I blushed.

I could see the red suffusing my face.

But then, I took a deep breath and thought it over.

I turned and marched back to Harold.

"I should have taken a Polaroid of it or something," I said. "But I swear! Bite marks!"

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"I - I don't know....okay, I guess. Maybe...uhm...better than okay."

He sighed. "You say you fell asleep at Emory's? And that before you looked in the mirror, you were having a nightmare."

"Yes. So?"

He shook his head. "Delusions! Hormonal delusions!"

"You don't believe me!"

"Look, you don't think I have hormonal delusions?"

"You don't believe me! I can't believe you don't believe me! You think I'm crazy!"

I glared at him fiercely.

"No, I'm the crazy one!" He said, looking away. "I have them about you."

He seemed to kind of fall into himself. My fury collapsed.

I felt sorry for him. And I felt a great affection for him.

"You do? Oh, that's so sweet, Harold!"

"Yeah. Right," he said moodily.

"I'm really sorry," I said. I put a friendly hand on his arm. "I'm just so wrapped up in all this, I haven't been considerate. You know you're like my best friend. That's why you're the only...only person I could really talk to about this."

"Why don't you just accept it! Vampires don't exist! They're fantasy! They're no hard evidence for them! And there's plenty of hard evidence for delusional behavior. Heck! Maybe he put some kind of Southern-fried LSD in that root beer."

I felt my neck.

Harold did have a point. Come to think of it, I did react oddly when I started drinking that root beer.

For a moment I stared over at the record collection.

Being in the middle of the hard reality of Harold's basement - the safe familiarity of it all surrounding me, suddenly all this vampire business didn't seem real.

I felt my neck.

"I do get kind of obsessed, don't I?"

"You do."

I nodded. "I should talk to Emory."

"Oh, for sure you should talk to Emory. But don't start calling him a vampire or anything."

I fell back against the couch.

"It just seems so real."

"It seems so unreal to me, my friend!"

"I'm telling you....there was blood. If I can show you my bloody sweater...."

"Look, when are you going to see Emory again?"

"During dress rehearsals next week."

"You didn't make any other dates with him?"

"No."

"How did he act - after the deed!"

I laughed. "He curled his mustache!"

"No really!"

I thought back. "Uhm... Well, shy....and sheepish, I guess."

"Hmm. Sure doesn't sound like any vampire I've ever heard of. Sounds like a normal guy."

I looked at Harold. "Look, are we still friends?"

"Sure."

"I mean, there's a little detail here. I don't want to hurt your feelings, though."

"Spill. I'm bracing myself."

"Well.... It's not like Emory was predatory or anything. I mean, it was his father who suggested he show me that copy of Dracula. And....and....."

"Well, there was this couch. And I was the one who wanted to sit buy him... And I was the one who....well, okay. I kissed him!"

Harold grinned. "Wow!"

"Wow? Wow what?"

"Like, who's the vamp here? I mean, what does Emory's neck look like!"

"Harold, you're mean!"

"Okay, okay. Well, yeah - I mean that all falls in line with what I've been saying. I mean, vampires....they are the hunters, right? Attractive females are the prey."

"Look, I don't know. I mean, I was thinking that I just woke something dark and deadly in him."

"But you're not feeling ..uhm... anemic or anything. In the books and movies the victims get sick."

"Lucy in Dracula certainly does." I took a breath. I closed my eyes. I did an inventory of sorts. Head. Check. Torso. Check. Limbs. Check.

I opened my eyes.

"No. Actually, I feel....great. Physically. Except for the ache in my neck."

"And that's getting worse."

"No, to be honest, it's fading."

Harold nodded. "Okay. Everything sounds in order ...except for your heart."

"My heart?"

"Yeah. Well, how do you feel about Emory now?"

"I ...I don't know..... Look Harold, my head's still kind of in a swirl on that subject, okay?"

"Okay. But like....remember Peter Harrigan?"

"Sure I remember Peter."

"When you auditioned for Dracula, the idea was to get close to Peter. To get him to pay attention to you."

"Right. I was there. So?"

"How do you feel about Peter now?"

I pursed my lips.

"I don't know. He's still handsome and cool."

"Sure. But how does he make you feel."

"Okay. So maybe I'm not thinking of him every other minute. There. You satisfied. I'm fickle!"

"That's because your nuts about Emory now."

"I don't think so," I said. "He certainly is fascinating. But..no... No, it's not the way with Emory as it is with Peter."

"Okay. I hear you. I'm not going to press. I appreciate your feelings and I appreciate you sharing them with me."

"How do you feel about the whole thing."

"I feel a lot better. I was scared at first. Now I feel like it's just one of those things that will work out."

I wanted to say, "How can you say that? Last night could have been one of the most important days of my life!" But I held my tongue.

Harold took this in and thought for a minute.

"Sounds like that's just that. For now anyway."

"What that's supposed to mean?"

"It means," said Harold, "that if you really want to do something now, you've just got to call Emory and talk to him."

"I don't want to do that!"

"I didn't think so. Sounds like he needs to think too."

"Right. Think. We both have to think about it."

"Exactly. And since you were pretty much the one who started it there on that couch, he might kind of freak out if you pursue him too much!"

"Me? The aggressor!"

"Yes. Innocent you."

I harumphed.

But he was right.

Harold was absolutely right.

I could talk to Emory about it, sure. But I should wait and see. Which would mean I should at least give the situation time to cool off.

Somehow, with this decision made, my neck began to throb less.

But as my neck throbbed less, I think I noticed how much my heart was throbbing.

And I knew, then and there, what the true situation was.

I was in love.

I was desperately in love with Emory Clarke.