Hal couldn’t remember exactly what happened that night. All he remembered was waking up with a god-awful headache in some alley. His entire body ached as he slowly pushed himself onto his feet, stumbling against a nearby wall. His throat was dry; it felt like he hadn’t had water in ages.   Luckily enough, his worry-some roommate found him and took him back home. Rest assured he got the longest scolding of his life. Apparently, his roommate had been looking for him since yesterday. The last thing that was heard about him was that he went out with Barry for a drink.   Something was different, to say the least about Hal over the next couple days; he felt different. And, God, how would he explain to his roommate what he did? The cravings? All he felt was bloodlust for every living being. He didn’t know what he turned into, and what scared him most? The enjoyment he felt after each kill.   He had to keep up the “I’m fine, don’t worry.” act, waving off his roommates concerns about his recent behavior, even though he could practically hear their pulse. His instincts wanted nothing more than to attack him. He couldn't do that to his roommate, never.   He was a monster now, he hated how he couldn't even meet the worried gaze on him right now. He couldn’t do that to his roommate, one of his closest friends. The image of doing that to a person he cared for made him sick.   Hal’s roommate knocked on the bathroom door after he suddenly ran into the bathroom. “I’m fine!” Hal shouted from the other side of the door. He quickly wiped his mouth before the door clicked open, and he stared at his roommate. “See? I’m good.” He saw the worried look, clearly not buying his words. “Uh, the food just didn’t taste right.”   Damn it, he couldn’t even keep down normal food anymore. The food always had a bitter taste now. "Maybe your cooking just sucks?" He tried to joke with a forced grin which landed him a punch to the shoulder. "Ouch!"