After I left the water I dried off with my towel then I ran home, my bag bouncing on my back. I dropped into bed, feeling utterly drained. I fell asleep in mere moments.

The next day dawned unusually grey and cloudy, which I thought fitting considering my stormy emotions, especially when the heavens finally opened and tossed a deluge down upon the island. I stayed inside reading for most of the day. I ran into Alex in the hallway downstairs on my way and we spoke of the weather before parting. I hoped he was not angry that I ditched him and Tara at the party.

The inclement weather of the day became even more fitting when late in the afternoon; Michael turned up and informed me I would be meeting my new trainer Robert today. I felt a completely dismayed. It was an overreaction, because I now not only associated the name Robert with my dislike of exercise, but also with the awkwardness of the party on the night of New Year's Eve. I tried not to think about that night. Every time I considered how I had behaved, I felt like an idiot and could feel a hot rush of embarrassment rush through me.

Michael dragged me along to meet the trainer at the airport. My first thought, as I looked through the rain splattered window, was that he was an overly muscled giant of terminator proportions. He was also really tanned and it was not in a nice attractive way, but rather an over baked tanning bed shade of brown that almost looked orange. He topped off his oven cooked skin with bleached blond hair. He dropped all the luggage in the back of the jeep.

When he sat down in the vehicle behind me the vehicle dipped with his weight. In spite of his ridiculous appearance I had the distinct impression he could snap me or anyone else on the island into two pieces with one hand alone. This Robert looked as much like an athlete as Party Robert had looked like an accountant. Glancing back, I noticed he had a tattoo of a dragon running up his arm.

In addition to his luggage, he had brought two perfect little blond women with him. One of the two cheerfully informed me they were Robert's blood donors. The other looked at me suspiciously. The bubbly donor introduced herself as Pauline and the possessive one as Stacy.

Like Robert, both had overly tanned skin and their hair was a shade that nature had never intended. They also both bore oversized cleavage that had probably not been a gift of nature any more than their hair colors. One part blood donor, one part eye candy, one part cheerleader and all slightly off putting as far as I was concerned.

Robert, or Bob as he insisted on being called, dragged me immediately to the gym to test my physical fitness as soon as we arrived back at the house. He did not even stop to put his things in his room so intent was he on torturing me.

I was a bit surprised by his attitude. I had expected him to be disapproving, but to my dismay he seemed more excited than anything. Thus ended my peaceful, lazy days on Michael's island.

In spite of his appearance, Bob was much like a drill sergeant in the physical fitness army and I was apparently the mission. He demanded Pierre cook specific dishes for me. Pierre's quiet disgust at being told what to cook by Bob made me feel a little bit better in my misery. Unfortunately, Pierre did comply and my meals became a lot more protein rich and delicious fat poor.

Bob also scheduled my life for me; I had to eat at certain times and exercise at others. When I complained to Michael he told me it was for my own good, with that annoying smile on his face. I stopped complaining so Michael would not have that satisfaction of enjoying my suffering. He might find my discomfort amusing, but I did not need to indulge him.

Bob worked on me relentlessly as if he were a sculptor and I were a stubborn lump of clay that he was attempting to shape into a great piece of art. I was extremely unenthusiastic but even obvious failure did not diminish his spirits. Finally I gave up and put in enough effort to get by.

I dubbed my time with Bob as torturcise. I kept my snarky name to myself so I would not get any more lectures on how good exercise and healthy food were for me. Bob liked to talk about that, too.

At a certain point, I began to suspect he had made it his life's work to turn me, a nonathletic bookworm, into a work of physical perfection or maybe he was just being paid for results.

Loathe though I was to admit it, there were positive results; although it seemed nothing could cure my persistent clumsiness. It seemed I was simply destined to forever hold the title of "Clumsiest Vampire God Whatever in the World".

Whenever I managed to escape, I continued to read, both for enjoyment and as a show of rebellion. They could take my free time, but they could not take my ability to read.

The fact I still had a disproportionate number of accidents prompted Michael to bring yet another teacher onto the island in spite of my protests to the contrary. His name was Jay, and while he looked like a relatively normal person, he had spent lifetimes perfecting a variety of styles of martial arts. His job was apparently to teach me something of self-defense. He was just as disciplined as Bob and he took away even more time from reading on the beach.

Still, time passed me by quickly during my regulated days. While I did not like being controlled, there was something easy about letting other people decide what it was I would do next. I spent time with Tara and Alex and I hoped to see the real Alicia again. As time went on, I even began to feel comfortable on the island. It was as if the island was becoming my home, a place, as Tara had said, where I could be accepted for who I was. Somehow and quite without me noticing it, I had turned into one of Michael's motley crew of misfits. And even more disturbingly, I did not feel bad about it.

