Not human at dawn

It was Monday

Irene Williams woke up before her alarm.

That never happened. She was the kind of girl who could sleep through thunder and only stir when her alarm blared or her parents pounded on the door. But this morning her eyes snapped open, and she lay there , listening to the ceiling fan turn slowly overhead. Her school bag sat where she had dropped it the night before.

Her chest felt heavy. She sat up slowly and waited for the dizziness to hit. It never came. Instead, she caught a smell, sharp and metallic, and not at all familiar.

She looked down. The bedspread was clean, but there were faint red stains along her fingers.

Blood.

Her stomach twisted. “No,” she whispered.

Memories pushed at the edges of her mind: an alley, a shadow lying on the ground, cold hands. But every time she reached for them, her head throbbed and they slipped away.

She got out of bed and walked to the mirror like a robot. The girl staring back didn’t look quite like her. Her skin was clearer, almost glowing. Irene pressed her palm flat against the glass.

“You’re fine,” she told herself.

In the bathroom she turned the tap on full and gripped the edge of the basin. She splashed water on her face, and when she looked up, she could have sworn her reflection was smiling.

She wasn’t.

She stepped back, took a long shower, and wrapped herself in a towel. Then she pulled on jeans, a hoodie, and sneakers. Her body felt strangely light, and she was starving. She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, trying to ignore the odd pulse running through her veins.

The house smelled of coffee and toast. In the sitting room, morning sunlight poured through the window. Her mother, Erica Williams, was setting plates on the table, smiling brightly, Her father, Jacob, sat behind his newspaper, grumbling about traffic between sips of hot coffee.

“Morning, Irene,” her mother said. “Did you sleep well?”

Irene nodded and forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Yes. Fine.”

She slid into her chair. The smell of eggs and toast made her stomach twist. Breakfast passed in awkward silence, and as soon as she finished, she said goodbye to her parents and left.

Outside, the sun touched her skin, and it burned. It hurt, as if she were on fire.

Irene pressed on and pretended nothing had happened. The moment she stepped through the school entrance, the noise hit her like a physical force: shoes scraping, laughter echoing, voices overlapping until she couldn’t separate them.

“Irene!”

Mia, her best friend, was jogging toward her, ponytail messy as usual, smile as bright as ever. “You disappeared yesterday! I texted you like ten times.”

Irene tried to smile back. “Sorry. I wasn’t feeling well.”

Mia grabbed her hand, and an electric jolt shot through Irene. She jerked away.

Mia blinked. “Are you okay?”

“Sorry,” Irene said again, softer this time. “Just a headache.”

“Did you hear about the transfer student?” Mia asked as they walked down the hallway.

“No.” She hadn’t seen him, but somehow she could smell him.

“Apparently he’s in our class,” Mia went on.

Irene froze mid-step.

Across the hallway, a boy with dark hair leaned against the wall. She had never seen him before, yet he lifted his eyes and met hers .

Her heart pounded, but underneath it something inside her answered with a strange calm. No fear.

Mia waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello? You’re staring.”

Irene tore her gaze away. “I’m fine,” she lied. But she could feel his eyes on her all the way down the hall.

First period was history, and the teacher droned on about the French Revolution. Irene couldn’t focus. She didn’t understand a single word.

“Ouch!”

Someone yelped from the back of the class.

“Miss Young, are you alright?” the teacher asked.

“I hurt myself,” Ava Young, one of the class bullies, said through gritted teeth.

“Do you need the clinic?”

Two students rushed over to check on her. Blood welled from Ava’s injury, and Irene’s throat burned. She pressed her tongue against her teeth and found them sharp as razors. The metallic scent drifted toward her again. Her vision blurred red, and the hunger surged, fast and violent.

Irene chair scraped the floor as she stood.

“I need to see the nurse,” Irene said slowly.

The teacher frowned. “Miss Williams, class just started.”

“I need to go.” Her voice came out louder than she intended, and it didn’t sound like hers.

The room went silent.

“...Go ahead,” the teacher said.

Irene walked out as fast as she could, then ran. She burst into the nearest bathroom and gripped the wall, breathing raggedly.

“Control it,” she whispered. The hunger pulsed in waves. “Control it.”

She was still trying to figure out what was happening to her when the bathroom door creaked open. A shadow fell across the floor beneath her stall, and a voice spoke from the other side,"I know what is wrong with you"

Her blood turned to ice. She pushed the stall door open, and there he stood, the transfer student.

“You should learn to mind your business,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Tell me,” he said.

“Leave me alone, okay?”

“Answer me. This is serious.”

“What?” She stared at him, confused.

His gaze dropped to her neck,"Who turned you?”,