You Have a Wet Sleeve.

I wiped the tears away on my arm and shivered, curling into a tight ball. It was a cold night and the bus felt empty. It was times like these when I wished I hadn't foced Alex to turn me - that way, I would never have gotten blood on my jacket and I would still be wearing it. That, amongst other reasons, of course.

When Alex returned, I was staring dejectedly out the window. He slumped into the seat, the soaking wet sleeve of his normally light grey hoodie dripping on the floor.

"You should've wrung that out." I said quietly, not even sure if he would hear.

He looked down at his sleeve absently, and nodded. "Yeah, probably." But he didn't make a move. Hesitantly, I reached down and pulled his arm up. Taking the sleeve in my hands, I squeezed it, releasing a torrent of water onto the bus floor.

I looked up to see him staring at me. He seemed confused.

"Um... thanks."

"I'm hungry." I blurted out, dropping his arm. Then cursed inwardly - stupid big mouth. I was actually surprised that Marco's blood hadn't made my mouth water, but I guess I'd been a little preoccupied at the time.

The End

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