What I should have felt bad about was my growing fascination with Michael. I only saw him periodically. I hated to admit it but I was attracted to him, along with probably half the women on the planet. In some ways he seemed too perfect to be real. Then I would remind myself with a slap to the head of the litany of wrongs Michael had done to me. The debate continued on in my head and either way, I could not help but conclude my growing obsession with Michael was not be healthy. Neither could I seem to stop it.

Time passed me by on the island, much like sand washed away by the tides. As it passed, my distaste for blood slowly ebbed. I began to associate blood with feeling good and with the fulfillment of basic needs, like a satisfyingly deep breath. Hours after I drank came a wave of euphoria, a rush of health and energy.

Drinking blood it was like impossibly heavy weights being removed from my body, making me so light, I felt I could nearly fly. I felt like I could run like the wind. Slowly, in gradual increments, I began to like blood. I began to subconsciously desire it when I had been without for a while. I tried not to think about what I might be turning into.

All the while my life continued to slip on in the orderly pattern it had fallen into.

I had been on Michael's island for over two years, when that pattern was finally interrupted.

I woke up to the sun shining brightly through the window. Another day. I glanced at my calendar, and realized it was Saturday. Saturday, that most beautiful of all the days of the week. It stretched out before me, beckoning like an oasis in the desert. Saturday, the day when all of my tormentors got off my back and let me relax for two blissful days.

Provided I did my scheduled torturcises first.

I dragged myself of bed, dressed myself and went out to put myself through my paces. When I finished, I went back to my room and showered and pondered what I might do for the wonderful day.

Before I got too in depth in my plans, there was a knock at my door. I opened it and found Michael on the other side.

"Good morning, little girl," he said. Some things never change, I thought with only the slightest amount of vexation. Did I even dislike being called that any longer?

I smiled and replied, "Good morning to you too, old geezer."

"Would you come for a walk?" he asked.

"Okay," I agreed. I liked the idea so I followed him. I had learned whenever Michael wanted to talk seriously, he liked to do it outside. I wondered what he was going to say.

"So?" I asked, as we walked in silence.

"I just thought I would let you know I've got reports on your training. Apparently you've improved. Much more than I would have expected you to, being you. I think you might even be less clumsy."

"Why thank you," I said, my voice dipped in sweet acid.

"Both Bob and Jay feel confident in your progress. They'll both be leaving in the next few days," Michael explained.

"Really?" I asked, surprised.

He looked at me, and said, "Don't get too happy. I'll bring them back if you don't keep up your work yourself."

I grinned, "I will. Why would I subject myself to that again?"

We had reached the bench and Michael sat down. I did too, as far from him as I could get. I still often felt like an awkward adolescent around him.

He was looking up, seemingly staring at the clouds stretching themselves lazily across the bright blue sky. Then he looked over at me again.

"It's too bad that your eyes are the wrong color," he said so quietly that I could barely hear him.

"What?" I asked sharply, confused. Had I heard him wrong?

He shook his head, as if to clear it. "No, I was just daydreaming. Don't worry." I still stared at him, and his expression changed to one of longsuffering, as if I was plaguing him. "Dylan. Dylan, don't worry. I actually brought you here to talk to you about something."

"About what?" I wondered what other bomb he might be planning to drop on me now. I started to over think his words. What was that about my eyes? Admittedly, my eyes were an unremarkable hazel, not blue like King Michael's, but there was nothing actually wrong with them. In fact, they were one of the few traits I bore my mother had not seen fit to criticize on a regular basis.

"I think it's about time for us to leave the island."

"Leave?" I asked stupidly. I had stopped thinking about leaving, had accepted I was on Michael's island and had even let myself grow contented. Now he was just going to uproot me like that? "I don't want to leave!" I protested vehemently.

"Don't get so worked up," he said, as if soothing a wary animal. I scowled. "It's not forever. I just have some business that will take me away for quite a while and I thought I would bring you along since you're finished your training."

The bits of irrational distress that had been building in me calmed down at his words. "It's just a trip, then?"

"Exactly," he agreed. "Have you ever wanted to see France?"

Honestly, the answer would be not specifically, but I was starting to warm up to the idea of going along with him. "Yes," I agreed quickly.

"Then it's settled. Ready to go back?"

"No, I think I'll take a walk." I wanted time alone to adjust to the new plans.

"Then I'll head back alone. We'll leave in three days. Don't get lost."

"Okay."

Michael walked off and I went the opposite way.

I tried to keep my mind on my unexpected future trip, but I continued to drift over to speculation about what Michael had meant by his eye comment. Finally, I gave up, ran home and threw my nose and attention into a book.

I had, in a masochistic sort of way, developed a sort of grudging affection for Jay, and I had even somehow learned to appreciate Bob for who he was; biceps and all. On the other hand I was not sorry to see Trainer Bob's plastic playmates get on the plane along with him. Pauline, though friendly enough still could grate on my nerves at the best of times, but I put all my effort into waving merrily back at her through the window. Stacy had never bothered to hide her dissatisfaction with everything on the island including me, Michael, Pierre's cooking, the lack of tanning beds, inconvenience of being far from civilization, the color of the sand, and on and on in a seemingly endless supply of complaints. I was sure the only reason she had not left the first week after she had discovered there were no salons or malls was because she wanted to stay and protect her territory, Bob.

