Page 35 of Ouch! My Vampire Doms Keep Biting Me
“You mean the Bellefleur District?”
She shrugs. “I guess. Wherever they don’t care if I have ID.”
“You don’t have a driver’s license or anything?”
“Nope.”
Again, her face remains expressionless, but I hear a heaviness in her tone.
She doesn’t have ID. No wonder she hasn’t been able to get a job. “Look up, mouse,” I say, then quickly snap a photo of her with my phone.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“Memories.”
“Soyouget memories of this, but I don’t?”
“Oh, mouse.” I shake my head. This is going to destroy me—and she has no fucking clue.
“Why won’t you let me keep the memories?” she asks in a small voice. “I would never tell. I would probably be placed in a mental health treatment center if I tried.”
“It’s how we have to do things,” I say. “Exceptions can sacrifice safety, and we don’t fuck around with our safety. Or yours.”
Which is why we’re saying our goodbyes. For her safety.
I’ll make sure she’s taken care of first, though. My long night is about to get much, much longer.
Autumn
I wake up tired. Confused. A little sad.
Why am I sad?
The hotel room that I’m in is unfamiliar. I immediately run my hands over my body, checking my shirt and pants. Everything is on straight. I don’t think I was harmed and brought here or anything. The last thing I remember, someone was telling me to sleep and have nice dreams. Super weird. But I did have nice dreams.
The hotel room is generic, but I’ve never seen it before. It’s nicer than the first place I stayed when I came to San Esteban, that’s for sure.
That’s right. I’m in San Esteban. But something is off, something is weird. I remember running from Altera. The bus ride. The crappy motel. Job searching.
Slowly, it comes back to me. I’d been looking for jobs but instead of work, I found a shelter for people who were scared and on the run. No questions asked. A kind woman gave me a fake ID and some money, as well as a list of places that are hiring.
No, that must have been a dream. I don’t have enough details for it to be true. I can’t picture the building or anyone I met there. The kind woman is a blob of dark fog in my memory. She has no face, no voice.
Definitely a dream.
Still, my bruised heart can’t help but give an excited beat of hope.
I climb from the way-too-nice-for-a-girl-on-the-run sheets and pad over to my mom’s old bag, which rests neatly on the dresser. I pull out the wallet and find, inside, a fresh driver’s license with the name Abigail Souris.
There’s a bundle of crisp twenty-dollar bills. Several of them. I’m holding a thousand dollars. And tucked around it is a print-out titled,San Esteban Stores - Hiringwith several shops and restaurants listed below. Another paper in my purse is an application for a place called Bartleby’s Pub.
Who did this for me? Did I visit an employment agency? Maybe it was that shelter. This seems like a huge effort for any shelter, though. All this money, a new ID…something doesn’t add up.
Well. No time to waste. I have a fresh new identity. “My name is Abigail,” I say to the mirror above the dresser. “Abigail…what? How the fuck do I pronounce my last name?”
If I had my phone, I’d look it up.
Holy shit. I have a phone. There it is, sitting next to my purse. It isn’t fancy by any means, but it is a phone. It flashes on as soon as I pick it up. I find the internet browser app and type in my new last name.Souris. The first thing that comes up is a definition.
