10. A Late Night Snack

Chapter ten

A Late Night Snack

T he late evening finds me returning home from my new barista job, still buzzing with the excitement of learning something new. The house is mostly quiet, save for Reyes, who’s engrossed in a conversation with an unseen presence in the lounge. He acknowledges my arrival with a nod but continues his ethereal chat.

Hunger gnaws at me; I realize I haven’t eaten since lunch. As I head to the kitchen for a much-needed meal, I’m startled to find Oliver there, working on something that sends delicious aromas wafting through the air.

“Seriously?” he asks, noticing my reaction.

I try to play it cool. “I was just startled, that’s all. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever you say, Snow,” he quips, and I can’t help but roll my eyes as I rummage through the fridge.

Curiosity gets the better of me. “What made you join the drama club? I mean, with your aversion to being touched and all.”

He explains while stirring the contents of a pan. “I was in the music club, but it disbanded. Most members were too busy with actual music classes.”

“So, you enjoy composing music?”

“Yeah, it’s something I like.” He turns to lean against the counter, his posture relaxed, arms crossed. I’m still pondering over what to eat when Oliver offers, “If you’re hungry, you can have some of this.”

Hesitant, I reply, “I don’t want to take your food.”

“It’s not mine. It’s for everyone. They should learn to fend for themselves, anyway.”

I’m confused. “Isn’t that your dinner?”

“No, I don’t eat regular food,” he says matter-of-factly.

My curiosity gets the better of me. “What do you-” I stop, realizing the implication of my question.

“It’s fine to be confused. You’re still new to all this,” he says, a hint of understanding in his tone. “I cook because it relaxes me, but I don’t partake in it.”

“Nolan mentioned that the others... ensure you’re…” I say cautiously.

“Fed,” he confirms, his voice neutral.

“If it’s too weird, I can stop asking questions.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s part of living here, I guess. Everyone has their quirks,” he says with a slight smile, turning back to his cooking. Oliver’s candidness about his unique dietary needs adds another layer of complexity to my understanding of him. “It’s true, they do take turns donating, but not all of them. I cook at night so everyone has something to eat the next day,” he explains.

Intrigued, I ask, “Does what someone eats affect how their blood tastes?”

He chuckles, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Yes, but keep that between us. They think I’m just being considerate.”

I can’t help but laugh at the irony of it all. “Sorry,” I apologize, trying to compose myself.

“No need to apologize. You have a nice laugh,” he says, and I feel an unexpected warmth at his words.

Curiosity piqued, I probe further. “Why do only some of the guys donate?”

Oliver explains, “Ever seen what happens to fish blood when exposed to air? Turns into a jelly-like sludge. It’s revolting.”

“So, not Kane,” I deduce.

“Right, his blood reacts oddly with vampires,” he confirms as he resumes cooking. He then fills another bowl with food and hands it to me. His acts of kindness, despite his nature and the fact he doesn’t need to be nice, leave me pondering about the layers beneath his vampire facade.

As I stand there with the bowl in my hands, I debate whether to stay and eat or retreat to my room. Would it be odd to leave? Does he even want my company?

Before I can decide, Oliver turns off the stove and covers the pan. “I’m heading to bed. See you tomorrow.” He leaves the kitchen, his footsteps echoing slightly in the quiet house.

Left alone in the kitchen, I realize that my interactions with Oliver are slowly peeling back the layers of his enigmatic character. His willingness to share details about his life, coupled with the small acts of thoughtfulness, suggest a depth to him that contradicts the typical vampire stereotype. It’s a reminder that beneath the supernatural exterior, there’s a person with unique preferences, habits, and perhaps, a longing for normalcy. As I start to eat the food he prepared, I find myself more intrigued and empathetic towards Oliver, wondering what other facets of his life remain hidden, waiting to be understood.