Oddly enough he did not seem to mind sharing him with Pauline, but if anyone else bearing two x chromosomes came within touching distance she bristled up like a cat and practically hissed. I liked even the childish side of Alicia better than Stacy. The thought of her being gone gave extra vigour to my farewell wave. I felt especially happy when I thought about the fact I would most likely never see her snarling face again. The thought was true bliss.

We drove back to the house and I went and convinced Pierre to break my diet and he made me some pizza. I was in quite good spirits from my show of resistance and I went and took a book to one of my favorite reading spots. I had asked Michael if I could get some chairs for out in front and he had produced some intricate metal chairs and had them placed them under the big tree. It had become one of my favorite places to read, but only when I was not avoiding Jay or Bob and the blood bags. Today, I was celebrating my unexpected freedom.

I was polishing off a book I had ordered through Tara's shop, when Alex came and found me. He had a cup with him and he handed it to me before sitting down in the other chair.

"Thanks," I said, taking the cup and draining it. He seemed a bit nervous which was unusual, so I paid close attention to him, while still looking at my book.

He said, "I've got something to tell you." I felt another unpleasant ripple in the fabric of my universe at his words.

"What would that be?" I asked, and I was pleased with how calm and detached I sounded.

"I'm going to go back to school. I've already stayed far longer than I had first planned. When I heard you were going with Mister Thompson, well, I just decided I had better go too."

"Oh." I could not blame him for wanting to continue on with his life, but I still felt weird. With the exception of my anonymous donor the first day I had drank blood; Alex was the only donor I had ever had. Logically, one day I would have had to find a new one, because Alex would not live forever. Yet somehow I had not thought it would be so soon.

"Plus, I haven't seen my family in a long time. I know my mother is worried, even though I tell her I'm making good money at the resort. My father will be disappointed, too, if I don't finish school."

Alex never spoke of his life away from the island in all the time I had known him. I was intrigued and his mentioning it made me feel like I had an invitation to ask. "What are you going to go and finish?"

"Med school," Alex said, almost looking bashful. I could not help but laugh at the irony and he looked hurt.

"It's not you," I quickly explained. "I just thought it was funny because that's what my father was pushing me towards my whole life." Alex's face relaxed. "Are you going for your father?" I wondered out loud.

"Well, I'm glad he's proud, but I just want to help people, make the world a better place to live, you know?"

Not really, I thought a bit wryly, but I could respect the sentiment. I had always thought of a hospital as a dreary place, full of death and decay. I could never imagine why anyone would want to work in one. Then I realized he was still waiting for a response.

"So you really want to do this?" I asked.

Some of my dislike of hospitals must have shown. Alex looked wary. "Yeah, I really do. I've always wanted to."

"Then good luck," I said to him, hoping I was wrong about what being a doctor was. With my father it had been about money and power and control. But maybe there was more, maybe someone could really want to do it for the sake of others. Alex made me remember there could be good in people. Maybe altruism was not just a fairy tale for the ignorant.

"Thanks." He seemed like he still had something to say, so I waited patiently. "You know, this might be weird, but I'm not just doing this for the money, Dylan." He was not meeting my eyes.

"Don't worry about it," I said, shrugging. I liked to think of our exchanges in an economic type of way. It was like his blood was milk and Alex was the friendly milkman who delivered it and received payment.

"I'm not, but, I guess—" he paused very awkwardly. It reminded me of our one disastrous attempt of taking blood straight from the source unpasteurized, as it were. I had never attempted again and Michael had never pushed the issue further. "Well, I have been glad to help keep you alive, you know? And I think that we're friends."

"Yeah, we're friends," I agreed.

"Well, I'm going to go pack. Mister Thompson said I could take the same plane out as you two. I'll bring you some blood tomorrow or the next day if you want."

"Okay, either one. See you then, Alex."

"Bye," he said, and he walked away. I felt sad Alex would be gone, but at the same time, I felt hopeful for him. I wanted him to have a bright future. I went back to my book to hide.

I spent the rest of the evening reading and trying to ignore the feeling of melancholy that was hovering over me. I followed my regular routine that night and it was not until I finally lay in bed with the lights off that I looked at the grey ceiling and I was forced to think about all the information of the day.

There was something unnerving about how fast everything was happening. Things had been so steady for quite a long time. It was like being on the calm ocean for days, then having a tempest suddenly overwhelm without warning.

Of course there was a part of me that knew things would not remain as they were forever, but I had not spent a lot of time thinking about it.

When I finally fell asleep I dreamed about my father as he had been when I was a child. It was bittersweet.