Every bite of my meatloaf was like gnawing sand. I'd always liked meatloaf before. It was a rare treat, but nothing tastes as wonderful as it should when a superior was staring daggers at me. To him, I was as good as a walking, talking slice of meatloaf. Okay, maybe more like a big, ripe orange than meatloaf. He didn't want to consume all of me, the way deaders do, he just wanted to juice me.

I could only push forward, get through this, and go back to the safety of my sealed apartment. That was the good thing about being closed in. I couldn't get out, but they couldn't get in unless the locks were tripped. The locks - thank goodness - were controlled by a superior that we never made contact with. He or she couldn't be tempted by the smell of us. The scent of our blood is what really got them going. I imagine it would be like someone waving a steak in front of a starving person. That is how they saw us. I'd noticed the way it seemed to take Starsky extra control at times when she bled us. Of course she would never lose her composure completely and ravage us; it was her job not to. It was all of their jobs not to, so I couldn't understand the strange obsession that the new guard had seemed to develop for me. I wondered again if he was a new superior. From what I heard, it would be the only reason he would lack the strict control the other superiors possessed. Why would they let a new superior take a position among firsties? It was probably just some sinister game they were conducting. See how long it takes the new guy to make a kill.

Didn't they need us too much to play games like that? I wondered. However, they never hesitated to kill us if we put up too much of a fuss.

The truth of the matter was that I couldn't possibly discern the superiors' twisted logic. They didn't think like firsties. To them, we were cattle. Something bred and raised strictly to nourish them. They might take care of us, but they didn't care about us aside from the ways we could serve them. They used us. I hated them.

My family chatted cheerily about something I wasn't able to concentrate on. They seemed to have forgotten the spectacle that occurred at lunch. It wasn't that they didn't love me or wouldn't miss me if something happened, it was just the way of the firsties. The only way to survive is to let certain things pass over like water. They put it behind them. I couldn't expect them to start an uproar. Living amongst the superiors had it's advantages and disadvantages. Danger and fear were disadvantages. We got used to it; being afraid of them was a given. We learned to carry on regardless - the way I was trying to carry on with my meal, and when it came to the danger, the danger outside was worse than the danger we faced inside. I had seen the rare vagabond superior on the television program - the one that Skip liked, where they normally showed superiors or hybrids facing deaders. Occasionally they would face a deader, a hybrid, or even a tame superior against a vagabond. I was sure of one thing: I never wanted to run into a vagabond superior. Ever.

The vagabond superior was entirely wild. It had no inhibitions, no rules. They were crazed and blood thirsty. They were like deaders, only with thinking brains and ten times the strength. Sometimes they got tired of wondering, got tired of starving, and came to the tame superiors for help.

I studied the new guard. Had he once been a vagabond? The idea occurred to me earlier, but I was too shaken to give it proper consideration. He was rough around the edges for a superior, with that shaggy mane, but he wasn't frantic enough. His eyes were predatory, but no more than the usual superior. They weren't savage - the wide-eyed, insane kind. In fact, now that I had calmed down and could think, if...if I had to label it, I would call his look...curious.

But that was eccentric. He couldn't be. Why would he be? I was no different than the other firsties. Why me? For no other reason than I'd shown too much skin and brought unintended attention to myself? There were dozens of firsties there; surely I would pale in comparison after covering up my skin.

Everyone began to rise. Dinner was over. Now all I had to do was empty my tray, and file out of the room with the others. My legs felt like jelly as I shadowed Skip toward the leftover bins. The guard was about twenty-five feet from me, but that was still too close for comfort. I knew he could close that space in seconds if he wanted to.

Why did I come down here? I kept asking myself.

I raked the tray clean, and set it on the stack beside the bin, just like the others in front of me had and the others behind me would do. Despite the betrayal of my shaky legs, I raised my chin, straightened my backbone, and trotted right passed the guard.

I was still alive. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd held. I was clear to go to the safety of my room now, until tomorrow night when breakfast would be served.

Why don't I just skip a few meals? I wondered.

"Harper."

Hearing my name stopped me dead in my tracks for two reasons. One, it was unique to be called by anything except your number by anyone other than your family. Two, it wasn't spoken in the voice of another firsty, it was the smooth, melodic, unmistakable voice of a superior.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no. I thought even as I turned to see the new guard closing the distance between us in the hall. Firsties kept walking, paying the superior no mind. It was custom. My family, I noticed, were the only ones that had given pause.

The superior noticed them. Softly he said to me, "Can I talk to you?"

You are. You are talking to me. Then the realization fully sunk in. Oh, my goodness, a superior is speaking to me...and he called me 'Harper'.

