8: if everything's blurry, does that mean you're drunk?

I think I must secretly be some sort of beacon, or something. And I don't mean it in a humble bragging sort of way. It's just that people never seem to want to leave me alone, especially at those times when I just really need to be alone. It's not exactly fair, and if I am some sort of beacon, I need to find a way to make the beaconing stop, because it's driving me crazy.

Okay. So what I mean by all this is, not long after I've gotten back from the diner and fallen into a quick nap, the landline rings. No kidding. I'm trying to sleep all this off and this is the time someone chooses to visit me. I'm telling you. It must be the beaconing.

As I'm groaning and staggering to the phone, I'm already mulling it all over in my head. It's not Safiya, because whenever she wants to talk to me, she just busts my door down with a "Howdy, demonboy!" And it's not Midge, either, because last time I checked she just spells herself into my hallway when she needs to. And it's not my dad, because he never really leaves his study these days. That leaves maybe two people. Neither of them are people I want to talk to at the moment, but they shouldn't take it personally, because I don't want to talk to anyone.

I'm sort of right; it is one of the two people. "Hey, it's Rocco," says the voice over the phone. "I've got a six-pack I could use some help polishing off. Buzz me up?"

"Rocco," I groan, a little happy that it's not Sybil, but also not happy that I'm not alone, "you should have called first, man. Now isn't—"

"Yeah. Of course it's not. When is it ever with you?"

I don't like that tone. I know that sounds like something a mom would say, but I just—I don't like it. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Buzz me up, Grey."

I buzz him up, kinda because he left me no choice and he knows it. Rocco's aware he's sorta important to me. Most parents—human parents, anyway—wouldn't let their kids play with me when I was little because of the whole demon thing. Probably thought I was gonna steal their souls. Everyone does. But Rocco never cared. He thought my teeth were cool. In fact, that's what he said when I first met him: "Your teeth are cool. Let's trade Hot Wheels."

That's the thing about living with humans. Doesn't matter how long we've been tolerating each other; they're always gonna be a little skeptical if you're not like them.

Rocco shows up a moment later with a six-pack of beers, as promised. The only time I ever get alcohol is from either him or Safiya, who are both older than me and like to rub it in my face. Rocco's older by like, one year. Safiya's older by at least two hundred. She'd kill me if I ever told anyone her true age, but I mean, she's a vampire. It's pretty much safe to assume most of them are old as dirt, and when they're not, it's extremely obvious.

Rocco sets the beers down on the counter, and I go after one, but he swats my hand away. I raise an eyebrow at him, but all he says is, "You've gotta talk to me, Grey."

"What do you mean?" I reply. "What is there to talk about?"

"You tell me."

"You're being weird, Rocco."

This time, it's his turn to raise an eyebrow at me. He does so as he tours around the kitchen island, straight to the drawer where he knows I keep the bottle openers. I don't really collect them, but for some reason everyone always gives them to me as presents. I have no idea why. I have fangs. I have no use for bottle openers.

There's a low hiss and then a pop; Rocco catches the bottle cap in his palm, then tosses it at me. I catch it, furling my hand into a fist around it. He's really starting to freak me out. I thought it was okay when I saw him yesterday on the street. Not perfect, but okay.

"I'm the one being weird?" Rocco says. "We don't talk much anymore. I talk to you yesterday, and you act like you'd rather be somewhere else. I'm just...I just thought we knew each other better than that."

No, no. I don't like this at all. Confrontation, that's what this is. And it's scary as hell. "Where's this coming from, Rocco?" I fire back. "It's nothing I can help. We're not kids anymore. You've got your life and I've got mine—"

"I'm not afraid of you, you know."

I open my mouth to reply to that, but then I shut it again, because I realize I have no idea what to say. Of course I knew that already. That's Rocco. That's just how he is. He's never been afraid of me, and that's why I kept him around. So why...why does hearing him say it change something?

"That's what it is, right?" Rocco goes on, and I get the weird feeling he's enjoying this, enjoying the surprise on my face, like he's figured me out long before even I have. "You think everyone wants nothing to do with you, like everyone thinks you're going to hurt them. That's why you're always alone. And I'm done with that."

The most I can do is sputter, "I never said any of this!"

"Exactly. It's what you don't say, Grey. Come on. I know you."

I duck my head, not bearing to look at him. I'm not sure if I'm embarrassed or relieved, or some weird toss-up of both. All I do know is that I don't like the way all my nerves are buzzing, or how for some reason it feels like a weight just lifted off my chest. Jesus. I would've never let the guy in if I'd known he was gonna go all therapist on me. "I'm sorry," I say, finally, still avoiding eye contact. "If I made you think you're not important, or whatever. Sorry. I could just—I could just really use a beer right now."

For a moment, Rocco doesn't say anything, but then he just laughs and scrubs a hand through his unruly surfer-guy hair. He really does look like a surfer, with his curls and his tan and his heavy-lidded eyes. I think that's why all the girls used to go crazy over him. I'm pretty sure they still do. "You look terrified," he comments, finally handing me a beer. I whisk the cap clean off with my teeth and spit it in the trash can. Rocco watches this with mild amusement. "I didn't mean to scare you."

I tilt my head back and chug about half the bottle, until I start seeing stars. Wiping my mouth, I counter, "Yes, you did, you bastard."

"I promise, I didn't."

"By hell, Rocco," I say to that, but there's a smirk on my face. "Okay, look. You want me to talk? I've got something to tell you."

Now Rocco looks genuinely surprised. He tugs on his hoodie strings, balancing himself against the counter. "I'm intrigued."

I'm not the gossipy type. Honestly. I feel like today's the most gossipy I've ever been, because I tell Rocco here what I told Safiya, everything about the attacks and Midge's psycho prophecy and the fact that there's something wrong with the city. I don't know why I tell him. I'm not sure why I tell anyone. Maybe I just want someone to tell me none of it's real.

But Rocco nods like he totally gets it, and then he says, "Okay. Either you're a lightweight and you're really drunk right now, or you're like, in the process of forming a sick band of vigilantes."

I take a moment to consider my level of dizziness (high) and the level of blurriness I'm seeing through (also high). There's also two empty beer bottles on the counter by now. Yeah. I consider all this and then I'm like, "I'm not drunk."

Rocco's a good guy, so he just goes along with it without questioning me. I don't know why. He should question me. I should be questioned. "Well, hell, man. Where are you even supposed to start with all this?"

And I think it's the smartest thing anyone has asked since the vampires crashed The Steam Room. "That's a good question, Rocco," I mutter. "That's a damn good question."