#morbius 2022

“Hello?” You say, and your name spoken through the receiver has you almost dropping your wine glass. It’s late at night, and you thought you could indulge yourself in some alcohol before bed. It wasn’t like you had work tomorrow, given it’s Saturday. 

“Morbius?” You whisper and hear a relieved sigh,

“It’s me.” He says simply, and you grip the wine glass in your hand tighter.

“I’m hanging up.” You say and hear the panic in his voice when he replies.

“Wait, don’t—” 

You click the end call button and almost immediately see Michael’s face light up on your screen. The picture makes your heart ache. He had surprised you with a surprise trip to Europe, and you were kissing him in front of the Eiffel Tower. 

You declined the call again. But when your phone lit up for the third time, you hesitated. Was something wrong? Why else would he be calling you so much?

So you pick up.

“What do you want, Morbius?” You say curtly, and the relief is palpable in his voice.

“Don’t hang up, please.” He says softly, and you set your wine glass down, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.” You say bitterly and can practically imagine him running his free hand through his hair. 

“You have every right to. I hurt you.” He says, guilt heavy in his tone. 

You almost scoff,

“You did. You scared me, Morbius. So what do you want?” You ask and hear him swallow audibly. 

“I want to meet you. Only if you want. I want to talk about everything. You deserve an explanation.” He says, and you straighten up.

“Why explain now? Why couldn’t you explain when I came to see you two weeks ago?” You snap, and he’s silent for a moment.

“Just—please.” Is all he says, and against your will, your heart breaks at the wavering tone in his voice. 

“Alright.” You say quietly and hang up with a click.

He texts you the address to a park just down the street from your apartment and asks to meet at nine o’clock PM. You glance at the clock on your phone. Eight-thirty, you’d have to leave in ten minutes, but Michael’s office AND apartment were on the other side of the city. There was no way he’d make it in time. 

But, surprisingly, he’s waiting precisely at nine o’clock. So you walk up to the bench he’s at at the agreed meeting time and sit down, pulling your purse into your lap as you watch the cars pass. The park is empty, and the streetlights illuminate the area in a harsh orange glow. 

“Martine and Milo are both dead.” He starts, and you whip to look at him, mouth dropping open slightly in shock. Martine had been one of your closest friends and confidants. She had been one of the people rooting for you and Michael. 

And Milo… Well, he was a bit odd, but he was friendly and constantly teased Michael about his relationship with you. He was like a brother to Michael. They loved each other as siblings would. 

“H—how? When? Were they murdered?” Your questions tumbled out one after the other until you bit your tongue to keep from speaking. Then, finally, Michael leaned his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. 

“Milo murdered Martine. And I killed Milo.” He whispered, and you recoiled as if slapped. 

“I—I don’t understand.” You reply, and he looks at you. His eyes are red-rimmed, and he looks like he’s about to cry.

“You know when you came to see me? My face changed?” He asked, and you nodded, tightening your grip on your purse. You had nightmares about the face he had made. The blood-red eyes and the fangs… It reminded you of a monster. 

“I remember.” You say quietly, and he runs a hand through his hair. 

“I developed a new treatment in an attempt to cure my blood disease. I spliced DNA from vampire bats and created a serum. It worked… But it turned me into this.” He said and gestured to his body. 

“What do you mean? Turned you into what?” You ask, and he bites the inside of his cheek.

“I can’t live without consuming blood. I tried drinking the artificial blood I created, but it doesn’t work anymore. I need… well, I need human blood now.” He says finally, and you have to stop from recoiling.

“You’re a vampire now?” You blurt, and he huffs out a laugh,

“I guess in a way.” He says and turns on the bench to face you. You almost pull away.

Almost. But something tells you to wait, and so you do.

Michael reaches forward with a hesitant hand and takes yours in his. His hands are much larger than yours. He watches your fingers entwined with his with some sort of longing. 

It made you hurt. 

It made your heart ache and constrict in your chest. 

“You called me Morbius on the phone.” He says suddenly, and you blink at the sudden change in conversation. 

“I figured I lost the privilege to call you Michael.” You whisper, and his face twists in pain. He looks completely and utterly heartbroken.

“You never lost that.” He replies and places his free hand on your cheek. His hands are rough and calloused. They aren’t a surgeon's hands anymore. They’re fighting hands. 

You lean into his touch, reaching up to cradle his hand with your own. 

“I—I don’t know if I can forgive you, Michael. At least not yet.” You say, and he nods. You take a breath. “But I’d like to start over. Fresh. Build something new.” You finish, and his eyes brighten, hope sparkling in those deep depths that you loved so much.