"Y-yes," I stammered. I didn't want to be rude and risk angering a superior.

He gave my family a look. He clearly wanted them to leave. Oh no. There was nothing they could do. Reluctantly, they began to go, except my father. He lingered, which was braver than he should have been.

"She is safe," the superior said. My father seemed to come to his senses.

"Of course." He smiled. It wasn't his real smile; it was an awkward smile. It was his way of trying to cover up his true concern. He couldn't show it. If he objected, it would do no good. In fact, it might cause the entire family to be slaughtered. You just can't defy a superior.

No, no, no, no. My brain screamed while watching them go. This is it. This is going to hurt.

"P-please, make it painless," I mumbled. If he wanted to kill me, there was nothing I could do. I couldn't fight a superior.

"What?" He baffled. "I just wanted to officially apologize for earlier."

I peeked through my squinted eyes. He was being as sincere as it was possible for a superior to be.

"Oh," I said, my eyes growing wide like an idiot. "N-no. I should apologize. I was the one that dressed..."

Even though it shouldn't matter what I wore, facts are facts. I had to say something. I couldn't let him think I was blaming him, even though I did, because that would be rude.

"Are you serious? Were you really going to just let me kill you a second ago?" he asked.

"Well, what else could I do? It isn't like we're anywhere near evenly matched," I admitted, trying to put on a brave, nonchalant front.

It didn't help my cause that we were completely alone in the hallway now. He could probably see right through my facade.

He smiled, a jarring gesture from a superior. You never saw them smile unless something particularly evil is taking place. They find joy in those moments. His teeth were gleaming and perfect, the kind of teeth that could tear and rip with cruel sufficiency. They were beautiful, just like the rest of him.

Just like all of them.

My heart was thumping to beat the band - as my grandmother would say.

"Nonsense," he objected. "Your attire was...a shock. I enjoyed it very much."

He still wore that tantalizingly dangerous smile. His fangs extracted in a flash. My body reacted of it's own will, and I stiffened up, ready for the attack...but he didn't attack.

"You're braver than you think," he pointed out.

"Are you messing with me?" I questioned, but I didn't demand it angrily the way that type of question is usually asked.

His fangs disappeared, and he looked like a regular smiling firsty again- only not.

"Forgive me. I was just remembering your outfit," he said.

His icy eyes were drinking me in, remembering. I crossed my arms across my chest where his sight lingered. It was hard to tell the difference with them, but it was seeming like he was thinking less of draining me, and more of having me...other ways. Was he hitting on me? Were superiors attracted to firsties in that way?

I'd had about enough of being gawked at like a juicy steak, by goodness. It wasn't enough that I had to deal with giving them my blood, but then they're going to openly feast on me with their eyes too? Damn superiors. I wasn't going to have that.

"You just stop that right now, mister," I demanded.

Stupid on my part, maybe, but I had reach my limit. A moment before, I thought I was about to die. I was ready to face it. Well, I wasn't going to stand around and let some superior think about...whatever he was thinking about right in front of my face. He'd done it through two entire meals, now he was going to stop me to do it more? I'd rather die than be some blood drinker's eye candy. He chuckled. I could have smacked him across his smooth, alabaster cheek, but I didn't because that would just be going too far.

"You're feisty, too," he mused.

"Yeah, well...yeah," I said pathetically.

The guard casually lifted a finger and used it to open my jacket just a smidgeon, giving him a little peak of my neck and upper chest. I jerked back and re-closed it. He was teasing me!

"You came to apologize, so you could be even more rude?" I asked.

Now I was properly angry. The nerve! To be fair, I shouldn't have expected less. After all, what did superiors have to fear? Rejection wasn't something that held them back. Modesty didn't keep them at bay. They were flawless in every way, except their diet and their tans. How uninhibited would anyone be with that type of power?

"Ease up. Just a little tease. I am sorry for earlier," he insisted playfully. Then he added, "Better get back to your living quarters before lock down. I'll see you."

He didn't wait for a reply. He just turned to glide away from me down the hallway.

"Jerk," I mumbled under my breath.

"Actually, the names Hector," he called back to me.

I felt a rush of embarrassment that he had caught my low-spoken insult. I hadn't intended him to, but I forgot how well they could hear. I stood there mortified for a moment, and thankful that I was alive. Then I spent the whole time back to my living quarters being disgusted that a superior had made a pass at me.

What else was I going to have to deal with in this place? If I could only go back to that moment. If I could just stay there, when my only problem was having to be bled every few nights, and a handsome, yet dangerous superior developing an alarming liking toward me, I would gladly take it; because after that, it only got worse.