likely remain that way.

His throat thrums with apurras I reach out and stroke him, running my hand from the nape of his neck all the way down to the tip of his tail. He refuses to let me pick him up, which is fine by me, though I can’t help but wonder if it is just a testament to my nature. Animals just, in general, did not like me.

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